Karma Police

OFFICAL RECORD OF THE FORMER ‘KARMA POLICE’ OF CHICAGO
JANUARY 23rd, 5:01 AM, 23 DAYS AFTER INCIDENT
Case number 818181
Name of Subject: Alphonse L. Flatt
Age: 27
Purpose: Karma Casualty
Relation to INCIDENT: Accomplice

“Hello, Mr. Flatt, how are you today?”
“Al, please.” Snappish reply.  Subject is agitated.
“Alright.  Al.  How are you?”
“How are you?”
Pause.  Conversation is leading to the loop of previous conversations (see case files 818180, and 818179).
“Tell me about yourself, Al.”
“I, have the best job in the world.” Hands lie folded on the table.  Index finger taps.
“And what is it that you do?”
“I get tortured for a living.” Reply is angry.
“Go on.”
“You know what the hell it is that I do.”
“Just for the record then.”
“I take the punishment for things that other people do.  The politicians, the mob bosses and anyone else, really, who has the cash to buy themselves out of suffering their own karma.  I am beaten, shot, stabbed and brutalized for a monthly stipend of 16 thousand dollars.”
“You don’t sound too happy with your job.”
“Who would be?”
“But you said it was the best job in the world.”
“It is.” Nods.
“You’re contradicting yourself.”
“Think about this.  I do absolutely nothing but suffer a few cuts and bruises – an understatement, mind you – the expenses of which are paid for with the tax payer’s money (did I mention no taxes?), and I make more in a year than most people will in five.  Just because I hate my job doesn’t mean it’s not the best.”
“So explain to me why, with a job like yours – which you claim to be the best – you would abandon everything and team up with the terrorist Proxy?”
Subject leans forward. “Because I live in a world where the best job you can get is one where you’re paid to suffer the punishment of someone else’s wrong doing.  I think there’s something wrong with that.  Don’t you?”

END OF RECORDS






October

Chapter 1

First, an introduction.

He’s not a tall man, nor a man you would pick from a crowd, were you even to grace him with a second glance.  His hair is wild and dark, like his eyes, but he is clean shaven.  As he walks, he is hunting, for something that not even he could say.  There is a ferocity to his demeanor that is that of a hungry wolf.
He turns, looks through the window of an electronics store where several televisions broadcast the News, and stops.  The beast waits.

And then, an incident.

