Chapter Text
The early morning sounds of the Stacks always consisted of the same things each day; the beggars would be getting up from their boxes or crates and head into the city, some would stay and beg where they were, and others would instead head for the restaurant district for lunchtime when leftovers from breakfast would be thrown into the trash; gang members would bang on the side of crate doors, demanding the weekly pay for their so called protection; and at least a fight or two would breakout in the dirt streets before the time reached ten o’clock.
However all that early bustle was drown out by the numerous clocks stored in such a small space. The constant ticking was the only peace one could hope to find in this hell. Sitting up slowly from his makeshift bed, a young man with a head of dark black hair and a purple fringe got up to start his daily ritual. Only twenty years in age, life had not been kind to him, although, when had it ever been kind to anyone here?
The man looked to the hand made wall clocks and watches stored in a cardboard box and peered over them to see which ones where ready to sell. One, two, three… only four of them did he deem in good enough state to be sold. That left five others in need of more parts and material. Gathering the watches up in his hoodie pockets and bringing the cardboard box and a sheet with him, he opened the large door to his crate. Placed on top of the third highest stack in the city he had a tough time climbing down rope ladders and poorly made, rigid stairs, but living on top had its perks, one of being he didn’t have to deal with resident gangs as often.
Running over to the edge of the Stacks the man headed for a transit to take him into the city center; and by transit he meant an older woman who happened to be one of the few here to own a truck and got her money by driving people from the Stacks to the city and back. She had a rigid schedule, and if you didn’t make her set time, you had to walk.
Already waiting there was a oddly bubbly man, dressed in ripped khaki shorts and a light blue polo shirt with a few patches sewn on. How this death hole could have ever produced such a sweet and loving man he'll never know. Looking up to see him running over, he waved his hands eagerly to greet him.
"Morning Virgil!" He greeted brightly as they climbed into the back of the truck.
"Hey, Patton. Sorry I was almost late." The Clockmaker apologized, taking a seat next to him as the truck began to pull away from the stop.
The truck started down the road moving from the dirt and entering the highway that led directly to the downtown area. Sitting in the very back of the pickup truck, smashed in with ten other people, Virgil watched as the towers of junk became smaller and smaller, dreaming of the day he’d be able to leave them for good.
The Stacks. Its definition might as well mean the end of the road. It was where one would go when they had nowhere else, no one else, and nothing else. Set up anywhere from fifteen to sixty feet high, abandoned shipping crates, broken down buses, old vans and trucks became home. Safety wasn’t a concern here, and the only way up or down were either climbing by hand or busted up ladders and steps. All walks of life came here. Those who are out of work, those who can’t work, the ones who are rejected by everyone else, and those who were abandoned by everyone else. It was a hot spot for criminal activity due to the lack of care by the authorities. Tucked away on the outskirts of the third largest city in the nation, in the fourth smallest province in the nation, here you were as valued by society as dirt. Coupled along with the New Depression which was sweeping the nation, these stacks kept growing; and not just in this city, but everywhere to. With such a large number of homeless and jobless one would think the government officials would be doing all that they could to fix it, but that’s where you’d be wrong.
Virgil Black had been only seventeen when the Depression first stuck and he had to watch as everything around him fell apart. Any help the officials tried to offer only ended up backfiring and making it worse. He was a hopeful soul back then, believing that hard work would get him out of his situation, but now he knew better. Even if the Depression came to an end, he was never getting out of the Stacks, that was just a fact. His only real skill was making watches, and who had the money to buy those anymore?
Pulling to a stop, the truck arrived five blocks away from downtown, everyone climbed out and headed out for the day before they would return for their only ride home at seven. Except for him though, he had Patton to pick up later.
After a short goodbye the two friends went their separate ways and Virgil set out to the business district, which was the best place to sell his wares. Business men and collectors, and even those who just had extra money to spend were his target audience. He set up shack on the side of a large bank, displaying his watches and clocks on his cardboard box, covered by a sheet to make it look like a table.
