Pinned Butterflies: Strange Tales From The City Of Dust, #3

By Vaz Anzai

A new serial killer has surfaced in Dust dubbed "The Sleeper". Several women's bodies have begun to appear in alleyways, their arms crossed and skin cut from their backs to form wings from their shoulders. Who would commit such a horrific act? The answer may surprise you.

 

Strange Tales From The City Of Dust is a serial story done in episodic "short reads". Each story is a tale of action, adventure, and horror within the city of Dust. Set in futuristic Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, it incorporates themes of cyberpunk, artificial intelligence, synthetic beings, sexual themes, horror, occultism, demonology, medical monstrosities, innate abilities, future tech, and LGBTQ storylines. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vaz Anzai
• Release date: Aug 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781386685258

Vaz Anzai

I grew up reading horror, consuming books by Dean Koontz and John Saul. Cerebral horror has always been my preferred subgenre. Cyberpunk themes have intrigued me throughout the years, ever since I first saw Blade Runner and The Running Man. "Strange Tales From The City of Dust" is my cyberpunk look at future Pittsburgh. It involves themes of LGBTQ relationships, medical monstrosities, occultism, mental health, artificial intelligence, and more.

Book preview

/Rude Awakening

1.

What time is it, doll? D groaned as he rolled over in bed and spied a girl sitting in the chair across from him.

Time for you to wake the hell up, she commanded, pulling the hammer down on the handgun she had pointed at him.

Look, kid, he coughed, feeling his shoulder blade out of whack. There ain’t supposed to be any children in this joint, you get me? That and the gun. How the hell did you get a gun into Wonderlust?

She watched him, silently waiting for him to turn fully around and heed her words. She was no more than twelve, he figured. Long brown hair to her waist and the darkest eyes he had seen in quite some time. The gun in her hand appeared real enough.

Alright, he snorted, bringing his torso around to face her. I’m awake. You got me on the bad end of that thing in your hand, so get to talking. I’m sure you ain’t in this place for your health.

D picked up the bottle of alcohol a prostibot must have dropped off for him during his hibernation. Without worrying about a glass, he took a few gulps from the top and let the kick of the smooth, buttery chestnut-infused taste cleanse the nastiness of his palette before raising his eyebrows at the tiny girl with a barrel aimed at his head.

You even know how to fire one of those things?

Should I demonstrate? She challenged back.

I’ve had enough holes put in me recently. Just tell me what ya need or get the hell out. You don’t need the weapon. I don’t hurt girls and I don’t kill kids. So what, I killed your dad or what? Was he a Harvester prick or something? If he was, he had it coming.

"Have you heard of The Sleeper?"

Maybe in passing, he responded, taking another swig off his bottle. Some new psycho cutting up on people. What about him?

My mother was the last victim they found. Well, other than the one from this morning. I was told the only way I could get your attention was a gun.

Don’t think for a minute that I don’t agree with you, kid. Let me go down and pay my tab and I’ll help ya. Put that damn thing away before you get shot by one of them Enforcers outside. They shoot to kill. Ain’t no joke.

I’ll come with you, she told the big man, standing to flatten her black dress on her legs.

Them girls downstairs are naked. It’s not a place for someone your age. Who let you up here?

I have friends.

Oh? He lifted one eyebrow, looking down at her while he slid his old leather jacket on. They couldn’t help you with this?

No. They’re not those kinds of friends. Homeless friends. Besides, I hear you’re the man who finds people. Does what needs to be done. No questions asked.

The merc chuckled in his chest, the resulting residue pouring out from his throat with a heightened grunt and a head nod. His dirty clothes still on from before his long hibernation, he squinted his eyes, trying to get his senses straight as he finished waking up and gathering himself. In an abrupt flash behind him, he snatched the gun from the girl and disassembled it into pieces on the floor. The preteen backed away, expecting him to finish her off.

I said you don’t need it. All you had to do was ask me. What’s your name, squirt?

Rocket.

D’s brow wrinkled as he tried to understand. Rocket? Who named you Rocket?

"It’s a long story. My new mom, the one I’m here about, she found me when I was a baby while she was digging through the trash. I was wrapped in a plastic bag with a rocket on it. From those fast food places."

Rocket Burger?

Yeah. It’s not like I came with a nametag. So she just named me Rocket.