It was established sometime in the past that karma was the cause of the world’s problems.  What goes around comes around.  For years pollutants were spewed into the air, so sometime in the forgotten past, the Earth flooded.  Then, in the not-so-forgotten past, the water retreated as the hole in the ozone mended and the polar icecaps froze once again.  Humanity had suffered enough for its past sins – it had severed its karma sentence.  Dates of those years are lost.  Nothing is for certain.  Nothing but the rise of one particular politician.
Rhett Forge established the law of Karma, shortly after maneuvering himself into the highest seat of authority in the new United States.  It is absolute and unforgiving.  He theorized that God had turned his back on the world, chalking it up to a failure after breaking his word of never flooding the Earth again.  God controlled the balance, punishing those who did evil, and rewarding those whose deeds were pure.  With God’s back turned, Forge said, it was up to the human race to hold the balance once held by its creator.  Maybe if the balance was held to God’s standards, one day He would turn to see what was left of His world and find it worthy of His attention and grace once more.
Thus the law of Karma was proposed, taken from an ancient Hindu-style of thinking.  To enforce the law of Karma, Forge established the Karma Police.  Cameras and microphones in every home let the Police keep the balance.  It worked for a while.  But no good thing stays uncorrupted.
The first laws enforced, of course, were physical.  If a fight broke out, the participants would be punished.  Severely.  If something was stolen, the thief would be punished.  Usually a limb would suffice in payment.  Gradually, the Police enforced lesser crimes: adultery, homosexuality, racism, heresy and on down the line.
It became a usual thing to see a Karma van speeding down the roads, sirens wailing, off to punish some poor idiot who spoke his mind just a little too loudly.  This Hindu-style of ‘law enforcement’ strictly adhered to Christian beliefs and any act contradictory to those was punishable by law.  It wasn’t at all unusual to see a child walking around with a stump for a hand, because he’d decided to steal the candy bar he didn’t have the money to pay for.
That’s what today was to Sergeant Aaron Foxx.  Just a normal day.  They’d gotten a call from a distressed neighbor about a young woman having a suspected same sex affair.  Checking the records, the woman – assuming it was the same from the last three arrests, a Miss Anna Barton – and her lover had just used up their last mercy card with the Karma Police.  No more beatings or amputations.  Today was a straight forward execution.
Flying down the street in the boxy, black metal van, Foxx meditated quietly as he loaded his gun.  As leader of his men, it was his job to carry out the execution.  Even though he knew it needed to be done, he still hated it.
Here was the apartment.  They’d been here before, so it wasn’t hard to find.  Foxx led the way upstairs, up the three flights until they stood outside the familiar green door.  He took a breath, nodded to his men and edged toward the door, ready to scream ‘KARMA POLICE’, as was required.
He approached the door, and it creaked open.  It hadn’t been locked, or even closed for that matter.  He blinked.  If the young woman was indeed having a same sex affair, and had been caught at it before, why would she be foolish enough to leave the door open where prying eyes could reveal her?  The thought stopped him for but a moment.
Foxx slammed open the door with a booted foot. “KARMA POLICE!” he roared. “You are under arrest for suspicion of same sex fraternization…” he trailed off, his mouth hanging open slightly.  The apartment, which had been neat when they’d come before, was in complete disarray.  Books were torn from shelves, paintings ripped from walls.  The white carpet was drenched in spatters of dark, dark red, leading from the couch in the living room, down the hall towards the bedroom.  Blood.
“Police!” he screamed again, as his team filed in, horrified at the scene.  Foxx swept down the hallway, gun in hand, towards the bedroom, where the white of the carpet was hardly visible for the blood.  Carefully, he pushed open the door.
At first all he could see was the darkness within.  The shades were drawn.  But as his eyes adjusted, Foxx could see a figure sitting easily on the couch under the window.  He flipped on the light with the muzzle of his gun and aimed it at the figure.
A man sat with his chin resting on his chest, elbows resting on the back of the couch.  A woman sat on either side of him, both naked and very obviously dead.  They looked to be painted crimson, but Foxx knew that was not the case.
The sergeant was speechless.
The man on the couch wore a dark, tattered business suit and held a long knife in one hand.  As the rest of Foxx’s team gathered in the hall, the man raised his head.  He looked Foxx dead in the eye and grinned.
“This is what you get.” He said in the silence, stroking the brown hair of Anna Barton. “This is what you get, girls.  For loving.”
“Hands in the air,” Foxx choked out, pulling the hammer back.
The man blinked, his grin dropping to an easy grimace of indifference. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Foxx,”
“Freeze!” Foxx roared as the man made to lift his hand holding the knife.  It glinted softly in the light.  The man cocked his head to the side.
“I bet you wanted to kill them, didn’t you?” the man mused, ignoring Foxx’s command.  He lifted the hand with the knife and slid the blade into his coat pocket.
“You’re under arrest.” Foxx replied, trying to steady his voice.  The man looked surprised.
“Whatever for?”
“Murder!”
“They were about to be executed anyway.  What’s the difference if I was the one to do the job?”
“We’re authorized to – ”
“Kill?  Really.  Well I’ll need to get myself one of those authorizations, because I’ll be doing quite a bit of killing in the next few months.” The man stood and immediately all the guns of Foxx’s squad were trained on him.  He stiffened, bowed his head and raised his arms above it. “Easy, gentlemen.  Do I not even get a trial?”
“If you don’t cooperate with the arrest we’ll have no choice but to execute you on the spot.” Justice replied from behind Foxx.  Justice was a new Policeman, but very good at his job.  He knew the handbook inside and out.  He was probably quoting directly from the text.
“Arrest?” the final consonant was harsh and the man’s dark, crazed eyes lifted to meet Foxx’s gaze again. “But I wouldn’t last a day in jail.” He sounded genuinely concerned and upset.  He dropped his left hand, the hand closest to them, to his face, a motion that would wipe away a tear and when he brought it from his face he held a massive black revolver in his ruthless grip.
Six blasts.  Foxx heard five screams before his chest was blown open and he slammed down on the bloody carpet on top of one of his men.  Foxx gasped for air, feeling for all hell like a fish pulled from the water to writhe on dry land.  He couldn’t get a real breath in his lungs, and all he could see above him was the white ceiling.  Then his vision was obscured by a grinning face.
“Ah, Sergeant Foxx, what do we do, what do we do?”
“You’re…under…arrest…” Foxx choked.  They were the only words he could remember how to say.
The man frowned. “You’re going to bring me in, are you?” he threw back his head and laughed, and then was deadly serious. “I don’t think so.”
He crouched over Foxx and leaned close so the dying Policeman could hear him. “But I’ll tell you what.  You’re going to live.  I missed your heart.  And in exchange for not cutting your throat right now, you’re going to tell your commissioner about me.  Tell him…” the man seemed to ponder this. “Tell him Proxy says ‘hello’.  And that we’ll see each other real soon.”
Foxx choked on his reply, fading into unconsciousness as the man disappeared from his vision again, leaving him with only white to see.

