Author: David Benedict

Naked City is a monthly live literary event held at the Goat Farm in Atlanta. Each month, the hosts reveal the theme for the next month and people sign up for the privelege of getting five minutes to speak, sing, or do whatever on the subject of the theme. Go over your five minutes? Then you must spin the Wheel of Consequences!

Naked City’s website
Naked City’s Facebook page

Starting in February, I began a writing challenge for myself: A crowd-influenced serial called Noir in the Naked City where, at the end of each episode, the protagonist would be faced with a choice. The audience would make the decision for the character, and then the next episode would be written with that choice in mind AND on the next month’s theme.

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Episode Eleven: Strength

I allowed the old man to lead me away from the killing field. The codger moved with a surprisingly swift stride for someone who looked as feeble as he did.

“Hurry along, Detective,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “It wouldn’t do to be caught here now.”

I tried to match his speed, but my heart just wasn’t in it. I couldn’t even figure out why I was so upset. I’d barely known her and it wasn’t like we’d ever had time to have a conversation that didn’t hinge on running from the bad guys. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway. Sour grapes taste great in moments like this.

We hurried past the building where they’d been keeping us just a few hours ago and proceeded down a rough path. I could see the main road from where we were, but we seemed to be avoiding it. At last we came to a small shack. It was the stereotypical shack – front porch with columns holding up a sagging roof, shingles peeling, and a rocking chair. It may have even been painted a dingy green color, but it was hard to tell in the dark.

The old man opened the door and stood aside for me to enter before him. I shambled across the threashold and promptly allowed myself to collapse on the hard wooden plank floor. The man came in, lit a lantern, and closed the curtains.

“Would you like something to drink, Detective?”

I considered it. In most aspects of life there’s what you want and what you’re prepared to live with. What I wanted was something nice and toxic, something that would kill a few brain cells and put contracts out for the rest. What I was prepared to live with was water, so that’s what I asked for. I had a feeling we weren’t out of the woods yet.

The man brought me my water and I dragged myself into a sitting position. I stared into the glass, but didn’t drink.

“You said I had something important to do,” I finally managed.

“Oh, I just said that to get you away from there,” the old man said, sitting down and sipping from his own glass of water.

“Who are you?” I asked, starting to get angry.

“That is a very complicated question. I am many things. But from your perspective the most important thing I am is the man who created you.”

I’d always heard the phrase “go to meet your maker,” but I’d never imagined it would happen so literally.

“This is crazy,” I said. “If they have you, what could they possibly want me for?”

“Well, first of all they don’t know who I am any more than you do. I got wind that they were attempting to replicate my experiments and managed to infiltrate their ranks by presenting myself as a cat lover. All those years volunteering at the Humane Society really paid off there.”

“And second?” I asked.

“Second, you have something that even I don’t have. It’s what they’ve wanted from you all along, but they couldn’t just take it. They had to win you over. I’ll have to say they’ve done a remarkably poor job of it.”

“And what’s that?”

“Detective, you aren’t living up to your title very well. Aren’t you supposed to be good at piecing the puzzle together? I’ll give you a hint. I cloned you by crossing your father’s genes with those of a stingray.”

“That’s a terrible hint. I already knew that. It’s why my bones are so flexible and why it’s a pain in the ass to walk anywhere,” I snapped.

“And how many other stingray/human hybrids would you say are in the world?”

“I dunno. Just me, I suppose.”

“At the moment you are correct, however at one time there were three,” the old man said.

“As I said, this is crazy. What about my brother? He’s a shark/human hybrid, and they cloned him. What does any of this have to do with me?”

“You saw how uncontrolled that clone was. Your brother was complicit in their scheme at first, but had a change of heart after he saw the results of his clone. That’s why they needed you. They were counting on your hatred of your brother to get you to come over to their side,” the old man said. “Because you had that precious thing that couldn’t come from any other source: experience.”

“Experience?”

“Every species has a set of instructions in its DNA for what to do – building the body, basic movement, essential survival, and so on. But, especially in more advanced species, the individual must be instructed on HOW to do those things. They have the potential, but not the ability. They can survive, but they can’t thrive. That’s why there aren’t three of your kind any more – the others didn’t manage to learn how to be stingray/human hybrids before they got killed. You did. You figured it out. That was your great strength that they needed. And this whole affair has been designed to get you to come over to their side and teach the army of clones they wanted to create how to do it themselves.”

“And what am I supposed to do now?” I couldn’t stand this conversation. I would have almost preferred to be back with the cat. “And what about the cat?” I interjected.

“Another of my creations, although he doesn’t know it,” the old man sighed. “You know how cats are. They always have to be in charge. This one is just a bit more ruthless about it than most.”

“Only a bit,” I said, but it was a halfhearted joke.

“Detective, I know this is difficult for you, but you need to be strong,” the old man said.

He was right. But I was tired of being strong. I just wanted to go home, crawl into a saltwater bath, and intoxicate myself for the foreseeable future. It wouldn’t help, but it was better than listening to this old geezer prattle on.

“Perhaps this will help,” the man said, laying a pistol on the floor next to me.

“What, you want me to off myself?” I asked.

“No. This was Lila’s pistol.”

“Who’s Lila?”

“Our Nazi co-conspirator,” he replied.