Fifteen minutes passed of Virgil calling passers to his 'table' without any luck before a rushed man in a dark blue suit and black rimmed glasses ran up to his table.
“Do you have the time?” He asked, obviously late for something.
“I do,” Virgil replied nonchalantly, trying to act like he wasn't desperate for his money, “For ten bronze.”
The man gave him an incredulous look before begrudgingly pulling out his wallet with a heavy sigh. Virgil gladly took the paper money from the stranger and gestured to the table for him to choose whatever watch he wanted. The man looked down and grabbed the simplest watch on the table, a silver watch with a small roman numeral design and fake black leather band. Checking the time on the clock the man calmed down and gave a curt nod towards Virgil, heading on his way.
Virgil watched him go for a moment, before turning back to the crowd, searching through the faces to spot anyone who looked like they had too much cash. Before long Virgil sold a brass wall clock for fifteen bronze too another sucker who got caught in his web.
…
Walking through the busy streets of the city center Logan Winchester walked up the steps of the head police precinct. He had called in to meet an old friend of his with what may be some very good news. Looking to the new watch he hadn’t been expecting to buy today, he saw that he was still five minutes early. Interesting… did he walk here from that stand in under a minute?
“Logan!” A loud and boisterous voice called from one of the many cubicles, drawing his attention away from the accessory.
“That’s Senator Winchester to you now.” He said to him as he walked over to meet him. “It’s good to see you, Roman.”
“Of course it is.” Roman smirked as he flexed pretentiously, “I haven’t seen you since you were elected last year.”
“Yes, well, I’ve been kept busy by work as of late.” Logan stated to his friend since college. “And that is precisely why I came here.”
The smirk on Roman’s face began to fall away as confusion over took his expression, not understanding what he mean. Logan gestures for him to follow after him as he walks away to a quiet corner where they could talk without being eavesdropped on. Once there, Logan reached into his briefcase and pulled out a file and handed in over to Roman. When he looked in all he saw was his, rather impressive, track record, and the record of what he assumed was one of Logan's subordinates.
“I’m losing faith in my head of security. They were very loyal to the last senator, who had vastly different ideas from I. I am in need of someone I can put faith in to help me lower the crime rates in the province.”
Roman looked through the records, which had appeared to have been thoroughly marked up and read through. He stared at his friend in a mix of shock and excitement. He had always hoped for a promotion sometime, but he was expecting something like deputy chief. This was completely beyond what he had ever hoped for.
“Are you asking me what I think you are?” He asked with a childlike glee. Logan gave a small chuckle. Roman's youthful mind and tenacity was just what he was looking for to help him fix the society's state.
“Indeed, Roman. Will you become my new head of security?”
“YES!” Roman shouted before quickly covering his mouth, “I mean, I’d be honored... Senator Winchester.”
“That was a joke, please don’t call me that.”
In anticipation that Roman would run around proclaiming his promotion to the entire faculty and maybe even the whole city, Logan explained in detail all the necessary steps he’d have to take before he could take office. Most of the procedure had already been taken care of, but it would still be one to two weeks before Roman would officially be the new head of security. Roman nodded along as Logan explained these things to him, yet he couldn’t stop bouncing in his seat like a kid who had eaten too many sweets. Seeing that he wasn’t really paying attention to the instructions, Logan sighed and decided to change the subject.
“How about an early lunch? I’ll treat you to it.” Logan offered, standing back up from his spot on the bench.
“Sounds good, but I wouldn’t say it’d be early. It’s fifteen ‘till noon.” Roman responded, pointing to the plain clock above the main doors.
“Wait, but I thought-” Logan looked down at his watch and saw that the arms haven’t moved since it’s purchase, meaning he had been late all along. Moving the dial on the side Logan set it to the correct time before clicking it down, setting the arms in motion. “He didn’t set it.”
“Who didn’t?” Roman asked, standing up and taking a look at the watch on his friend's wrist. “Where’d you get that?”