The man stands with a shrug and steps past the Karma Police, shutting the door behind him.  He slips his hands in his pockets and meanders easily out onto the side walk.
The beast in him stalks his next prey.  But the man in him simply watches the blue skies turn to grey with the cold rain to come.

Chapter 2

She was unusually dressed – in tattered, short jean-shorts, a white, lace, corset-esc tank top and knee high combat boots, with a thick band of black leather wrapped around her left wrist to match the chocker at her throat – and didn’t have the decency to be bashful about it.  Too much of her porcelain skin was showing as she sat on a stool at the window side bar, sipping pensively on a large frappuccino, her thick auburn hair curling wildly around her shoulder.  A red cell phone lay innocently beside her elbow.  Her eyes traveled to it from time to time, when she wasn’t watching the passing pedestrians.
Time passed, and the girl sat on the stool, kicking her legs slightly.  The manager of the little coffee shop frequently glanced at her nervously – the amount of time she’d spent there was bordering on loitering.
Daria Arkham tossed her hair out of her face and heaved a sigh, finishing her frappuccinno, but still fishing for a little bit more of the precious liquid.  Finally, she set down her empty cup and stared mournfully out the window.  It was raining now.  She should have left when she had the chance.  Now she might as well wait out the rain.
She jumped slightly, when the phone vibrated loudly beside her.  She gazed at it for a moment picked it up, gently, as it buzzed again.  She pushed the center button and answered the phone.  It was a text message.
What if no one could punish you for speaking your mind?
Daria blinked.  It was an unknown number, and such an odd question.  Probably one of those chain mail texts sent out by the Karma Police to catch citizens who’d be foolish enough to reply to such texts.  Still, she didn’t delete it.  She let her thumb hover over the reply button.
She took an angry breath.  They’d made her second guess herself.  Daria hated second guessing herself.
Then that would be an interesting day.
That should amuse them.  Daria rested her chin on the heel of her palm, her elbow propped on the bar.  The cell phone was in its original position, as normal as can be.  She didn’t know what she was waiting for, but she knew she couldn’t wait much longer.  The manager behind her was growing annoyed with her presence.  More than likely, he didn’t agree with the way she was dressed.
But it was raining harder now.  Thunder rumbled threateningly.  Cars whizzed by, sending solid waves of water flying into the sidewalks, knocking unsuspecting pedestrians over.  Daria sighed.
Footsteps behind her.  The manager was going to ask her to leave now?  Daria sighed, and swiveled in her chair, her thoughts racing as she tried to form an excuse.  But it was another customer, not the manager, who’d approached her.  He walked past her, with a slight nod in her direction, but no indication that he had any problem whatsoever with what she wore.  He took off his battered black jacket and sat in the corner, sipping on a steaming mug of coffee.
Daria let out a sigh of relief.  But as her eyes scanned the coffee shop, she could see the livid manager glowering at her from behind the counter.  It was time for her to leave, despite the fact that he was too self conscious to escort her out.
She slid off the stool, taking her black pea coat from the back and shrugging in on.  She pocketed her cell phone as it vibrated again.  Daria nodded to the scowling manager with a smile, and pushed open the door with her elbow as she opened the new text.
Out of the 200 recipients of this note, you are the only one who responded.
Daria froze, her insides twisting. Had it been a trap?  Where they coming to arrest her now?  Since when would having an ‘interesting day’ be considered against the Karma Code?  Or had she condemned her self merely for answering it?  How could she have been so stupid?
Her phone rang, loud and obnoxious in her hand.  The unknown number flashed on the screen and the phone rang a second time.
No use being a coward now.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Yes, who is this?” a sharp, deep, masculine voice.
“You called me.” She pointed out shakily.  This man certainly didn’t sound like the Karma Police.
“Call me Proxy.  Now what was your name?”
“Proxy?”
“Funny, that’s my name too.”
“No, I mean…” she didn’t know what she meant. “Who are you, what’s going on?”
“Your name first, please.” It wasn’t a request.  There was a dark hint of menace in the man’s voice.
She took a breath and steadied herself.  This man was not with the Karma Police.  It would be ok. “My name is Daria Arkham.”
“Well Daria, are you ready to have an interesting day?”

