Part 3

Nobody called him Lumpy anymore. Something about Gordon frightened most people to their core. When he looked at you, you remembered the worst things you'd ever done, you imagined what it'd be like if he did them to you. Only the innocent were comfortable around Gordon Bayne, and there weren't many of those in Atro City.

Another decade later, the hook of a hand was as natural to him as the flesh and bone of his right. He was the biggest, strongest man on the crew, and he knew his craft as well as anyone, and many of theirs as well. Socially, you might think Gordon was dysfunctional and maladjusted. You'd probably be right. He'd suffered so many concussions in his developmental years, beaten by a string of would be stepfathers, gangs of his peers, and corporate enforcers who took exception to his existence, or just felt like it at the time. He talked slow, and sometimes slewed his words a bit, though it was less pronounced than as a child. Nobody had the guts to say anything about it to his face, but he still imagined he could feel what they were thinking, jeers and jibes meant to make him feel little, helpless, weak, and inferior... something he knew he was not, but just couldn't articulate it in a way anyone cared about. He always repressed his rage, his hatred for most of humanity, these sniveling bags of meat that wandered about acting like they were important, like the world wouldn't go on without them, like they were entitled to hurt others they thought beneath them.

But every now and then, the rage would slip out, like when the wolfbat chased a crew out of tunnel 14. He was nearby, and when it came flying out after them, he swung his hook into it's throat. Grabbing it by the neck with his good hand, he ripped out the throat, and slammed the head into the nearby rock wall three times, leaving it a busted lump of mush. The crew of workers, in fear for their lives of the wolfbat, looked on Gordon then not with appreciation, but even greater fear, as if the creature were nothing of a monster compared to him.

Jimmy Dortz and his sycophant Troll were still as brazenly abusive as ever though. They must have still seen him as the kid laying on the ground, getting the shit stomped out of him. Of course the difference was that now Jimmy was the pit's head foreman. Gordon had to do what he said if he wanted to get paid. Jimmy had learned to keep his abuse targeted in ways that wouldn't hurt the work though. No more "jobsite accidents" that hurt productivity. He hated Bayne, but Bayne still did good work, so he usually avoided doing anything stupid. But he longed for the day an opportunity would come.

Today Gordon was climbing Tower 4. The whole West Yard was shut down because a tunnel had breached a lava tube. when it caved in, there was a cascade failure in numerous tunnels above and adjacent to it, and even part of the nearby graveyard was caught up in the collapse. Even after death, Cage Consortium still found a way to put it's miners in the mines. But Tower 4 had a SatCom relay that was now out of alignment. A simple enough repair, but nobody else was willing to work in the West Field, so it fell to Gordon. Just as well, it meant he wouldn't have to be around people for awhile... or so he thought.

Cresting the top of Tower 4, Gordon was surprised by a squeaky voice, "Hello, who are you?" A small child sat perched on a utility box for the electronics.

Regaining his composure, Gordon eyed the boy, "Hey kid, you shouldn't be up here. It's not safe."

"You new here Mister? This whole island's not safe, but at least up here there's a good view."

The kid was right. Of course he still shouldn't be up here. But Gordon wasn't in a rush to get rid of him either. So he set about fixing the relay, and a little while later, he said, "Ok kid, I'm done here. I'm not gonna make you leave, but if you come with me now, I'll buy you a burrito from the food truck. They should have real smeat today." (synth-meat, or "smeat" as people called it, was the newest competition for Nutripaste. It was more expensive, but it was better every other way, and the food truck had it printed right there in whatever form you wanted, for only 5 coin).

Gordon watched the boy carefully as they climbed down, making sure he wouldn't fall. The burritos were excellent, even with fresh veggies from a local hydroponic collective.

But as they sat off to the side, trouble once again found Gordon Bayne, and again, it's name was Jimmy.

"Bayne, you freak! Get away from my son! Herman, get away from that motherfucker!"

Herman wasn't moving though. He struggled to swallow down the mouthful of food, and said back, "But Dad, he bought me food. Better than that shit you gave me for lunch too!"

Jimmy's face turned red with rage. One long stride and he was above his son and swinging a backhanded slap at his face. But it never connected. Faster than you could imagine, Gordon was on his feet, slamming his fist into the foreman, crushed burrito still in hand. Jimmy flew back as if hit by a truck.

Jimmy Dortz was no glass jawed wimp though. He'd run his own gang as a kid, and was able to work hard when he wanted to. He'd also done a few stints in prison, and was no stranger to that flavor of violence either. As hard as he hit, it would take more than one blow from Gordon to put him down. But Jimmy was also cunning, and cruel. He got to his feet, but instead of fighting back, called the other workers around him. "Did you see that? Hell's Bayne attacked my kid! He attacked me. Get him! I've got a week's pay for the one who knocks him out!"

As fearful as the rest of the crew were of Bayne, money is a hell of a motivator. And it didn't hurt that the people not paying close attention found it easy enough to believe that instead of the instigator of the violence, Dortz was the victim of it.

Time and again, other miners charged Gordon, and he shoved them back or knocked them down. eventually they started grabbing lengths of chain to swing at him from a distance. Tough as he was, he could not hold out as the numbers kept increasing and the chains pounded away at his body. The last thing Gordon saw before he blacked out was Jimmy dragging Herman away.

You know how in movies, you judo-chop someone in the back of the head and it's like an off switch? They just get knocked out, and stay unconscious for a convenient length of time? It doesn't really work like that. Unconsciousness from head trauma is fleeting. You might be incapacitated, but pretty quickly you're at least somewhat aware of your surroundings again. Gordon could see and feel what was happening even if he couldn't make his limbs cooperate to free himself. His shirt had been ripped away. His welding mask had been pulled back over his face. His limbs were bound in the chains they had beaten him with. Then he realized they were dragging him on a pallet barrow into the collapsed area of the West Field. Troll had stolen a worn down gravestone from the rubble and was bringing it over. More chains, more beating. Gordon thrashed and screamed but to no avail. They chained him to the gravestone, and threw him into the shaft. He tumbled down what was left of the tunnel until he finally fell still. Among all his other pains, now he could feel the heat rising. He managed to look up just as the lava slowly engulfed him.

But this was not the end...