Simlog #28, recorded by Babsie
“What’s this shit!” Babsie is standing up, while Botch is trying to place himself between Van and her to block the line of sight. “Van, just keep cool, okay?” “This is shit! Is this the shit life is putting on me or what?” Her vision is blurred by tears, but she is angry and oblivious to the danger. “Either I’m out there and get fucked, mained and maybe killed by a bunch of gangers or if someone is trying to help me, I’m just a fucking burden that can’t help herself? Is this what is left for me to do? Victim or dead weight? Fuck you! Fuck you all!” She is standing up and walking to the door.
“You fucking stop walking out of here!”, Van aims her gun, “Van, get that fucking weapon down, will you? She’s just a girl! If you shoot her now, the noise will get the authorities on us! Can it, Van!” That seems to work, for Babsie doesn’t get a hit in the head of some buckshot ammo, walks straight out of the room and to the door. “Stop her!”, Van demands. “Will you fuckin’ stop her or what?! Fuckin’ troglodyte!”
She opens the door but there are two people outside. A girl in a black-white dress and a hip haircut, also in black and white and a flashy guy with a jack in the head. “Stop her!”, Van demands. “Let her go! Van is coming down from some drugs. Help me with her, will you?! That’s just a girl.” The two look at each other, at Babsie. “Can you please step aside? I think I stand more chance against a gang of rapists than in that room with the mad gun-bunny, okay?”
The two don’t move. “What’s that about?”, the flashy one demands. “Van is on drugs? We told her no using on a job.” The black-white woman just musters her. “And you are…?” “Babsie. I was just hiding here to escape a local gang.” “Aha”, said the flashy. “Botch let you in?”, asked the black and white woman. “Ja.” “Just get out of here. No gangers around anymore.” “Thanks. And thanks for the shelter.” She stepped aside and let Babsie pass. “Let me shoot her!” The two enter the flat, the flashy is throwing a look after Babsie, then closing the door.
She is leaning on the wall, fumbled out a nic and lit it. After a few hasty puffs she mumbles: “I just scat out off this shit”, and starts to descent the stairs, carefully looking for the gang. But she couldn’t spot one of them. And in the moment she gets out off the door, she knows what was wrong all the time.
Cops. It smelled like them. They were all left and right of the entrance, in black S.W.A.T. armor, shields and they were pressing their bodies against the wall, looking at her from both sides. “Fuck me sideways”, she says and raises her arms. The cop left of her makes gestures with his hand. “What?” He repeats moving his hands. “What?”, she asks, looking puzzled. A cop is running up to her, catching her light body under his arms and pulls her away from the door. He whispers: “Get out of here, girl. That way. Don’t make any noise, okay?” She nods. “Okay.” They move up the stairs just a few seconds later. She turns, watches the thing, starts to walk off.
“I could have called them, if they had given me their number”, and shrugged her shoulders. A chopper was approaching in silent mode. She had walked over to an other corner, some people were staring up into the sky. A grenade launcher fires a couple of gas into windows. She counts the floor and nods. “Them.” Bursts of automatic fire. A flashy discharge is coming out of the flat. More autofire. The chopper is turning slowly, hit by the discharge and trying to get distance. A spot of light on the other side of the building. They are trying to chase someone.
She has pushed her way through the crowd of spectators and makes her run south. After a block of running through the night and the rain, she finally slows down. The rain is washing down her tears. “What’s what life has for me?”, she starts talking to herself. “I’m just the little fuck, available for anyone? Just brutalize me and I make you happy, or what?” She screams into the night. A few people turn towards her. But the streets are all but empty in this early night. “That’s fuckin’ not fair! I’m more than that!” Someone is coming towards her and she shrinks back. “NOT FAIR!” She starts walking straight and fast. “Everyone just sees a juicy piece of meat. A nice little fuck. And it’s not making it any better that I’m an elf. ‘Hey honey, what’d you expect?’ Ha! HA!”, she screams to an other pedestrian. “If something happens to me, it’s all on me. ‘Darling, why do you show yourself like that? What do you expect?’, ‘Sweety, you are so fair. How much do you charge?’” She sniffs. “I can’t walk down a street without somebody just starting to hunt me down – for fun. I can’t get a regular job. I try. I really try. And I FUCKING not give up! No! I am a human being. I have the fucking right to be free. And I will show it. I will fight for it. Not to be a fucking victim. If I want to show some legs I will do it. YES!”
She is in rage more than in tears now. “I will show it and it’s about what I want. Not about what people expect from me. What they want from me. It’s just… it’s just… it sucks big balls! Bowling balls! Life sucks!” She wipes away the rain and the tears with the back of her hand. Then stands still and looks around.
“And I have fucking no idea where I am. This is not Kansas anymore. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home”, she bangs her boots together. “Fuck.” Her commlink rings. She let’s it ring for a moment, then enerveted takes it, screams in it: “And what do YOU want from me?” The voice of Miss Simpson. “Do you like to walk all the way back?” “WHAT?!” “I tried to get your phone. You were disconnected. Some police shutdown of the phone lines.” “What do you want from me?!” “Go to that scooter up there. Standing at the lamp. See it?” “Yes.” “Get near.” “Why?” “Get near.” “Fuck you.” She is standing for a moment, thinking what to do. Finally she moves to that cheap motorbike. “And now?” “Wait.” The lock on the roller beeps. “Yours. Beats walking. I suggest you either toss it after that or repaint it. Or whatever. Good job by the way. Take care of yourself, okay? Night.” The phone hangs.
She is staring at the scooter. It is unlocked. She puts the phone away, mounts it, kicks it and the motor is coming to a spluttering life. She wipes again with the back of her hand over her eyes and threads into the traffic of pedicabs, bikes, cheap cars and other third world transportations, sighing. “Fuck it.”