LI

There was nothing Li was better at than hiding. In the dark of night, he could blend into the shadows and be invisible to people walking right next to him. It was also beneficial for sleeping in abandoned buildings. He had chosen a bar that had been partially destroyed by fire for tonight. Without the funds to repair it, the bar had gone out of business. The city hadn’t gotten around to knocking the structure down, so for now it was safe. He just had to pick the lock and he had himself a dry place to sleep in. The rain had always been a friend of his. It blurred out his face and helped clear a path for him in Ngai. Most residents hated going out in the rain. Ngai was one of the three districts bordering Chiri, home to fruit. The city prided itself in its juicy peaches and plump blueberries and bright red strawberries. If there was a red splotch on the ground in Ngai, it would take a police investigator to figure out if it was fruit juice or blood. Of course, the police had been silent. A man on the force was caught trying to sell the service of talents. It was surprisingly a popular trade, though illegal, for many. They often sold in Chiri, where tourists would line up to get their share of Talents, money in hand, and the money went straight into the bank of the “owners” of the talents. It was essentially slavery. Most talents preferred to stay hidden, but some were so drawn to the idea of free room and food that they had no other choice. Li himself had caught his sister muttering “Worse comes to worse, we could just sell you”. She was joking though, or so he hoped. As if on cue, he changed his position on the floor and rubbed his neck where a small ‘T’ was. He had a feeling the police would return to stalking the streets, watching for anyone who bore this mark. Ngai was incredibly posh, with banks and stock markets galore. Talents were the vermin of Ngai; the King made sure of that. The tattoos were targets to make eliminating Talents easier. They were more like prison brands.

The King wasn’t actually a King. It was simply a name for the politician who rose to the top, Dong Nguyen. He was just as charismatic as he was ruthless. After being referred to as the King a couple of times, he had made a spectacle of it to encourage his supporters. His office space was said to be more like a throne room, and his servants referred to him as “sire” or “Your Highness”. They claimed that his son was the next in line. Once, Li had caught a glimpse of a rally and heard the rest of it on the radio a street vendor had. The King spat insults at Talents, calling them egotistic maniacs among other things. “Taking your jobs. Making money that should be yours. They are less than human!”, he had exclaimed to the roaring crowd. He was so convincing, Li almost wanted to believe him as well. His son was standing next to him, and from the second story window he was peeking out of, he could’ve sworn he saw the boy’s hands trembling. He looked nothing like his father. His face was much kinder, his clothes humble. Now, he hated that boy almost as much as his father. To view such destruction, such horrors and simply stand by the monster’s side?

He had always felt invisible. He could stand in front of people for minutes at a time and not be seen. He would be worthless at the markets; tricks people could see got you money. When he tried to sell himself- his talent- to an agent, she had scoffed and put his file in the trash.

“You’d be boring,” she had said.

“I’d be different though.”

“That’s even worse. You’d be too strange.”

“I can tone down my strangeness for a couple of tourists.”

She had scoffed at that too (clearly a fan of scoffing), and he had landed here. Homeless, broke and cold.

There were sounds coming from down the street. Li sat up, listening. There was the thump of a drum, shouts following. A heavy stampede of feet. A mob. They eventually passed by, some by foot, some in slow buggies. They really looked like giant bugs at night. The antennas on the back flashed silver. The people’s faces were covered in face paint, most of them looking like clowns and circus goers. His stomach did a backflip. He knew exactly what they were saying.

“Ngai ost debi ex Ngai ost velt”

“Ngai without Talents is Ngai without pests.”

While Chiri had taken a more profitable approach to the Talents, Ngai was a richer district that didn’t need tourism. They had fruit. They had no use for talents and last week’s fire at Xin Temple caused by a rebellious talent was the icing on the cake. The perfect topper to the malicious hatred for Talents all the politicians and property owners seemed to have. Li slipped into the shadows, grateful to have his ability for once. Unseen, unheard. He preferred to stay that way.

He moved through the building, blending into shadows. When he got to the back door, he slipped out. He would have to find another place to sleep tonight.

When he fell into the chapel, he tensed. The locks on the chapel’s doors were incredibly hard to break through so he had to resort to a window. They must have tightened security after the temple fire.

He would have to leave early in the morning to avoid being caught, but this chapel was usually empty. It was dedicated to a Chiri god, Ravsko, and few Chiri people were very religious to begin with, so the church was always quiet. But he could admire the glow of color illuminating through the stained glass windows. He said a quick prayer to the Leader and attempted to fall asleep.

In his dreams, he still heard the chant, the thumping rhythm.

“Vaigasi thes Salam!”

“Long live the King!”

“Ngai ost debi ex Ngai ost velt!”

“Ngai without Talents is Ngai without pests!”