Generator [v4] ghosts of reality

Yuri gave Camellia a plastic bag of items he salvaged from the nursery cart. He also gave her the blankets that padded his bras. The transporter was gone, then soon Camellia also disappeared into the fog with her child, leaving him alone to change back into his sewer suit. In the darkness he briefly watched the dancing flames of the nurse-maid’s uniform burn in a rusty metal drum. He kept her identity card as a souvenir. Then he headed for home...

Yuri lived in the low-end district of the residential zone; in a dilapidated building that had been condemned by the authorities several years before. Real estate developers had yet to show interest in tearing it down to construct a new dwelling in its place. The building was heavily-populated; a haven for the elderly, the infirm, drug users, the criminal or insane, or any combination thereof. The tenement was also infested with roaches; both of the six-legged, and two-legged varieties. It was one of the de facto headquarters, and rallying places for their subversive activities.

Rent was minimal; most tenants paid what they could afford to maintain a supply of basic utilities and a few general repairs to the building. Like Robin Hood, ro@ches subsidized most of the tenant’s expenses for the building from their ill-gotten gains.

The credits alone from Yuri’s mission tonight; transferred from Chamellia’s account, would go a long way toward the cause. The landlord, who lived in the building was sympathetic to their schemes. He was an older man, with long grey hair, and a thin but wiry muscular body who everyone in the building called ‘Buzz Manager’, as that was what was written on the piece of tape above a push button by the front door of the ancient brick tenement. No-one ever pushed the button, as the door to the street was never locked.

Buzz lived alone in a large apartment on ground level crammed from floor to ceiling, like a warehouse, with junk accumulated from decades of residents who had passed through, or passed away in the building. Most of the jetsam was kept in cardboard boxes which filled every room. Narrow corridors between stacks allowed Buzz to move around the apartment. Yuri often asked him why he was keeping all this stuff, to which Buzz always replied; “I never know when I might I might need it. I hate to throw items away.” Buzz claimed to have memorized the contents of every single box, but Yuri had his doubts. The man was as senile as he was eccentric. Yet, he was a hard worker.

Early every morning, until quite late every night, Buzz continually moved through the building to repair anything necessary to keep the building functional; patching holes in the wall, painting, fixing the plumbing and wiring or pouring tar on the roof. It was not an uncommon sight to see the agile Buzz chase mischievous neighbourhood kids down the hall with a large fire axe.

Yuri grabbed the rung of the heavy steel ladder to begin his ascent up the rickety fire escape attached to the brick wall at the rear of the building. The bottom portion was permanently extended just above dumpsters in the alley. As he climbed, the entire apparatus, consisting of ten flights of steps and sets of narrow landings, would rattle and shake, rusted metal squealing from the force exerted on the bolts. The sound was