Degenerate | Riren

Interlude

Find Me Through My Dealer

⊱ | ✾ | ⊰

Fifteen Years Ago

There was no goodness in Levi Ackerman, son of a whore and nephew to a power-hungry criminal. No softness and absent of virtue. He had been raised to sleep on hard ground, to eat scraps, and to hurt others on command. If he ever refused to fight, he was badly beaten by his uncle, the boss, the lion of the den, an urban legend known befittingly as Kenny the Ripper. There was no mother to plead for his mercy, no father to intervene with his harsh punishments. Nobody had ever touched him except in violence. He was told time and time again that he was a killing machine, only existing to fight, to steal, to do things against society. Then asked why he couldn't be good for something, not one shirt off his back. 

But that was it, no matter what Levi did, nothing was ever enough for Kenny.

Most miscreants hated the self-entitled and blue-blooded pigs who lived in lavish houses. Some, who were less fortunate and dependent of their generously repulsive charities, only distrusted them. However, Levi despised all, pig or not. Mostly because the Ripper did. And whatever the superior's whims, beliefs, and inclinations, you followed them.

Eventually, because of their means of survival一inflicting mischief and misery wherever they went to try to overtake the government一the authorities would scourge them off their bases. The Military Police would come in motorcycles, carrying firearms. There wasn't a time in Levi's young life where there were no gunshots, no blood spilt, no sleeping comrades attacked, no screaming women and crying children. Their fraternity members had been scattered and driven off, places were lit on fire, and their arsenals stolen by MPs and other gangs alike.

Levi fought them to defend their cause; he was after all the strongest, the best of the best, trained by Kenny himself. Yet he was forced to relinquish after getting struck in the head with the butt of a gun. Another had stabbed him in the back. He was ready to die because Kenny left him for dead. Alone in the howling night, his body was dumped down a bridge. He lain still and half-conscious by the river, listening to the cold gush of water. Levi felt the wet soil beneath him with his fingers, dimly aware of his own blood seeping in warm runlets through his body. He waited and waited, but what did he wait for? A miracle? Redemption? Hope?

For Death.

And the Devil to claim his wicked soul.

He had no reason anymore, no desire to live a life so meaningless.

However, when night made way for dawn, the Ackerman found his carcass gathered and carried away. A man had found him and patched him up in a dilapidated building. Levi found himself internally torn between curiosity of his foreign surroundings and anger at the indignity of having to continue living. But he was too weak, too exhausted to lift a finger in his own defense.

He occupied a room that wasn't any bigger than a public restroom, merely holding a bed, a bedside table, a seat, and a small bookshelf. The wallpaper was torn, floors needed polishing, and cemented walls were stained. There were medical kits, medicines and adequate food and water. If Levi wasn't so fucked, he would have tched, going insane with how overstuffed and filthy it was. The one who brought him there. . . Church, was it? A tall slender man with dark brown hair who looked not much older than him. His laid-back demeanor and diffidence made Levi hostile. Why would a man who barely knew him save him? What could he have gained? Wanted? Easy money, drugs, affiliation with Kenny? Unfortunately for him, Levi now possessed none of those things. He refused to talk and take any medicine. He rejected any overture of kindness. He didn't want to be saved. So, he sat there when the man changed his bandages.