“A merchant on the street sold it to me for ten bronze when I asked for the time.” Logan recalled to the, hopefully, soon to be former police officer.
“Ten bronze?! That’s worth more like five!” Roman exclaimed, becoming angered at the fact that Logan was swindled by a street rat.
“Come now, It wasn’t too much. At least he didn’t go as far ask to ask for a silver.” Logan said as he led them out the large, double doors of the precinct and down the street to the tram station to take them to lunch.
“First, that’s a horrible comparison, and second you don’t know if he even had a license to sell that! It could have been stolen merchandise for all you know-”
“Roman.”
“Now a hooligan is on the loose in the streets practically stealing from people-”
“Roman!”
“And selling black market watches on the block to poor innocent workers and using the money to do who knows what-”
“Roman!” Logan grabbed his shoulder, finally shutting him up from his rambling, and pointed over across the street at a lone man in a patchwork hoodie handing a pocket watch over to an old woman. “He’s right there.”
Roman turned his head in the direction of his hand and saw the despicable man in action, clipping the probably fake gold chain onto the woman’s coat and handing the hand held clock over, greedily taking the money from an innocent.
“Well then we have to stop him!” Roman declared as he ran across the street through traffic without a second thought.
“Roman wait!” Logan shouted after him but fell on deaf ears. Letting out a groan, Logan ran over to the nearest crosswalk and hurried to catch up with the man before he got too reckless and did something stupid. 'Why did I choose him, again?' He questioned in his head.
Roman dodge the bustling cars on the road and the swarming people on the sidewalk gracefully and bolted for the stand, slowing himself down as he got closer. Soon enough he was calmly walking up to the watch man, feigning interest in buying.
“How much are these may I ask?” He asked with false curiosity, picking up the only watch left to look at it closer. It was strangely nice looking, nicer than the one Logan bought, definitely not worth ten bronze though. But it didn’t look stolen, if it was it’d be worth more, homemade maybe?
“Twenty bronze.” The man said from his seat of the city bank steps.
“Twenty?” Roman echoed, raising his eyebrow. ‘That’s even more that what had cost Logan.’ “Surly this is worth much less?”
“Welp, times are tough, gotta buy bread somehow.” The man shrugged, obviously ignorant of who he was talking to.
Roman eyed him up a down with a grimace, looking over his so called stand, that he could tell was actually just a box. There is no way what this man doing was legal, and even if it was, it's obvious that this man is from the Stacks, which means he must be up to no good.
“Well, I hope you wouldn’t mind showing me you’re papers?” He asked cockily, whipping out his badge from his inside coat pocket and practically shoving it in the man’s face. Instantly the guy lost his relaxed composure and sat up straight, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates, panic evident all over his face. The shit grin Roman wore only grew bigger at the man’s frightened reaction. Cat's out of the bag. “I’m guessing that’s a no, then?”
Roman reached behind back for the spare pair of handcuffs, hidden by the tail of his coat, that he always kept on hand, but was instead met with a smack in the face as the man hastily stood up and threw the entire stand in his face before making his get away. Roman tried to get up to go after him but ended up getting the sheet stuck on his head. By the time he finally got the damn thing off his head the crook was long gone, escaping into the thick crowd.
The low, clearing cough behind him made Roman jump and spin around. Logan stood there with his arms crossed and his eyebrow raised, looking expectantly for a good excuse.
“You’re not gonna change your mind, right?”
…
The kitchen had always been a hectic place for a chef, with demanding customers and fast paced orders it was a high stress inducing environment. However to him it was a second home. Even though Patton wasn’t technically a chef, he did know how to cook. His mother had overworked herself most of his life and ended up falling ill when he was ten, so he had to take over the cleaning and cooking duties. He became really good at it overtime and his mother even said he’d be able to become a high end chef one day. So that’s what he worked towards over the next fifteen years. Yet, despite his skill, his background just wasn’t impressive enough to get him the position, so he settled for garbage boy instead.
