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Radioactive Cultivator - Chapter 11
🕑 Added 2024-10-24 17:21:43 +0000 UTCPaul would have liked to say that the trek back was an easy one. But it wasn’t. Even with a Hellmarcher lurking, powerful monsters stalked the Rot. So, Paul did what he did best—slathered himself in muck. Thanks to that, he managed to get back to the frontier—the gate that led into the Underpit.
A little distance away, he carefully stashed away the radiation core in amongst a pile of trash. It was too close to the gate for anything here to be scavenged. It was as safe a place as any.
Behind the enormous gate that blocked the world of the Rot away from civilization, were numerous containers on either side that housed any of the equipment the expendables needed. Paul had long lost his. In the middle, where the smaller gate was located to get through, was a box with countless powerful shower heads inserted.
He flashed them his work ticket. “Expendable Paul back from work,” He said, showing them the ticket. “Job complete.”
“Where’s the others?” A tall and brisk man said, his voice holding a severe tone as he looked down at Paul.
Paul remembered him: Qris. As cultivators who worked in the ‘inner’ of the Rot, they usually held less standing than those outside. He had a deep scar on his ear that looked like it was staying attached just barely. Despite his surroundings, his grey uniform of an enforcer was pressed, all with straight lines at the seams. He was a Category 2 cultivator. That meant he had survived the second nightmare.
“Dead, mostly,” Paul replied simply, eliciting raised brows from all the other enforcers that guarded the exit. There were eight in total. Paul resisted the urge to slap his forehead. Idiot, he thought, chastising himself. “Rod of the Ren family is alive, though,” he added, as if that made the situation any better.
Qris tightened his grasp on his weapon: a one-handed scimitar.
“Hellmarcher demanded I be let through,” Paul said, sweat forming. Hellmarcher had let him leave. But would she do the same a second time? “A life for a life.”
Qris frowned, looking past Paul as if he was thinking about something. He nodded. “Let him through,” he said, turning his body.
“Senior brother, is that a good idea? What if he’s lying?” One of the other enforcers said. He was young, barely older than Paul.
“Then he’ll wish he hadn’t.”
Paul believed him. They knew where he lived. They had his records. It would be like a butcher entering a chicken coop and swooping out one of the weakest among them. Although, that wasn’t true anymore, was it?
Quickly, he stripped off until he was butt naked, then stepped into the decontamination centre. Arms wide, legs spread like he was making a snow angel, he drew in a long breath, holding it. The nozzles roared to life, high pressure water slamming into him. There was no attempt at controlling the temperature. Ice cold water washed over him, only for him to stumble out the other side dripping wet, freezing, wearing nothing.
The others on the other side gazed over in looks of good natured mockery and laughs. Some even whistled.
“Stop gawking will you?” Paul shouted, face turning red.
“It’s even smaller this time, Paul,” someone shouted from the crowd.
“That’s a straight up lie and you know it!” Paul shouted louder this time, his antennas twitching in frustration. Even the cultivator’s couldn’t help but smirk.
Paul ran to the awning that lay at the side where his clothes awaited him, and got changed in a flash. Damn people, Paul thought, his smile weakening.
Now that the job announcements for the day were over, stalls took over the spacious square. Unlike in the streets of the Underpit where most of the shops and stalls were located, the ones here focused on tech, and bits and pieces recovered from the Rot. Processors, metal, wood, electronics—anything—were sold here.
If Paul had declared anything at the frontier, then he’d have to sell it here after it was cleaned. And of course, the enforcers took a split of the profits.
Paul patted his empty trouser pockets with a click of his tongue. All his savings were back home, since he couldn’t carry anything with him. Well, he could, but the awnings designated for changing weren’t exactly safe. The enforcers rarely ‘enforced’ things like that. Mostly, they let the denizens of the Underpit get on with everything themselves. That included crime, for the most part.
But apart from petty theft, there really wasn’t much crime to be had, truth be told. There was the odd bar fights and drunken sexual assault, but nothing the older generation didn’t stamp out themselves. Mostly, the Underpit was a tight community.
After all, they were all in the same situation, surviving together. They relied on each other.
Paul rushed back home, darting through the market, and into the streets. He noticed his steps were much quicker than before. Additionally, he noticed that his senses were more focused now, sharper. He felt the change in the air. When he moved in one direction, the draft washing over people, highlighted their figure in his senses. It was strange; like he had eyes on the back of his head. It heightened his sense of smell, and his balance, too, as he narrowly avoided crashing into a stall peddling hand carved wooden sculptures.
