The cheers were still in his head.
They'd been loud enough to rattle the rust from the ceiling — bursts of laughter every time the chamber spun, hollers with each empty click, and howls of glee when someone's head snapped back from the bullet.
Even out here, in the open air of the streets, it lingered.
Click.
Spin.
Laughter.
The way the bodies slumped forward or toppled sideways, faceless once they hit the floor. The metallic smell that came after.
They let him go. No payment, no parting words — just a shove toward the exit and the sound of the cylinder being reloaded for the next poor bastard.
---
The street hit him like a wall of rot. The air was thick with stale smoke and the chemical sting of cooking drugs. Used syringes glittered in the gutter, catching the flicker of the neon signs above. Bullet casings crunched under his boots.
The cleaners had already been through. That was the Lawless City's version of mercy — haul the bodies out of sight, leave the rest. Blood stains on the pavement. Bits of shirt fabric trapped under a boot print. A tooth in the road, already drying in the heat.
Kai walked.
Every face he passed looked like it belonged here: the gaunt-eyed men leaning on door frames, women with skin stretched tight over their cheekbones, the restless hands of kids too old for their bodies. They were all moving to their own silent rhythm, like rats in the walls. He could feel them sizing him up as he passed, measuring if he was worth the trouble.
He didn't look back. He was starting to learn that here, eye contact was an invitation — and he had no invitations to hand out.
---
A gunshot cracked two streets over. Nobody flinched. A man hawked something up from his throat and spat red into the gutter. The red was too thick to be blood. Kai didn't stop to figure it out.
The roulette table had done something to him — or maybe just sped up what was already happening. He felt… hollowed out. Like the part of him that should care had been rubbed smooth. He didn't like it, but he also didn't have the energy to be angry about it.
It was easier to keep walking.
---
He stopped at a corner where three men were gathered, swapping something small between their hands. At first, he thought they were trading vials or coin chips — but then one laughed and said, "He didn't even blink when they stacked it on him. Straight through the machine, ten burdens deep. Eyes rolled back in his head before he hit the floor."
Kai kept his head down, but the word stuck. Machine. Burdens.
Another voice, lower: "Collector's paying double for clean stock now. Wants 'em young, wants 'em quiet. Don't matter if they're Resonant or not — machine don't care. Strips you same either way."
They laughed again, that same ugly note he'd heard at the roulette table. Like they were talking about a dogfight, not a person.
He crossed the street before they could notice he'd been listening. The word still clung to him, though. Machine. Whatever it was, it wasn't good.
---
A sudden ripple went through the crowd up ahead — the kind of movement that meant something had happened. Kai slowed, trying to see over the shoulders. The street opened just enough for him to glimpse it:
A man lying flat in the road, eyes wide, a dark pool spreading under his skull. Another man stood over him, holding a broken bottle in one hand. He looked bored.
No one was screaming. No one was even shouting. A few people stepped around the body like it was a trash bag in the way. The killer wiped the bottle on his sleeve and walked into the nearest bar.
Two minutes later, the cleaners came — two men in grey coats, each carrying one end of a tarp. They didn't check for a pulse. Didn't even slow down. They rolled the body onto the tarp, lifted it, and were gone in less than thirty seconds.
The pool of blood stayed behind. The crowd swallowed the space, conversation resuming like nothing had happened.
Kai didn't move for a moment. He knew the man's face. Not his name — just one of the ones who'd been in the crowd during roulette, laughing when the bullets hit.
Now he was just another stain.
---
His legs started moving again without him deciding. The city had that effect — either you kept walking or you became part of the pavement.
Somewhere ahead, a street vendor was hammering at a cart wheel, the clang ringing sharp through the alleys. Every strike sounded like the click of a trigger. Kai's hands were in his pockets, fists tight. He told himself he was fine.
---
By the time he found somewhere quieter — a narrow gap between two leaning brick buildings — his head was buzzing. He crouched there, lighting a cigarette with a lighter he found on the ground next to a crack pipe. His hands that didn't feel like his. The first drag burned down his throat, a comfort and a punishment in one.
The air was cooler here, away from the vendor fires and the mass of bodies. He exhaled and tried to count how many times the gun had clicked before someone died during roulette. Three? Five? He couldn't remember. All he could hear was the spinning cylinder. All he could see was the way the crowd leaned forward, breathless with excitement.
He laughed, quietly. Not because it was funny, but because it felt like the only thing left to do.
---
A shadow passed at the alley mouth. Kai froze, but it didn't come closer. Just someone moving on, their boots scraping against the grit.
He stayed there until the cigarette burned down to the filter, then stood and brushed the dust from his knees. He needed somewhere to sleep before the night turned.
---
On his way out of the alley, he passed another knot of people. This time, it was two women leaning against a wall, whispering.
"…saw it myself, swear it. They strapped him in, lights came on, and the thing just… fed on him. Like it was eating pieces of his head."
"That's not how it works," the other said. "It eats the soulprint. Leaves the body. That's why the Collector can resell 'em after."
Kai kept walking. His pace didn't change, but his pulse did. He didn't know what was worse — that they were talking about it like it was just another trade, or that they sounded more curious than horrified.
---
The street bent into a market strip, still open despite the hour. Lanterns swayed overhead, and the smell of fried meat mixed with whatever was rotting in the gutter. Kai passed stalls selling knives, handmade bullets, and jars of cloudy liquid. Every vendor watched him like a stray dog sniffing around for scraps.
He didn't buy anything. Didn't slow down.
---
By the time the noise of the market faded, the streets were thinner. Less traffic. The buildings leaned closer together, windows dark, doors chained.
Somewhere far behind him, someone screamed. It was short, cut off fast. No one around him even looked up.
Kai's boots scuffed the pavement. The roulette table was already fading in his head, replaced by the man in the street, by the murmurs about the machine.
If the city kept feeding him moments like this, he'd either break or stop feeling it entirely.
Right now, he wasn't sure which was worse.
By the time he found a dry doorway to sit in, he'd made up his mind. Tomorrow, he'd start looking for a way out of the streets.
Even if it meant stepping into somewhere worse.