Even if it wasn’t his dream job, it was close enough, as long as he was in a kitchen he’d be happy. He still got to use the kitchen after he finished his shift to bring food back home to his friends and family, even though the trade off to do so was a percentage out of his paycheck.
Speaking of, his shift should be over in a few minutes, he should start preparing the food. What should he make tonight? There were a lot of tomatoes, peppers, and cheese leftover, he could make stuffed peppers!
“Clean these stack rat.” A voice, accompanied by a tub full of dirty plates commanded. It was the sou chef Nathaniel Briggs, one of his superiors, and not the only one in this kitchen who didn’t want him here.
“I’m sorry Briggs, but my shift just ended.” Patton tried to tell him but was quickly silenced.
“And you were just about to dirty our kitchen with your filthy paws! The very least you could do is clean these dishes!” Patton shrunk back and nodded, gingerly taking the dishes from him and placing them in the sink. “Oh, and don’t forget to lock up for me.” Nathaniel told him as he left him alone in the kitchen.
This wasn’t the first time one of the chefs forced him to do their work. It wasn’t a secret that almost the entire staff hated him either. Everyone at the Pájaro Rico were either high end or upper mid end, Patton was the only one there who came from the Stacks. He didn’t let it bother him too much though, even if he isn’t payed of treated equally, his mother was a proud Stacker, and so was he.
On the dot as usual, the back door to the restaurant was opened and in came fellow Stacker and Patton’s best friend, Virgil. Virgil would always accompany him home, since he could never make it in time to catch Donna’s truck transit. Although it looked like Virgil would have to wait a little longer tonight.
“You doing Nathaniel’s work again, huh?” He asked rhetorically as he walked up. Patton nodded sadly, not looking up since he already knew what face he was making. It was the one he always made when anyone treated them bad because of their status as Stackers. “Common I’ll clean, you cook.”
“If my boss thinks I’m not working he’ll get upset.” Patton murmured, rinsing off a plate and setting it in the drying rack.
“You got off twenty minutes ago Pat, this is work without pay, let me do it.” Virgil shot back and took Patton’s hands out of the soapy water and replaced them with his. “The only thing you should be working on is a nice hot meal for everyone back home.”
Patton grinned at him and let out a soft giggle, conceding to Virgil’s wishes and getting to work on what he had planned. Patton went over to the tub of unused, half used, or messed up dishes to see what he could salvage before they were thrown away. Some lettuce leafs, a couple of diced tomatoes, some poorly cut orange peppers and a bit of sour cream. Patton smiled brightly at what he was able to save and began to prep the peppers and dice the lettuce. By the time Virgil had finished washing, Patton had finished and slid the stuffed peppers into the oven to cook for ten minutes. When those ten minutes were up, the dishes were put away and the peppers were placed in to-go boxes. With a final sweep of the place, Patton locked up the restaurant and then headed out.
“So how did sales go today?” Patton asked as they walked down to the tram station. The tram didn’t go all the way out to the Stacks and cost a lot more than Donna’s truck, but it was there only option this late at night.
“Less and less people are buying these days." Virgil sighed in defeat, "It seems like the Depression is starting to reach the upper mid end, before long the entire nations gonna go to shi- crap.” Virgil confided in him, correcting himself when Patton gave him that glare.
“I’m sure prosperity is just around the corner! Look at us, were doing just fine.” Patton said brightly, trying to be optimistic.
“We live in the Stacks, Pat.” Virgil stated plainly, distaste evident in his words.
“And what’s wrong with that?” Patton asked seriously, challenging him. Virgil stayed quiet and bought his ticket from the machine before getting on. The air was thick with that question looming over their heads, quieting their conversation.
Looking out the window Patton saw the large silhouettes of crudely assembled towers that he had been born and raised in. While he was not ashamed of his background, he could not deny that it was not a place any child should be raised. The danger and impoverishment all told the same story for all who lived there.
Desperation.