“Carissa Kjellberg became the youngest officer in Empyropia.”
The news reporter announced as it got the attention of a particular man, watching his monitors while humming, then headed toward the fridge to grab a bottle of wine. Off went the lid. He stares at the foam flowing, then glances at the screen again. This time shows the new officer walking on stage as she receives her graduating medal, and at the bottom of the screen is her information. Age and name. The man wasn’t surprised but wasn’t expecting her to be this young, twenty-three.
People her age or younger wouldn’t choose a cop as a career choice. Maybe those in their fifty or sixty, he’ll understand. Youngsters nowadays would want to experience what the world has to offer before becoming something, and he was once like that.
Thinking of the past and childish decisions he made caused him to chuckle, grabbing a wine glass and pouring in the liquor. He didn’t give himself a chance to sip it when a shuffling noise got his attention. Someone was in his home, but he didn’t seek who’s the intruder. The man stood still, then caught a familiar scent and grinned.
He whispered a name, “Bo.”
There lying on his kitchen counter is his buddy, in a way, greeted with a cup of wine in hand. What ze holds belongs to the man, somehow, taking it from his grip without his awareness.
“That’s a rare sight. The great Jamareo is drinking and all. I wonder why,” Bo mumbled, whisking and observing the liquid before jokingly taking a sip. That, however, made zir take it more than intended, causing Bo to cough and wheeze while sitting up. Ze tried breathing slower, then broke another cough and said, “That was a bad idea. I didn’t think...” Cough “... it’ll be that strong... Oh gosh, you’re such an idiot. My stupid self.”
Jamareo chuckled and took the cup back, refilling it. “I’m celebrating my sorrow while my significant other is somewhere.” A sigh slipped as he gulped the whole thing.
“Sheesh, you can’t be serious. It’s only been two days,” Bo said nonchalantly.
“Then...” Jamareo swishes his head side-to-side, thinking, then turns sharply at Bo with a big smile. “Enlighten me, my dear good friend.”
“Whether than her, you got your job.”
Jamareo froze, then frowned in annoyance at Bo’s bluntness but walked away while the bottle swung in hand. Wish his friend would think of something to distract him from his absent girlfriend, but no. Ze straight-up ruined Jamareo’s cheerful mood.
“Patrolling and managing my bars? That doesn’t sound bad, but... Boredom isn’t what I’m seeking. Pleasure is more fitting, something you understand with no excuses,” Jamareo said as he poured himself another glass, continuing into the living room that connected with the kitchen. Slump onto the couch.
“Oh, you poor old soul,” Bo cooed, sounding pitiful but not. Ze hopped from the kitchen counter to where Jamareo was sitting, behind the couch and peered over him. “Age is really getting to you. Like everyone else.”
Jamareo glanced up at zir and laughed it off. “It’s too early. I need another hundred more years.”
“Don’t we both do?”
That’s true, their age isn’t far apart. Mid-seventies and early eighties, as to put it, with their long-run mutual relationship.
Suddenly, a loud static rings through Jamareo’s ears, and he clinches it, hoping that awful noise will stop. A headache began to form, then grew as he fought it, standing but falling, catching Bo by surprise. The wine bottle rolled through the floor, spilling, while Bo hurried to his side but immediately halted when a palm held in front of zir. Jamareo began regaining his composure as the pain lessened.
There’s some relief, then silence overbears them while the monitors run in the background. Jamareo’s hand twitched as he intended to shut it off, but Bo beat him, reaching for the remote controller and doing precisely that.
Bo was aware of his condition but hard to predict. It comes and goes. “Want to get some sashimi? Hmm?” Ze tried to comfort Jamareo and helped him onto his feet. He didn’t reply but nodded.
They rode and made it outside from an elevator at the bottom of the condo where Jamareo lived, including Bo.
Bo hummed while glancing behind at the older friend walking not too far. Jamareo’s pace was slow, focusing intensely on the people strolling the streets and noisy vehicles. Almost like he’s in a daze, he suddenly makes eye contact with Bo, startling his friend, then immediately returns with a gleaming smile.
“...some...wrong...” Jamareo asked, sounding raspy, then cleared his throat and repeated his words. “I-is something wrong?” Instead of responding, Bo bit a candy bar from zir pocket. Chewing, nice and slow before turning away. That made Jamareo scowl, but he ignored it, insisting, “Crossing this district is crowded and should be better if we headed to the old route. Marburg is far, from Artemisia to there.”
Bo listened to what was bothering Jamareo and spun to face him, almost having them collide. “You want us to enter the underworld? Doesn’t make it a difference.”
“Less people, and it’s faster.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say,” Bo shrugged but spun away. There’s a stubborn decision ze want is sticking on the direction ze thought throughout, but, however. Ze takes another bite of the candy bar before eyeing an alleyway and then to the next one as they pass. Calculate the pathway Jamareo suggested, then quickly dismiss it. On zir mind, Bo kept thinking, unable to let go
Jamareo noticed ze’s interest, waiting patiently at each glimpse Bo took until ze sighed as if in defeat. The expression ze was making amused Jamareo, and he saw that now Bo had slowed down to walk by his side.
Finally, finalized Bo’s conclusion and began speaking in a singing tone, “Do you want to lead, or will I?”
That singing surprised Jamareo. He blanked a couple of times, trying to process what ze was saying before gesturing for zir to go ahead. Bo inhaled and then guided themselves further from the public. Their pace was steady, then slowly picking up, entering multiple tight places and out, where they stopped in front of a gigantic concrete fence. From them to the other side were piles of junk. They look around at the almost deserted place, with some people exiting the gate to end their day and new ones starting their shifts, while Bo and Jamareo casually walk into it.
These workers wore full green bodysuits, shoveling trash and putting it in the back truck as the truck drove and dumped it into a fire pit. The conveyor belt that tangles above them transfers tiny silver cubes throughout. Two or three guards carried guns and electrocute sticks under their belts.
The two friends avoided some but waved others within a distance, especially Bo, while able to make it to a dumpster shack covered in trash. Jamareo pushed through the door, showing it was empty, with enough space to fit five adults. Beneath the floor, they cracked open to a tunnel, barely for the two to crawl into the deep darkness. Onward, continuously, pitch black until a glimpse of light shines on their faces from tiny wall gaps. Bo took zir time to feel the breeze before continuing to the biggest one, like a portrait of zir as reflected below are buildings similar to ants’ size. Across them were giant cave columns, separated almost in a row, while the two used these columns as a passageway.