Dense metal pipes were a common sight outside of the buildings. Whether it was smoke from the inside fires to keep warm, or for waste, they stuck out like a sore thumb. The apartments, travelling up high, the highest being four floors, lined the streets with clothing lines. Colours of all kinds washed the streets in vibrant oranges, greens, and more commonly, boring beiges, blacks, and grey. Combined with the neon signs that noted the more successful shops, made the streets feel alive.
One thing everyone had to get over was the smell of stale smoke and trash that wafted in from the Rot. It clung to everything, especially the clothes. That was why perfume and cologne was really popular in the Underpit. He smelt it everywhere he went.
As he marched down the streets, the waft struck his senses. Lai’s perfume stall, Paul thought as he approached.
“Ah, Paul,” Lai—the owner of the stall—waved him over. She was slightly hunched over, with deep, crow-like wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. In her furry hands was clenched a bottle of perfume that she had just shown someone else.
“Lai,” Paul said, bowing with a bright smile. “Anything new today?”
She nodded, hummed to herself, turned around and fetched a square crystal perfume vessel. Her thick tail, pointed with a stinger, almost knocked over a perfume atop the table. But she knew better than that. The glass design on the front had diamonds on it. Paul wasn’t sure if it was done from the crystal work, or it was a sticker of some sort. He whistled. “Wow, Lai, that looks amazing. Looks like Nicholas has upgraded his glass work, huh?”
Lai waved her hand. “Oh, he’s always getting better in his old age. The doctor said he should be slowing down, but I think he’s got another good 10 years in him.”
“Nicholas? I believe it. Nothing’s gonna keep him down for long.”
Lai smiled. “The container is just a prototype. It’s the smell that’ll blow your socks off.”
“Good longevity?”
“The best,” she said proudly. “Go on, squirt a little on your wrist. A little, Paul. Or It’ll blast its way down the street otherwise and it’s almost dinner time. No one likes chomping on perfume. Even a perfumer knows this.”
“I’ll be careful,” said Paul, spraying a little on his skin.
“Well, what do you smell?”
Paul’s antennas twitched as he sniffed his wrist. “The top note is a citrus, with a fruity punch at the end. The heart… Floral, with another punch of citrus—lemon, specifically. The lower notes, amber, smoked wood. And—” Paul sniffed again, deeper this time, his eyes lighting up. “Vanilla. It smells amazing.”
“Has your smell got even stronger?”
Paul chuckled. “Just lucky, I guess.”
“Oh, Paul. Since you’re here, can you be a darling and help me with some boxes?”
“Of course,” said Paul right away.
“That old man of yours won’t mind you being a little late, will he?”
Paul chuckled. “That’s always a possibility.”
“Well, if he kicks up a fuss, direct him to me. I may be old, but back in the day I worked in the Rot as an excavator. This tail of mine still can crack rock open.”
“That, I can believe.” Paul glanced at the powerful scorpion's tail behind her back, and followed Lai into her small home. Boxes were sprawled all over the room. He heard the tinking of glass in the back room, where Nicholas was busy working the furnace. Paul felt the heat radiate from within.
Looking at all the boxes, Paul rolled his sleeves up, and got to work.
***
A couple hours later, Paul finally returned home. Paul had started at a young age helping around the streets, taking on odd pieces of work here and there. That was how he started working in the Rot. It was a steady line of progression. One moment he was helping move boxes, then pipes, then he was cleaning them in the Rot.
As a cockroach, he didn’t have the strength as excavators did, but he had a limitless supply of energy that let him work from dawn to dusk, without tiring.
Standing in front of his house, it was a small apartment consisting of four levels. His was on the 3rd. Sallie—his moth neighbour—had a keen interest in plants. Because of that, consuming the walls all the way up to the top, and along, was a verdant green vine. The petals were yellowish-green.
Paul walked up, knocked on the door. He waited for a moment before the door swung open. Wearing a one piece eyeglass with various zooms, a brown apron with rippling muscle, appeared his old man. He looked at him, inspecting him.
Paul sighed. “No, I didn’t bring anything back.”
“Then go and get something,” his old man said and slammed the door in his face.
Paul’s brows twitched.