Al heard his cell phone bleep sometime in his slumber – the sound made when a text message is left – and he rolled over.  It was almost three in the afternoon when he stumbled out of bed, but that was only because someone was knocking on the door.  He should have remembered, of course, that the door must never be answered.
But the unfortunate man opened the door and with a startled cry felt the bat crush the left side of his face. “Karma Police!” came the familiar call.
“You’re supposed to say that before you knock, you bastards!” he rolled on his side, clutching his face.
“Alphonse,” familiar voice. “Sorry.  New guy.  It’s his first day.”
“Little over eager, is he?” Al snapped, sitting up, his head swimming. “Never the face, new guy.”
“Sorry, sir.” Al wasn’t sure who the blond boy was apologizing to, but it hardly mattered.  An apology wasn’t going to make him feel any better in half an hour.
“So.  What is it this time?” Al picked himself up and brushed off his pants wearily.
Lt. Ray Conrad held out a signed piece of paper.  Al took it irritably and scanned over it. “Politicians and their affairs.” He shook his head.  A check was attached to the document.  This month’s stipend…with a bonus.  Al groaned.  The politician was getting his lover off the hook too.
“Well, everything’s in order then.” Al sighed, setting the document and the check on the side table. “Get to it.” He sat down on the floor so he wouldn’t fall into any furniture.
There was an uncomfortable silence.  Al glanced at Conrad, who shifted from foot to foot. “Orders…sorry, Al.  We’re supposed to do it publicly.  Make a big show.”
“Why?”
“To distract.  The senator is going away for a while to ‘jail’ until this scandal blows over, and there needs to be something to take the public’s mind off his absence.”
Al blinked.  So the bonus wasn’t for the other woman.  It was for humiliation. “What did you have in mind?”
They could have at least told him it was raining when they threw him down the stairs to land in a puddle.  He came up gasping for air and clutching his side, trying to push himself from the dirty puddle of water, inches deep.  He rolled over on his back and lay choking on air, when he was hauled from rest and dragged out onto the lawn. “You’re under arrest for treason!” Treason?  Usually you were executed for treason.  But no one ever said that the Karma Police were a bunch of geniuses.
“This is what you get!” they yelled.  What was once known as police brutality was now merciful punishment.  They only kicked him.  They could have shot him.
Al could see people stopping to stare fearfully, only to hurry on moments later.  They felt guilty, of course, that he’d been caught when they hadn’t.  But they would never come to him, to offer their condolences.
A heavily booted foot caught him in the mouth and his head snapped back into the fence.  The damn new guy.  It was then that Conrad called off his dogs.  They retreated regretfully.  The rain caressed Al’s face like a gentle hand and he rolled over onto his back, struggling for a good breath.  Conrad knelt by him (after making sure no one was looking) and handed him a red handkerchief with a sad smile.  Folded in the handkerchief was a twenty dollar bill.
The lieutenant stood and followed his men, leaving the karma casualty to recover.  Al heard the van start and screech off.  Then he was left alone to the quite lull of the rain to wonder vaguely when his roommate would be home to collect him from the lawn.

