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"Clancy. It's ritual time."
Looking up from the paper, half-filled with his own scratchy handwriting, Clancy met his father's scorching black eyes. He wore his ritual attire - a red cloak that obscured the lower half of his face - and Clancy had to physically restrain himself from cringing inside.
"Yes, Father Blurryface."
He got up from his desk, abandoning his pencil on the bleak grey surface and dragging his feet up the stairs to the ritual room. Clancy secretly hated living in the spiralling towers of Inner Dema. Especially when he was too tired to get out of bed yet was forced to climb five flights of stairs to the ritual room at 7 in the morning.
"May I excuse myself? I think I'm getting a migraine," Clancy lied halfway through the ceremony, watching his father roll his eyes in annoyance.
"I suppose. 5 minutes. No more."
Internally breathing a sigh of relief, Clancy scrambled out of the sight of the Bishops' judging gazes and the Heirs' insincerely empathetic glances.
He heard what the other Heirs said about him.
("He'll never make a good Bishop. Nevermind the head of the Bishops."
"I don't get why he doesn't have a bride yet! He's almost 20!"
"Do you think he's... you know... one of those?"
"Be gentle with the poor kid. Everyone knows he's special.")
But Clancy just ignored them, even when he had to force himself to do so. Even when he had to fight to keep himself alive.
Finally finding the bottom of the dizzying staircase, Clancy burst open the tower's door and stumbled outside. The air smelt of pollution. The air always smelt of pollution.
He found himself half-heartedly walking around the tower, taking a sigh of defeat and leaning back against the cold, black stone of Blurryface's tower. Nobody could see him here. Nobody could...
"Hey."
Clancy jumped out of his skin at the sound, whipping his head around to confront the noise with fists raised. To his surprise and slight discomfort, a man was standing in its place, a cigarette loosely hanging between his fingers. Clancy had no idea what to say.
"You know smoking's bad for you," he stated instead. The man glanced down at the cigarette as if just noticing it was there, before shrugging his shoulders and taking another drag.
"Everything's bad for you here."
And, well, Clancy wasn't sure how to respond to that. He just nodded noncommittally.
"Yeah. I guess." The man blew out his smoke into Clancy's face, before stubbing out the cigarette on the wall of the tower, leaving a black mark on the stone.
"Well, you better get back to your ceremony. Bye, Tyler."
Okay, how the fuck did he know that name? Clancy only used his real name when signing off his diaries. Clancy was basically his real name at this point.
All the Bishops and Heirs had fake names. It was just tradition, nobody knew why they did it. Tyler chose Clancy because it felt like the absolute opposite of his real name. Blurryface's real name was Nicolas, and his brother Zach chose the name Johnny. Everyone had one.
So, how did Cigarette Man know that he wasn't really called Clancy?
Stumbling back towards the door, Clancy practically went on autopilot as he climbed the stairs, unable to fathom what just happened. Did he imagine the man? Was he going insane? Or was that some kind of bishop in disguise, or someone using Psychokinesis?
|-/
Dear Diary,
Something weird happened today. I met a guy while I was outside skipping ritual. He had a green hoodie on with a yellow X over his heart, which I'm surprised he hasn't been arrested for yet. I thought it was illegal to wear yellow, but maybe they changed the law.
I doubt it, though. Nico's been tightening the rules lately, and I've noticed the ever-present frown on his face. Apparently more people, especially in the outer city, have started to believe that the Banditos are back.
I don't know what to believe. I wish my father would tell me the truth, but sometimes I wonder if he even remembers I'm his son. I think he just thinks of me as the one who'll take over as head Bishop when he's retired. I don't know, I don't think he experiences paternal instincts.
Talking of the Banditos, I found some old Bandito folk when I went exploring in the outer city last week. There was this nice little record shop I went in (with my balaclava on, obviously) and the girl at the till gave me a few recommendations.
I just realised the girl was wearing green and yellow as well. Is this what schizophrenia feels like? How strange.
Anyway, it was called Simulation Swarm, and it has made me want to learn the guitar. Or the ukulele. I don't think my father would like either.
Tyler.
|-/
The following week, Clancy decided to return to the outer city. He liked the newfound independence that escaping the inner city towers gave him. Everybody knew the Bishops, of course - but the Heirs were a little less well known, and often Clancy could go unnoticed in the furthest reaches of the city.