Fair enough, kid. Rocket it is, D replied, taking another long gulp from the bottle of alcohol. I’m ready. Let me pay my tab.

The big man stepped out into the hallway between rooms and found it empty. Not that it was surprising, he thought. It was only a Tuesday. Wasn’t it? How long had he slept? Hanging his head over the rail to the open club below, he found only one of the prostibots on shift in the middle of a dance for two customers at the bar. Yanking the younger girl by her hand, they started down the spiralling metal staircase that led into the center of the Wonderlust brothel and bar.

Sindy! D called out to the automaton on stage. Seeing the child in tow, the two men at the bar became flustered and purposely turned themselves away. Sindy, honey, cover your chest, will ya?

Whoa, what the hell, D? Mickey Merse, the owner of the brothel started as he burst from his side office. D, you’re a great customer, buddy, but no kids in here! The police will have my damn license!

The merc pointed down at Rocket, who shrugged. You think I wanted this rude awakening, Mick? This kid comes in and puts a gun in my face. I don’t know how the hell she got in here.

The older, balding man locked eyes with the younger girl and tried his sternest, most authoritative gaze. So let’s have it, missy. Where is the gun?

D reached out to inch Mickey back before he overreacted on the girl. He brought his attention back to him. It’s on the floor of the room. Feel free to have one of your girls get it. I don’t know where it’s been, so make sure you have it identified first. This kid got in here, though. It’s left me scratching my head as to how. You know who could have helped her?

No. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me, are you missy? Mickey asked, pointing at the girl. She shrugged, her eyes glancing quickly at the side door behind the office.

Ah! The older man smiled, feeling like he may have some answers. Unlocking his office door, he hastily retrieved D’s gun and returned it to him. I’ll take care of it, my friend. Here’s your weapon, nice and safe. Please, be discreet as you get her out of here.

D nodded, sighing as he looked back at Rocket, who once again shrugged her shoulders at the annoyance written on his scarred face. Pulling the wad of money he had earned by killing a group of Harvesters in the underground tunnels of Dust known as the Red Line, he paid Mickey what he owed, adding another several bills for the trouble he never wanted to be a part of in the first place.

Ushering the girl outside, he grimaced at the heavy rain that appeared to have taken over most of the city. A blue and gray filter covered almost everything within sight, the sun’s light lost within a hazy cloud formation that threatened to never give up its dominant hold on the city. A few cars drove past, the splashing mist raised by their tires thrown into the air and absorbed by the torrential downpour.

"This rain isn’t just rain, you know? He told her, his eyes on the thick clouds above. This is how I imagine depression looks. Like we all got emotions, even a big son-of-a-bitch like me. I don’t really get depressed though. I get mad. A lot. Even sad sometimes. Never depressed. I’ve seen it in others. Hanging on their faces like bricks hooked into their skin. It drags them down, makes them never want to leave the sweet comfort of their beds. If you could get inside that person’s mind, though. I have to imagine this is what it would look like."

I don’t have a jacket, Rocket complained, her frown innocent as she looked to him for help.

Alright kid, take mine. It ain’t got a hood, though. So you’re shit out of luck there. At least with this, you’ll be covered. There’s some holes. Cuts and what not. It works.

D slid his jacket off. Rocket could see the recent stab wound on his back that had gone untreated and had bled into his shirt. Underneath the leather covering, his skin had seen better days. If she had had the time, she could have counted all the scars of past fights that were raised up like medals he had earned from forgotten wars. When he turned back towards her to hand it over, she could see the ones along his cheeks and chin better in the brightness of the lighting that flashed from the overhead headliner billboard. His shorter, dishwater-blonde hair was missing from front to back along the right side of his head, the surface discolored from the heavy blow he had to have taken.

Are you sure? She asked meekly, accepting the jacket.

Yeah. Can’t let you drown, little mouse. I don’t see any of them Enforcers around, patrolling. So I think we’re solid. You don’t have any other weapons on ya, do ya?

No. Won’t they detect your gun?

Not a chance. It’s a mix of ceramic and polycarbonate materials. Where we headed?

Rocket pointed a small hand up past the entrance to the underground Red Line and into the center of downtown. By Wood Street. You’ll see the cars with flashing lights.

Police, eh? Well, they probably have some private investigators there. Hired out to gather info. Drones can get into those alleys, but they can’t check bodies the same way a pair of human eyes can. Alright then, let’s go.

D kept one huge hand