Meet me at the park bench under the broken street lamp in the run down playground in the bad part of town.  Daria was now realizing her stupidity as she trekked miserably through the rain.  But there was the park, and she could see the bench, so it was really too late to turn back now.  And turning back meant walking into that creep who’d been following her for several blocks now.  He didn’t seem interested in her – he walked easily as though he were taking an afternoon stroll on a clear sunny day, though admittedly under a black umbrella – but that didn’t mean she should ex him off the list of possible rapists.
Daria stepped through the chain link gate to the park and seriously began worrying about the man when he continued to follow her.  He seemed to take notice of her now, though still said nothing.  She stopped finally at the park bench and scowled.  ‘Proxy’ wasn’t there.  No one was there.  Now she was alone with the possible rapist in the tattered black suit.
Anger pulsed gently in her clenched fists.  She’d been an idiot.  All irony aside, it would serve her right if she got herself raped by willingly going to the bad part of town.  It was arguably the stupidest thing she’d ever done…in the past week.
Abruptly the rain ceased pummeling her face.  She turned.  The man held his umbrella over her with a slight smile on his face. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Daria Arkham, would it?”
She blinked. “An uncanny guess.”
“Uncanny, no.  Amusing?  Extremely.  You do realize I’ve been walking through this dubious weather directly behind you for the past fifteen minutes?” his smile was charming, but his white teeth looked faintly predatory.
“I noticed, yes.  You’re Proxy, then?” She smiled a little nervously.
“Yes.  If I’d known who you were half an hour ago I’d have chose some place closer.  Or at least offered you the shelter of this umbrella a little sooner.”
“Why did you choose this place?” she asked, slowly growing a little more comfortable with this man.
“Because it is the exact center of this city and it would take half an hour or less to get here, no matter where you were in the city.”
She didn’t know why she was surprised by Proxy’s intelligence.
“So, shall we walk?” he proposed, indicating to the barren, broken down park.  Daria smiled and nodded. “What made you respond to the text message?” he asked as they started on the concrete loop of the sidewalk that encircled the park.
“I thought it was from the Karma Police.” She shrugged.
“Interesting.” Proxy grinned.
“How so?” something in his tone was dark and unnerving.
“That very reason would discourage most from replying.”
“Exactly why I kept the answer cryptic.” She shrugged. “Such an answer wouldn’t provoke much.”
“But merely answering could have done all the damage there was to be done.” He reasoned, though his tone had relaxed.
“I didn’t really think about it.” Daria replied.  They walked easily, side by side under his umbrella as the rain started to let up to a light drizzle. “So what about you?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you send the message?” it was the question burning her tongue.
“It was meant to be a survey, to tell me if what I was doing was right.”
She held her peace, waiting for him to continue.
“When you were the only one to answer, it erased all doubts in my mind.”
“So what are you doing?”
“Proving a point.” His tone was very suddenly sharp and vicious. “Out of 200 people, only one was brave enough to answer a simple question, for fear of the repercussions.  Speaking your mind provokes no dark karma, but it calls the Karma Police.”
“It’s the society we live in.” Daria replied easily. “Forge has the God-Fearing crowd sold with his ‘keeping the balance to win back God’s favor’ plan, and everyone else just goes along with it.”
“And you accept it?” he’d calmed himself again.
She shrugged. “There’s not much one person can do about it.”
“Unless they are willing to do something radical.” He replied.
“So you’re going to do something radical?” she smiled.  He was an idealist.  She knew many like him.  They would talk of great plans, but go about it the wrong way and get arrested before they got too far.
“I already have.” He told her. “I’ve killed for this cause.”
She stopped and he kept walking. “You’ve killed?” The rain was chilled on her skin.  He stopped a few steps later and looked back.
“Yes.”
Her mind was swimming.  If he wasn’t lying, then he was a murder and she needed to get away.  Fast.  If he was lying, then he was crazy, and she needed to get away.  There was one constant between the two scenarios. “Killed?”