So, upon finding the quaint little record shop not far from the outer walls, he carefully removed the black balaclava from his head and stepped inside.
The same girl was sat at a chair not far from the till, feet up and tapping a rhythm on the desk. She was staring at a piece of paper in her hand that, upon closer inspection, was a map of Dema in dark green ink. She had the yellow tape on her shoulders again, and Clancy caught her eye as she glanced up to see who had opened the door.
"Hey!" she smiled amicably, a hint of recognition in her eyes. "You were here a couple weeks back, right? Feel free to browse, or I can give you another recommendation. We just got some older stuff in."
Giving her a nod, Clancy creeped around the record store, making sure to not make any noise as he browsed the new albums. Eventually, as he got to the back of the shop, the girl spoke again.
"I can give you another recommendation, if you like?" she giggled, folding her map away and stuffing it in her pocket. Clancy smiled, walking briskly over to the desk as she stood up.
"Here, I'll play it for you now. If you have the time." She opened a drawer in her desk, retrieving an old and battered CD from the bottom of it. It had a strange symbol drawn in sharpie on the front - '||=//' - and the letters 'TB' written thickly next to it.
"This is a song that my friend made. He's not happy with it yet. He wrote and sang the lyrics but he wants a good singer for the final recording," she explained, pressing play on the CD player. "It's called Bandito."
A soft, minor melody started to play out of the speakers, soon accompanied by a gentle but anxious voice singing a haunting tune.
"I could take the high road, but I know that I'm going low," he sang. "I'm a ban, I'm a bandito."
Clancy listened, entranced, as the track progressed. It was nothing like anything that he had ever heard before - it was magical. He never wanted the song to end.
"In the city, I feel my spirit is contained. Like neon, inside the glass they form my brain. But I recently discovered it's a heatless fire - like nicknames, they give themselves to uninspire."
Did Clancy's public name uninspire him? He never really thought about it, but using Tyler always felt like a rebellion of some sort. Even if only in his diary.
The song came to an end, and Clancy stayed silent when the girl looked at him expectantly for a response. After a long pause, he finally spoke.
"That was beautiful. But... couldn't you get arrested for it?"
The girl frowned, light entering her eyes as something dawned on her.
"You're not from here, are you?" she questioned, a slight urgency in her tone. Clancy shook his head quickly. "Fuck. This could be bad. As long as you're not from Mulberry Street. They're like the bishop's little pets over there." Clancy shook his head again.
"No, I'm from the Inner."
And before he knew it, Clancy was being shoved against the wall of the record shop by the woman, her dark blonde pigtails flying around as she discreetly took a penknife out of her pocket and held it against his neck.
"What--"
"Look here, bitch," she hissed, teeth gritted and eyes narrow. "I don't know what you're doing in the Outer, or how you found us without someone's help, but you better keep the fuck quiet about this place. Or they'll be discovering pieces of you for three months, and you'll be alive for at least two of them."
Before Clancy had a chance to process what he was just threatened with or decide on a reply, a low wolf-whistle sounded from the doorway into the back office.
"Woah, Debby. You've gotten more violent since I last saw you, and I don't even know how that's possible. What did the guy do? Touch your records without gloves?"
The girl - Debby - turned her head around with a fierce expression on her face. The pigtails once again hit Clancy across the nose.
"Hey, jerk!" she yelled angrily. "This little shit is a spy from the Inner!"
"Calm yourself, Debster. I lead him here. He's the guy I was talking about."
Craning his head to look at the guy, Clancy's eyes widened as he took in his appearance.
Same wild brown curls... Same inquisitive almond eyes... Same X over his heart. Same cigarette about to fall out of his hand.
"You're gonna drop that cigarette," Clancy blurted out, and the man rolled his eyes.
"Is that all you care about?" he answered. "Jeez. Okay, Debby, release him. He's more harmless than most people out here, trust."
Slowly, warily, Debby began to loosen her grip on his arms and allowed him to breathe a little more. She still looked like she would kill him if he moved an inch.
"Thanks."
The man strided towards him, outstretching his hand to shake Clancy's.
"Sorry, I haven't introduced myself," he murmured with a small smile. "I'm the Torchbearer. Leader of the Bandito Rebellion."
|-/
So - and there wasn't really anything else he could do, if you think about it - Clancy started running.
