Station, стр. 47
"For years, who knows how long for sure, there wasno Skirt. All of Station was just random Bars, some clusteredtogether, as you see on this side - the Setting. But as some weredriven to Station by melancholy, guilt, or fear, others were drivenhere by anger. They continued to act out, showcase violenttendencies. The Caesars would lock them up temporarily to cooldown, but they would come out just as white-hot. All they knew wasanger, all they wanted to do was inflict pain onto others.
"Regardless, things were still manageable at thatpoint. That is until this group of residents, we called themSeethers, found Elevations. They started ordering weaponizedElevations. Metal knuckles and hands. Blade inserts like yourtwisted friend. Muscle implants that increased strength and speed.If they thought they could hurt someone with it, they got it.Things that were once manageable spiraled out of control.
"Mister Rott has always maintained a laissez-faireapproach to the governing of Station. But the situation quicklygrew out of hand. The Caesars couldn't be everywhere at once, andday by day, more residents turned to Seethers, underwent CombatElevations. Eventually, Mister Rott decided that the two groups hadto be separated, and if the Seethers thought that continualfighting made them happy, so be it.
"Mister Rott gave a speech, one of the few he's everdelivered, and declared that the eastern third of Station would nowbe home to those who wanted complete autonomy. In the East, therewere no restrictions on Elevations. In the West, no Elevation couldbe executed for the sole purpose of harming another. What he reallymeant was that the fucking Seethers were gonna be sent packing Eastand if they wanted to kill each other, godspeed. Then, out ofnowhere, in that deepest of darkness between Haela and Solay, theSkirt appeared, and the Caesars went on a mission to round upSeethers and move them East.
"Most of the Seethers went willingly, more thanhappy to relocate to what would become a theater of pain. Butothers, of course, fought just for the sake of fighting. It tookseven Solays and seven Haelas, but almost all the Seethers wereeventually moved. As western Station was now known as the Settingand eastern Station the Rising, the term Seether fell to thewayside, and they became the Risers. The Caesars now mainly patrolthe Skirt, making sure Risers don't cross into our world, anddrunken residents like yourself don't fall into theirs."
Hadder sat engrossed in the tale, his Ragemomentarily quieted. Perhaps it, too, was intrigued. "But what dothey do over there, Royal?"
Royal finished his beer and shrugged. "Beats theshit out of me. There's two Elevation Centers over there, with norules to speak of. I'm sure all those angry freaks are Elevated tothe hilt; they may be more Elevation than human at this point."
"But what do they do? How is there even a semblanceof civilization over there?"
"Well, limited information comes across the Skirt,but from what I've heard, most spend their time like a lot ofresidents on this side. They drink, they smoke, they fuck, and theydance. Then they wage war. Apparently, groups of residents startedcliquing up at certain Bars. They spend all Solay getting wasted,then launch all-out assaults on other Bars. Sometimes they justarrange battles between Bars in open fields, like it was the goddamDark Ages.
Anyways, I heard it’s a wasteland over there now.Lots of Bars have been leveled or looted."
"Hell on Earth, huh?"
"Hell on Station."
"The man who killed Reena Song is over there. I haveto go."
Now it was Royal's turn to lose his cool. "Didn'tyou hear a goddam word I just said to you! There's an army ofkillers over there, half men, half weapons. And you don't even knowwho you're looking for. Great! A fucking twisted fellow with longblades on his forearms. Do you know how many Risers could fit thatdescription? Cause I sure as fuck don't. You'd be looking for aneedle in a haystack of needles, and all the needles are tippedwith poison. And as you're looking, dark creatures are hurlingspears at your back. Do you understand what I'm saying,Hadder!"
Hadder had never seen such anger come from Royal andappreciated it from his friend. Despite now viewing the worldthrough Rage-tinted glasses, Hadder could still recognize whensomeone was acting kind. "I do understand, Royal."
Royal, exhaled, deflated into the booth, exhaustedbut content that he got through to Hadder.
"You're saying I need to know who I'm looking forbefore I go over."
Royal jolted up, back straight. "That's not what I'msaying at all! I'm saying that crossing the Skirt is suicide! ThatI'll lose two good friends instead of one, you stupid bastard!"
Hadder held up a hand to calm his friend. "Iunderstand, Royal. And I appreciate your concern and yourfriendship. But I'm going, and you can either watch me go overthere blind, or you can help me get some intel before I go."
Hadder's words, tone, and demeanor left no room fornegotiation. Royal looked again at the man with whom he shared abooth. Royal stared into the man's eyes and was frightened by whathe saw. Gone was the Marlin Hadder that he knew. The man he sawlooked the same, sounded the same, and dressed the same, but wasmuch different from the man he met and shared so many pleasanttimes with. Where there was always a deep sadness within Hadder'seyes, there was now ice, a cold rage that refused to veer from itschosen path of destruction.
"Very little, if any, gossip comes over from theRising. And that which does rarely travels beyond an ear or two.Information about the Rising is a valuable commodity, one thatthose in the know hold close to their chests."
"And who's