Platon was just your normal guy.
He woke up in the morning, went to work at the mine, went home.
Rinse. Repeat.
Nothing ever changed too much.
Today, he was put in charge of a new guy.
The new guy spoke in broken Common.
More accurately, he was trying to learn Common and sounded like a fucking echo when talking.
Annoying? Yeah.
Unbearable? No.
The kid did what he was told or shown, and that was all that he needed.
He was a good head taller, his hair was strangely well-kempt compared to the rest of him, and he was the skinniest miner Platon had ever seen.
Not even a foundation of muscle on him.
He wasn't a skeleton, just way too skinny.
The only thing Platon disliked about the new guy was his gaze.
It was strangely familiar to the look slavers cast upon their merchandise.
Like he was a something, not a someone.
He was obedient, so Platon didn't pay it much mind.
It was a bit different than any other day, but still just another day.
When lunch came, the new guy even went back in before everyone else was done.
'Well hey, the new guy might be a good thing.'
He was finishing up lunch with his family, and so were the rest of the crew.
The new guy's passion made them clean up faster than usual today though.
How could they be showed up by the new kid?
They had pride in their work.
They started walking toward the mine, shooting the shit.
"If he sticks around, we should probably give him a name of sorts. Keep some ideas in mind, okay?" Platon turned toward Gutierre and Kevyn.
Gutierre was a plumper man, which was impressive for their circumstances.
"We could wait for him to tell us?" he suggested.
Kevyn retorted, "Not that kind of name, Nibbles."
Nibbles was the nickname Gutierre earned back when they started working the mines together as teenagers.
His girlfriend at the time was noticeably affectionate.
After he came into the mines one day with bite marks all over his neck, Nibbles stuck quick.
Gutierre gave a kick to Kevyn's butt, sending him toward the mines.
"I swear to god, you bring it up one more fucking time, and I'm going to fuck your sister. You know—"
The banter was never going to end.
But the conversation was cut short by screams from in the mine.
The new guy.
The crew froze, but once Platon started running, they all quickly followed.
While they ran down the slope, the panicked screaming continued to grow fainter.
They got near their designated level when they started seeing the first few drips of blood.
The screaming continued for a few minutes before it ended abruptly.
The only sound they could hear was their own steps pounding down the slope.
The blood started to grow in amount.
It scattered on rocks strewn across the shaft.
They all wanted to ask questions, but they all stayed quiet.
Nobody knew more than the other.
Platon was panicking.
It wasn't the first time somebody had been crushed by a minecart in the mines.
But nobody who gets crushed by one screams for more than a few second.
If the kid died, that's his own fault.
But worse—much worse—he might not get the foreman position!
They didn't stop running.
Even when they crossed the boundary to the bottom mines, where the stone grew dark and the lamps grew dimmer.
It was hard to see much.
When they hit the bottom, there stood the new kid acting completely casual.
He was waving toward them, jabbering in his nonsense language, picking up rocks to put back in the cart.
Blood dripped off his arm as he waved.
There were stains being left where he walked, and he was smiling.
Platon met his gaze.
It was the same as before.
Platon was astounded, but found the words he needed.
"He's fucking Crazy. That'll be his name. Get the cart up, I'll take care of Crazy."
Gutierre and Kevyn didn't react right away.
They were just normal guys, and this was fucking graphic.
Even in the poor illumination and from a distance, they saw the streaks of blood trailing behind him… and the grin that didn't match the situation.
Inhuman.
He had already walked back a good bit, pushing the cart too.
"Now!" Platon barked, waving over Crazy.
He obeyed.
Crazy started pushing the cart toward him.
'You can't be fucking serious.'
Platon was genuinely astounded.
He walked toward Crazy, doing his best to talk to him.
"No cart. No cart. Up. We up."
No response to his words, only more pushing.
When he caught up to drag him by the shoulders, he saw just how truly destroyed this kid's arms were.
'What in the name of Silvius was he doing?'
Even worse, the kid resisted him!
He pointed at the cart, pointed at Platon, pointed back at himself, and back to the cart.
"Absolutely the fuck not."
Crazy was far too weak to resist Platon sweeping him off his legs.
He quickly slung him over his shoulder and started running up to the entrance.
Crazy shouted objections.
Platon couldn't understand a word he was saying, but he could tell Crazy was pissed.
Whatever he was saying, it wasn't even remotely akin to Common.
He didn't know why Crazy was still trying to push the cart—his injuries were life-threatening.
He wasn't just cut up.
It looked like he got cuts and then ripped his skin further apart.
There was bone exposed on his fingers.
There was blood everywhere.
He needed a doctor. Badly.
Platon didn't pause once he got to the top of the mine.
He briefly made eye contact with Andro, the guard for the mines.
"Andro! He's hurt bad!" he shouted, not breaking stride. "I'm taking him to the doc!"
Andro stood, not moving, watching Platon grow smaller in the distance.
"O-Okay then. May Silvius be with you!"
The doctor naturally didn't reside in the slums.
He was running into Decols, but the guards didn't stop him for the toll.
Even the dunces that were tasked with guarding the slums were smart enough to realize the emergency.
"I'll pay the toll later!"
As he ran into the city, he noticed at some point Crazy stopped talking.
'Oh no.'
He started putting more effort into running, and eventually wound up in front of the doctor's office.
It was dead center in the town, so almost everyone saw the guy running with a bloodied body.
As he stumbled into the office, he turned to the receptionist.
"Think this one is a bit urgent, I'm afraid."
Platon had been in the mines for a long time now.
He had regular checkups at the doctor's office every three months.
The shit he inhaled in the mines required it.
Thank god the receptionist didn't freeze like his crew.
She quickly sprang up from her lounging position and led them to a side room.
The room's walls were covered in vials, all with unique labels and a myriad of colors.
Crazy was laid down on a stone slab with a thin sheet atop.
The nurse left after escorting them and quickly returned with a doctor.
"What kind of mining was he doing?" the doc asked, looking at the injuries that riddled the kid's arms.
"Was he saving someone from a rock collapse or something?"
He let the kids arm fall back onto stone.
There was stone dust still in his cuts—whatever wasn't washed out from the blood.
"Platon," the doctor broke gaze from Crazy to make eye contact with him.
"This won't be cheap."
Platon furrowed his brows.
"How much. No bullshit. Number."
The doctor didn't blink.
"A silver Iso."
Platon stared at him like he'd just been told to pay with his soul.
"That's—"
"I don't haggle, Platon. You know this, don't you?"
He already had a vial uncorked in one hand.
"He doesn't have time. He's on his route to bleeding out. Are you paying for his treatment, Platon?"
Platon clenched his jaw and gritted out, "I can't pay that, doc."
"Of course not."
A slight smirk crept upon the doctors face.
He tipped the vial towards the boys mouth.
"He will."