But he barely made it down the first aisle of records when he felt a sharp burst of pain blooming from the left side of his skull. He started to see blurry spots in his vision as he failed to keep himself upright, and the last thing Clancy saw before his world faded to black was a small smirk on the face of the leader of the Banditos.
What had Clancy gotten himself into?
|-/
Clancy fought the sleep attempting to seize his body once again as he blearily blinked his eyes open. For a moment, he forgot completely about what had happened the last time he was conscious, and wondered if someone had painted his concrete ceiling green while he was out.
Suddenly, the events of the previous day snapped back into place and Clancy shot up, immediately regretting it based on the sharp pain that pierced through his skull. He winced, let his head sink back down into the pillow, then tried again to sit up in a steadier fashion.
Only now could Clancy observe where he was. And he did not recognise a single thing.
He seemed to be in a dark green two-man tent, and the wind was billowing the fabric behind him. He pulled the duvet closely around him, now realising that it was made of some kind of animal hide. There was a mug of water next to his bed - which seemed to be just a mattress - and a green collared shirt next to it, folded up but still creased.
Clancy stared in horror as the zip on the tent started to be pulled open by an unfamiliar hand. A head peeked through.
"Remember me, or did I really concuss you?" said the face that Clancy was now glaring at. The Cigarette Man.
"What the fuck," Clancy whispered. "What the fuck."
"Looks like someone's angry. I didn't even realise Heirs were allowed to swear," The Cigarette Man chuckled. "Do you want a tour around camp or are you just going to keep staring at me like you're going to shit yourself?"
"Where am I? Where are we? What is this?" Clancy mumbled, breath picking up its pace. He felt his heartbeat start to race. Not now. He can't have a panic attack now.
The Cigarette Man's eyes softened slightly as he realised what was happening and stepped completely into the tent.
"You alright?" he said, quieter now.
"Am I alright?" Clancy repeated, eyes wide. "Am I alright? What the fuck..."
Clancy gripped the animal hide with all his strength and squeezed his eyes shut. He barely felt someone putting their hands on his shoulders.
"Hey. Clancy. Listen to me," Cigarette Man murmured. "Listen to my breath. Follow it. Just trust me."
He started to breathe louder, shoulders tightening then loosening as he took in deep breaths of air. Clancy, although reluctant, followed his lead and surely began to feel his heart rate slow.
"There you go," the man whispered, lightly brushing his fingers across Clancy's knuckles. "Feeling better?"
"Who are you?" Clancy finally asked.
"Let's walk. It's still early, so it'll just be us, but you need to familiarize yourself with your new surroundings. Put on your shirt." The Cigarette Man gestured to the collared shirt. Clancy now noticed it had yellow tape over its shoulders.
Clancy slipped the shirt onto his torso, still in a haze of confusion, and begrudgingly accepted a hand helping him up. They unzipped the tent and stepped outside.
Clancy was greeted by a sprawling mess of tents. About twenty metres away was a circle of log seats with the ashes of a bonfire in the middle, and in certain sections of the encampment were more robust huts, some still with wooden scaffolding attached.
The Cigarette Man walked in front, beckoning Clancy with a twist of his wrist. Clancy followed, and as they strolled around the camp, the man started to speak.
"My name is Torchbearer. I'm the leader of the Bandito Rebellion. We are escapees of Dema who believe that the city must be overthrown. I trust that you've heard of us." He - Torchbearer - looked at Clancy for confirmation. Clancy did not look back. "We have a few spies inside the city. Debby's one of them. She's the girl who recommended you a few songs from the record store."
"I've been watching you, Clancy. I guided you to that record store because I believe that you could help us achieve our goals."
Clancy's thoughts stalled as he processed the information that had just been given to him.
"Me? Why me? I don't think..." he trailed off as Torchbearer leaned against a tree trunk. They had somehow made it into the forest without Clancy realising. "I can't just disappear. I'm supposed to be a bishop when Nico steps down. The leader of the fucking bishops. They'd have everyone searching for me. God, they probably already do--"
"And we'll deal with that when it arises. But what do you want, Clancy? Do you want to go back to the Inner City? Do you want to become a Bishop? Or do you want to stay here?"
"I don't want to go back."