“But how did you get it?” I asked. I picked it up and examined it. It hadn’t been fired. “I don’t understand. She shot Abigail with it, didn’t she?”

Just then there was a knock at the door.

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This was the concluding chapter of Noir in the Naked City. At the end, instead of giving the audience the usual binary choice to make about where to go next, I opened it up for others to continue the story. If you’re reading this and want to contribute the next chapter, just show up to the next Naked City event and bring it! February 2015’s theme is Restraint. Have fun!

Naked City is a monthly live literary event held at the Goat Farm in Atlanta. Each month, the hosts reveal the theme for the next month and people sign up for the privelege of getting five minutes to speak, sing, or do whatever on the subject of the theme. Go over your five minutes? Then you must spin the Wheel of Consequences!

Naked City’s website
Naked City’s Facebook page

Starting in February, I began a writing challenge for myself: A crowd-influenced serial called Noir in the Naked City where, at the end of each episode, the protagonist would be faced with a choice. The audience would make the decision for the character, and then the next episode would be written with that choice in mind AND on the next month’s theme.

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Episode Ten: Charity

They say that when you have a really important decision to make that you should flip a coin. Not because you should leave important decisions up to chance, but because when the coin is in the air you suddenly know exactly which way you want it to land. Unfortunately the coin doesn’t always land the way you want it to.

With the clone at my brother’s throat and the Nazi dame with a pistol aimed directly at Abigail’s head, I knew what I wanted to do. I couldn’t reach them both in time, and I desperately knew who I wanted to save. But we don’t always get what we want in this world.

As I started to move forward, the anger started to build in me. It wasn’t fair. A genetic experiment had brought me into this world. My family had been in an adjoining test tube and my friends only called me when they needed something. Resentment followed me around like some sick groupie and society had been only too happy to sweep me under the rug.

This city…this city was a cesspool and going downhill from there. Organized crime, corrupt politicians, greedy corporations, and those were just the big players. The real decay came from within, not from those ruling on high. Ignorance, apathy, pettiness, and sloth were the water that was causing the grassroots to rot out from under itself. It was enough to turn anyone’s stomach. And here I was with a choice to make.

I felt the muscles in my legs start to coil. When your bones are made of cartilage it makes walking around a real pain in the ass, but it also means that your skeleton is basically one big rubber band and I was about to shoot myself forward to save the person I knew I needed to save, not the one I wanted to.

My options sucked. On the one hand I could save Abigail and doom the world to a fate of eugenics and genocide at the hands of these half-baked hate mongers. My insufferable brother would be dead, I could give these goons what they wanted, and walk away in the hopes that she would follow, but even if she didn’t there would be lots more people like me in the future. I could finally stand a chance of fitting in. But these losers would be in charge then, and they didn’t deserve to be in charge.

On the other hand I could save my brother and we could work together to stop this new world order. Civilization could be allowed to sort its problems out for itself without a master plan and would either succumb to the rot or rise above it to achieve a kind of weird nobility. As far as I was concerned civilization had had their chance. They didn’t deserve another one. All the redemption had been squeezed out of the entire works ages ago. And I would lose the first woman I’d felt any connection with in a long time.

I pushed off from the ground and my bones added extra snap to the spring. I raised my right arm back. I’d only get one shot at this, so my aim had to be good and I had to put as much force behind it as I could. As I sprang, the world muffled around me. I vaguely thought I heard my brother screaming something at me, but I couldn’t hear him over the report of a pistol being fired. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of red and something drop to the ground, but I didn’t look at it directly. I had my eyes fixed on my brother’s clone, who seemed to be moving in slow motion, and my vision was blurry.

When I reached them, I punched the clone as hard as I could with my right arm. The serrated barb that grows out of my forearm plunged into his chest where I desperately hoped some vital organ was located. After sinking the barb in as deeply as it would go, I pulled my arm back and began punching him as hard as I could. The barb detached itself from my arm and stayed in his chest. I wished I could pull it out and stab him again and again and again, but that’s not the way this works. I didn’t deserve to have that much power. I didn’t deserve a lot of things. After what felt like forever, the light went out in the clone’s eyes and he rolled off.

I sat back, exhausted. As quickly as it had come, my anger drained into fatigue. In place of the usual sounds of the night or any of the remaining participants talking, I heard a buzzing noise. I vaguely registered my brother getting up and running off somewhere. I didn’t care where. There was a commotion and lots of yelling, but I ignored all of it.

After spending an entire lifetime looking out for number one I had finally fulfilled one selfless act of charity. It hurt like hell. I’d saved the world. And now that it was saved it could go fuck itself.

“Detective,” I heard a voice say. I looked up and saw the old man, the one the cat had kept around for companionship.

“What?” I replied.

“We should get you out of here,” the old man said. “Nothing else good is going to happen here tonight.”

“Where would we go?” I asked.

“Does it matter?” The old man held out his hand.

“It does if you’re going to turn me over to the cat.”

“I could do that,” the old man said. “But it wouldn’t really be in my best interests, so I won’t. Of course I have no way of proving that to you now.”

“I need to see about Abigail…” I began.

“Detective,” the old man said gently, “You can’t help her anymore.”

“And my brother…?” I began again.

“He can take care of himself. There’s something more important for you to do now.”

CHOICE: Go with the old man or stay and help his brother.