“To prove a point.” He said again.
“So you kill?”
“Sacrifices.  Though if I hadn’t killed them, the Karma Police would have.”
“Them?”
“And if I hadn’t killed that squad they would have brought more publicity than desired at this time.” He was walking towards her now.
“You…killed a Karma Police squad?  All of them?” she was light headed now, taking a step back as he drew closer. “Why?  To prove your point?  Whether you prove it or not, it won’t change a thing, you’re killing for nothing!” she was shouting now.
“I am a Proxy.  I stand for those who won’t stand for themselves.  I cannot think for myself, only for what this city needs.  It’s taken me years to see what needs to be done, and I won’t stop now.  I can’t.”
The umbrella shielded her from the rain once more, and she was so close she could feel the heat radiating from him.  She noticed then that he towered over her and was lightly muscled beneath his suit.
“It’s not an original concept, admittedly.” He told her, after a moment. “I’m not the first individual to stand up to a government, nor will I be the last.  But I am the first to stand up to this government.  There is God-Fearing faith and then there is using that faith as tool to manipulate, turning that fear of God into fear of the government.  Everyone is so blinded by their fear of Hell that they don’t realize that Hell is exactly where they are now.  You just can’t see the flames.” He finished quietly, his eyes boring into hers.  They were blue so dark they were almost black.  Flecks of purple and turquoise made his eyes as deep as the night sky.
“I don’t believe that God has turned His back on this world.” Daria managed at last.
“So you’ll help me?”
“I won’t kill.” She replied. “Because God hasn’t turned His back.  He’s still watching, judging to see how we’re handling this situation.”
Proxy laughed. “Like a test?”
“I don’t know.  But I know that things usually have a reason behind them, whether it’s divine or not.  I answered your message because I’m the only one out of 200 people who would help you.  That means I’m going to help you, whether I want to or not.”
He laughed again. “Are you religious, Daria?”
“Not at all.” She smiled. “But I say this all from the standpoint of what I know about God.  It’s not belief in Him that I have.  I just know He has to be there.  Life can’t happen on its own.  It has to have a creator, like a story needs an author or a painting needs an artist.  The rest is just natural.  When the ozone layer rips, the world gets hotter and the icecaps melt.  It was not because of bad karma that the world flooded once again – it was only a matter of time.  Even ozone layers can’t last forever.”
Proxy smirked. “You and I make an interesting pair.”
Daria smiled, inclining her head. “I suppose we do.”
“You’re going to help me?”
“I’ll do what I can.  You’re a nice enough guy.” She replied truthfully.  Already she was growing fond of this dangerous man.  Proxy was charming, even in his tattered black suit and grim demeanor.
But it was like befriending a tiger: sure he was pretty to look at and nice enough when in a good mood, but should he become enraged (or possibly hungry) there was no predicting what he would do.  She was smart enough to be cautious, at least in her mind.
“I try.” He chuckled, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tell me, how old are you?”
“Seventeen.” She replied, wondering over the relevancy of the question.
“You’re just a kid!” he exclaimed. “You still living with your parents, or in school, or what?”
Daria laughed, harshly. “My parents aren’t in the picture.  Dead.” Proxy frowned. “And I graduated a year early.  I’m taking some time to figure out where I’m going in life, if anywhere.  Working, saving up money and deciding where I’m going University-wise.”
“So no one would miss you if you disappeared?” he inquired. “Not very safe when meeting a stranger in the bad part of town.”
“Just what I was thinking as I was walking here.” She laughed. “But my roommate would miss me.  He’d die without me, I swear.”
“Incompetent?”
“No…just has a hazardous job.” She replied sadly.  Daria had no idea how Alphonse had ended up in the career he was in – nor did she know how anyone went about getting into such a career – but she wished he would figure a way out of it.  He was too nice a guy to need stitches every other week.
“Are you close to him?”
“We need each other.” Daria replied seriously. “He pays the bills and I cook, clean and keep all his limbs attached.”
