//------------------------------//
// Part 9 
// Story: Manhattan Ballad 
// by ObCom 
//------------------------------//

	Like clockwork, Bass Leader’s lackeys showed up in their crisp suits and dark sunglasses. They entered Vinyl’s apartment and found the DJ staring at the ceiling, a faraway look in her red, puffy eyes. Unwilling to return to their boss empty handed, the lackeys corralled Vinyl down the stairs and into their car. 
There might have been some attempt at communication, but Vinyl had drawn back into her own little world. She barely registered the breakneck speeds they traveled at or the cloying scent of being stuck in the same car with four men who loved the same cologne. Octavia, Octavia. The name repeated itself and she made no attempt to stop it. If she hadn’t cried so much, her body would have found some more tears to squeeze out. Instead, the body decided that passing out would be a better course of action. 	

She wished she never woke up. 
When she did, Vinyl found that her hands had been tied above her head and Bass Leader was in front of her. As soon as he was sure she was awake, he laid into her. Giant fists flew into her, breaking her. She screamed until Bass Leader decided that he didn’t like the sound and choked her. Fingers dug into her skin, black spots appeared. Vinyl tried to keep her head down, tried to make it harder for him to keep his grip, but to no avail. When he let go, each breath felt as if it was passing through a hot furnace on the way down to her lungs. 
Before, when Octavia was still around, there was a sense of happiness that Vinyl had taken for granted. Aside from the Hunter-assisted suicide, there really hadn’t been a bad day. Looking back on it through an increasing haze in her mind, Vinyl could easily say that Octavia was the best thing that ever happened to her. Now it seemed like the universe was making up for lost time. A whole month without misery? No, you have to meet your quota, so we’re going to let Bass Leader turn you into his punching bag. Oh, and we’ll be taking Octavia away too. Vinyl sucked in more breath. The universe was a real asshole. 	
Vinyl had tried to keep count of the beatings, but they were slowly becoming a blur. Bass Leader pulled back again, his chest heaving and his skin slick with sweat. His augments, which had been the standard blue color before, were now glowing bright orange. There had been scenes in movies, Vinyl remembered, where a soldier’s augments were burning orange as they performed herculean feats, often accompanied by an amazing soundtrack. But only military should have access to any sorts of strength enhancing augments. That’s what the brochure had said, right? Bass Leader’s fists opened and closed repeatedly, obviously suffering from a withdrawal of beating Vinyl senseless. The veins in his neck were fighting to contain all of the pressure flowing through. It was an image that Vinyl could recall seeing several times already, until those two fists would fly at her again like a pair of comets. That was when everything got really fuzzy, but sometimes the explosions in her vision made neat shapes. 
While Bass Leader wasn’t using her head to practice the conga drums, she decided to take stock of the damage. To her surprise, she found that thinking about anything was extremely difficult.  He must be a real knockout with those drums, she thought, chuckling at her own terrible joke. That got her another punch to the stomach, and her body instinctively tried to double over, but her restraints kept her still. Alright, joking is very, very bad, Vinyl concluded. 
One of Bass Leader’s massive bunker busters that could be called a fist wrapped itself around a large chunk of her hair. With a savage tug, he brought her head up. Vinyl couldn’t differentiate the pain in her scalp from the giant bruise her face was undoubtedly becoming. That didn’t stop her from letting out a sharp yelp of pain. If Bass Leader was enjoying himself, he didn’t show it. Vinyl doubted any emotion could force itself through the rictus of rage that had burned itself into her ever fading memory of this whole event. 
“You lost her,” Bass Leader said. His voice was strained and his words were clipped. Talking sounded like a chore, or maybe Vinyl’s hearing was off. She didn’t doubt that he would rather be punching her again. 
“I didn’t lose nothin’,” Vinyl slurred. Bass Leader’s fist broke her nose before she saw it.  Wrong answer, apparently.  
“One job. You had one fucking job,” Bass Leader hissed. “All you had to do was keep her safe. I provided everything!” he drew out each syllable. 
Vinyl tried to blink past the fog. “I di’ do dhat! ‘ad her for a monb, over a monthb, I think.” She looked around, momentarily wondering why her voice sounded so strange, but Bass Leader filled her vision. “I bean, where were ‘ou, huh? Din’t do nothin’ but sit round f-” Another punch and Vinyl could feel several loose teeth. 
“You think I didn’t do anything? That I was sitting around?” Bass Leader twisted her hair, causing her to scream and look at the ceiling. “I was out working. I was preparing Octavia’s shelter. I was removing the information network that was following my family. I haven’t slept in days and you think I was being lazy?” Bass Leader’s hot breath smelled like coffee and tobacco. Vinyl thanked her brain for the absolutely useless information. 
With that revelation out of the way, Vinyl clawed for a way to redirect Bass Leader’s rage to something else. “Inbormation netwok?” she asked, expecting another punch. 
Luckily, Bass Leader let go of her hair and backed away. “Yes,” he said and walked over to his suit jacket. It was sprawled over the back of a plain, metal chair. Vinyl flinched, hoping that he wasn’t going to use the chair as a weapon. Instead, he pulled out a cigarette and managed to put it between his clenched teeth. “A family as prestigious and… colorful as mine has attracted the attention of many enemies. I can’t say the Solar Empire has approved of many of my decisions, so when the Reclamation started, I wasn’t surprised when I picked up some luggage. Would you like to meet one?” 
Vinyl had barely opened her mouth to speak when the door flew open. One of Bass Leader’s lackeys, a tall man with blonde hair, entered. Behind him was another man, smaller and in worse shape than Vinyl was in. The lackey deposited the spy at the other end of the room so that he was facing Vinyl, but the man didn’t raise his eyes. 
Bass Leader closed his lighter with a loud snap. Smoke immediately filled the room. “Do you want to know why I am where I am today, Ms. Scratch?” he asked, his voice now devoid of any bloodlust. He sounded like he was going to offer her a job or a cup of coffee. A cup of coffee would’ve been great. “It’s because I can see potential tools.” He stood up and pointed at the lackey with his cigarette. “He’s a prime example. If I need someone roughed up when I’m too busy, boys like him are a dime a dozen. All that differentiates him from the rest is his suit and augs.” 
He stood in front of her now but made no move to grab her hair. “The same goes for you. I hired you because I knew I could use you later. Sure, you might have performed… worse than I had hoped, but perhaps escorts aren’t your forte. You wouldn’t use a hammer when you need a screwdriver, right? No, I just had you do the wrong job. So,” he said and pulled out a key, “I want you to try something else.” 
With the shackles gone, Vinyl slumped to the ground. Her head was spinning again, but her stomach and chest were also screaming for attention. There might’ve been some complaining from her ribs, but at that point, she just couldn’t tell. She noticed Bass Leader’s well polished shoes were still right in front of her. Hesitantly, Vinyl picked her head up—
--and found herself staring at a pistol. She instinctively blinked and tried to back away, only to press herself against the concrete wall. “Tell me, Ms. Scratch,” Bass Leader said after seeing her reaction, “how would you like to try killing?” 
Vinyl licked her dry lips and droned, “I dun wanna.” 
Bass Leader didn’t move. “You don’t have a choice,” he said and grabbed her arm. The pistol was suddenly in her hand, but she made no move to drop it. “There’s only one bullet,” he said, gesturing to the soldier across the room. “Make it count.” 
The fog in Vinyl’s head refused to clear up. She knew something very important was happening, but she couldn’t think. Her brows knitted together. Kill someone? Why would I do that? I’ve never done anything like that. Why should I do this? I don’t want to do this. Just then, a part of Vinyl’s brain whispered an idea that should’ve been obvious once she got the gun. Raising her sore arms, she soon had Bass Leader in her sights. 
The lackey started forward, but Bass Leader stopped him by raising his hand. He stepped closer to Vinyl, never breaking eye contact. Vinyl found her determination waning, which caused the gun to shake. She was just as likely to hit the wall if she fired.  When he was a foot away, Bass Leader said in crisp, clear words, “You cannot do that.” 
Thanks to the mirrored lenses grafted over Bass Leader’s eyes, Vinyl was able to see her small form wince. She also felt her determination melting. That was it. He had said the magic words. Vinyl didn’t even know her aim was floating towards the soldier, who was undoubtedly sedated. Nonononononononono! Don’t shoot him! Shoot Bass Leader! Vinyl pleaded to herself. But her body, that traitorous meat sack, didn’t listen. 
The explosion at her fingertips made Vinyl jump. Bass Leader broke eye contact to survey her work, give a crisp nod of satisfaction, and walked out. The lackey stayed a few seconds longer to give her some sort of glare before leaving. Vinyl closed her eyes and heard the gun fall to the floor, slipping from her suddenly numb fingers. She didn’t want to look. She wanted this horrible ride to end. She wanted to wake up next to Octavia, give her a kiss, and see that smile again. 
The smell of gunpowder couldn’t mask the scent long enough. When Vinyl opened her eyes, she saw her handiwork. The shattered body in front of her, she felt, couldn’t be described. She stared for ten seconds before she leaned over and voided her stomach. 