“You should probably be getting back to him, then.” Proxy said lightly.
“Yeah.  What about you?  Anyone at home waiting?”
He smiled a little sadly. “You’d have to have a home to have someone waiting for you in one.”
“You’re a dangerous radical and you have no lair to which you return?” she replied incredulously.  Proxy shook his head seriously, tossing damp locks of his dark hair from his face. “Where do you sleep?”
“I don’t.” he shrugged.  His head whipped to the left towards the main road.  A Karma van loitered there.  Proxy’s face grew dark and solemn. “You should go.”
Daria scanned the sidewalks.  It was getting darker now, she had no idea how long they’d talked.  She didn’t have to peer too deep into the shadows to see strangers lurking there.  Many watched them.  There was no way out of the park that wouldn’t take her past a large group of lurkers or the Karma Police.  She buttoned her coat, pulled her shorts down so they looked a little longer and shoved her hands in her pockets, still trying to figure the safest way out.
Proxy noticed her concern from the corner of his eye.  He sighed, defeated, tearing his gaze from the van. “Would you like an escort?”
“No, you do what you need to do, I’ll be fine.” She replied, running her fingers over the comforting metal of her pocket knife in her left pocket. “Later.”
Proxy looked back to the van and then down at her as she began walking back they way they’d come.  In the end, he followed her, folding up the umbrella as the rain became a mist that the umbrella did no good against.
“So where will you go?” she asked quietly.
“It doesn’t matter.  I won’t be here for too long.” He replied lowly.
“Well you can’t just live on the streets.” She insisted. “You can live with us until you find someplace better.”
“No.” he muttered. “No one can know where I am.”
“Just for tonight then.  Come on, Proxy, it’s going to storm all night.  And Alphonse will want to meet you.  You remind me a lot of him.  He of all people would want to help you.”
“What makes you say that?” Proxy asked, interested.
“Do you know what a Karma Casualty is?” she kept her voice low as they passed a large group of shadowed me.
Proxy’s eyes shifted. “I’m surprised that you do.”
“Well, it’s kinda hard not to know what one is when you live with one.”
“That’s your friend’s job?”
“Now you see why he’d want to help.” She replied. “But also why I didn’t offer to let you stay with us lightly.  If you’re avoiding the Karma Police, our place is probably the last place in the city you’d want to stay.”
“Right,” Proxy muttered as they rounded the corner. “So where do you live?”
“Three bus stops away from here actually.” Daria stopped at the bus sign and checked the schedule.  Miraculously, they’d only have to wait a few minutes to catch the next bus.  She pulled a handful of coins from her pocket and counted out bus fare for them both.  Proxy didn’t look like a man with too much money.
They stood in silence in the mist until the old blue bus rattled to a stop at the sign and they got aboard.  Daria slipped the coins into the slot and led the way to two empty seats near the back of the bus as they great vehicle jerked into motion once more.  It was awkward, sitting shoulder to shoulder with this murderer, unspeaking.  She wondered what Alphonse would say when she told him what Proxy was.
Her thoughts drifted to her roommate and she wondered, vaguely, why he hadn’t called to ask where she was.  He knew she wasn’t working today.  She should have been home.  Maybe he’d never gotten himself out of bed to notice her absence.  Daria scowled.  That would be so like Alphonse.
Unless something was wrong.  Maybe he’d gotten sick.  Or maybe his labored heart had finally given out.
Or maybe the Karma Police had taken it too far at last.
“Three stops, right?” Proxy asked quietly, bringing her from her anxieties.  The bus doors were open and he was right, it was time to get off.
“Yeah.  Sorry.” She replied distractedly, hopping from the bench and sliding out the doors.
“You seem worried about something.  Second thoughts?” he asked carefully.
“No.” Daria assured him. “Anything but those.  You’re right about everything you said.  I just haven’t heard from my roommate today.”
“Ah.” Proxy nodded as though he understood her worries. “If it’s any consolation, I’m sure he’s fine.”
“He usually is.” Daria calmed herself. “He probably just slept through the day.”
Proxy smirked. “He does this often?”