Due to someone else’s decision, Octavia found herself penned in a warehouse with the other people who had been reclaimed. A catwalk ran the perimeter of the building and was constantly manned by soldiers. Their closed helmets prevented anyone from seeing their faces, so no one knew what their captors were thinking. That didn’t stop the more vocal people from hurling every swear they had ever heard. Rows of beds had been set up, though Octavia was loath to use any of them. 
She had slowly gravitated to a small group of quiet people. She didn’t want to be alone, even though her present company was a far cry from being with Vinyl. Remembering the DJ brought a tear to her eye, which she viciously rubbed aside. She was too scared to be sad here. Images of people ganging up on her played within her active mind, even though she knew that everyone was in the same situation. Any terrible thoughts were pushed aside when the gates on the other end of the warehouse opened. 
Several soldiers poured in, pushing large carts of food. “Dinner time!” one soldier yelled. The people shuffled over and Octavia got into line. She was too frightened to be hungry, but she knew that the last thing she ate was breakfast with Vinyl. Her body probably wanted food. Zoning out allowed time to pass quickly. Before she knew it, she was face to helmet with a soldier. 
“Any known food allergies?” he asked. Either his helmet’s speakers distorted his voice or he was genuinely exhausted. Octavia shook her head and the man directed her to one of the carts. Hesitantly, Octavia stepped forth and looked in. The cart was full of cardboard containers, all of which had its contents emblazoned in thick letters. She reached in and grabbed one at random before moving far away from the others. 
Opening the box revealed a large chicken sandwich, a bag of chips, and a brownie. Octavia raised an eyebrow. She was expecting some sort of gruel that not even Vinyl could have eaten, but this was actually pretty nice. Her mouth started to water and she took a bite of the sandwich.
The good food didn’t absolve the Solar Empire of their sins in her eyes. Time was ticking by and the sun was setting. The guards had changed and, unlike the last group, these guards felt like they had to address every insult with loud laughter. The fact that these soldiers could enjoy the misery they were inflicting chilled Octavia. She didn’t feel safe at all that night and winced when the lights were turned off. She stumbled onto a random bed and covered her head with the thin blanket. People were yelling back and forth, even though their voices were getting hoarse. 
Octavia curled into a ball and let out a whimper. There would be no sleep  coming that night.