She smiled. “On occasion.” She turned the corner to their apartment complex and led the way to their building.  The street lamps were just flickering on and she wondered what time it actually was.  It didn’t feel like she’d been out all day, but the sky said otherwise.
Daria stopped just beside the steps of their building.  Sprawled out on the lawn under the lamp lay an amorphous black figure.  If she were anyone else, she would have guessed it was a homeless bum.  But Daria Arkham knew better.
Forgetting all about Proxy beside her, Daria bolted towards the figure, the closer she got, the less air she could get into her lungs.  She fell to the ground beside him and shook his hand to wake him.
“Alphonse!  Wake up, come on.” She demanded sharply.  She felt at his throat where his pulse was strong and then searched for breaks in his ribs or internal bleeding. “Alphonse!” she snapped.
Finally, he opened his eyes.  He blinked a few times and looked around blearily until his grey eyes focused on her. “Where the hell have you been?” he rasped.
Daria let out a rush of air and, ignoring her lightheadedness, lifted Al’s head from the puddle it lay in. “Are you alright?”
“I’m soaked, and freezing, and in immense pain.  Not really.” Al groaned. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know.” She admitted.  Daria looked over her shoulder.  Proxy had fled her mind, but he hadn’t moved from where she’d left him.  He stood by the steps, easily, as though nothing were wrong with the world. “Does it hurt anywhere, like something broken?”
“Nowhere more than anywhere else.” Al replied, impatient now that he was conscious.
“Well alright then.” Daria wrapped his arm over her shoulders and hauled him gently from the sucking mud.  She felt his body tense and flinch with every movement, but finally he was standing and no limbs had fallen off.
As soon as they were standing straight, the world lurched violently.  Daria stopped, taking a moment to steady herself.  She had to keep moving for Al’s sake.  She could pass out on her own time.
Somehow she dragged him up the stairs to their apartment, where the door swung open in its hinges, squeaking and groaning.  As she struggled with Al, Proxy merely followed, nonchalant and carefree as though he had not a care in the world.  He closed the door carefully behind him with a soft click.
Daria eased Al gently onto their beat up old couch and pulled the first aid kit from the stand right by the arm.  With a sigh of the norm, Daria set about wrapping her roommate to resemble a tattered mummy.  She was always overzealous with the gauze she knew, but she’d rather wrap too much than not enough.
Proxy meandered around the room, hands in his pockets, peering at Daria’s pictures and Al’s extensive movie collection.  He took in their home as though he expected to know them by their possessions.  Daria wondered how much he was really going to learn.
Around that time, Al noticed the stranger. “Who’s this?” he griped, inhospitably.  Daria flicked him gently on the forehead, the only uninjured place she could see on him, and shushed him.
“Al, this is Proxy, a friend.”
“And a murdering radical, nice to meet you.” Proxy threw in with enthusiasm. “I understand you’re a Karma Casualty.  Interesting career choice.”
Al looked from Proxy to Daria and back again. “Murdering radical?”
“I should probably stop introducing myself as such,” Proxy shrugged after a little bit of thought. “But it hardly matters.”
Al didn’t have the patience to even muster basic courtesy. “What are you doing here?”
Proxy didn’t look the least bit offended by the brash question, in fact, was exhilarated by it. “Arkham noticed my state of poverty and graciously extended the offer of shelter for the night.”
Al glared at Daria who quailed slightly under the gaze.  Proxy noticed this.
“Unless this offer was not rightly hers to extend,” he prompted eloquently.
Daria slapped a bandage on his forearm with a little more vehemence than entirely necessary, and Al flinched. “No, you’re fine, whatever.  If you’re a murdering radical, here is probably the best place for you.  This premise is never investigated for Karma violations due to my occupation, so really, stay out of site should the K.P come for a session and you’re welcome to stay here.”
“Too kind.” Proxy almost sounded sarcastic.  He’d drifted to the window and peered out at the rainy world where sirens screamed and red lights flashed. “I might take you up on that offer at some point, but for now, I just need a place for the night.”


...hopefully more soon...