Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Fountain, by Marcel Duchamp

After checking the contents of this famous briefcase, we settled in Jackie's family bar, run by his mother. We had just spent 30 minutes shaking hands with all his close friends, whom he had not forgotten to invite to this meeting.

Mama Welles, anxious to give us a warm welcome, had set the table. This expression, put into practice by the matriarch of a large Latino family, took on new proportions. She had ordered the strongest people to gather several tables and arrange them in the center of the room. Pepe, the bartender, had ordered the customers to clear out. "Priority to the family," he said, as his only explanation. Cerberus tried to help but was quickly stopped by Jackie who indicated the chair he needed to occupy. Mama Welles had grabbed his cheek between her index finger and thumb, like a child, to emphasize her good intention:

“What a well-bred boy, he doesn't put his feet under the table as soon as he arrives. Isn't that right Jackito?”

“I just came back from the Badlands, a real infierno there. Sorry if I'm looking for some rest on my way home. Be glad I'm bringing friends!”

The barmaid's remark went straight to my ego. There were few people who could boast about my relentless education’s effects.

“At least he learned some of my lessons...”, I added

“Wait, he hasn't broken anything yet. We'll do a review after the party is over and then we'll hand out the good points.”

Geryon could never resist bringing back me to sanity. I couldn't even enjoy an outside comment as he pulled me back into the heart of the battle named pedagogy.

Once everyone was well seated around the Welles' table, the dishes were as numerous as they were copious. Each one with its own spicy scent, flattering the hungry French’s taste buds. The generous portions that were served were greeted with as many differences as there were guests.

Cerberus recognized some of his recipes, and decimated the pasta dish to ensure the superiority of his cooking. Chiron looked with suspicion at the orange sauce taking up a quarter of his plate. For a moment, I thought he was going to unleash one of his drones to calculate the amount of amino acids in force. He didn't, preferring to follow his stomach rather than his reluctance. Geryon, this bauble princess, had not touched a single cutlery. His distinguished tastes were probably not transcended by such a rude, family meal... Delicacies easily got the upper hand over family gatherings: less noise, less witnesses, less mawkishness. Mundane meals cut to the chase, not bothering with empty discussions about the individuals present’s private life. Nothing but the concreteness of a business, the gains of each party, and finally the satisfaction of the primary need to eat. Neither more, nor less.

I hoped he would reassess this judgment in a foreign country, with people perhaps more open, and with the worries that pursued him far behind.

One of my brothers was unable to enjoy this sumptuous meal, nor to feed the conversations and laughter Jackie inspired in us. He was still struggling with whatever was in Arasaka's suitcase.

We heard the doors of the Coyote Cojo open as he approached, still plagued by the huge iguana we had thawed. His clawed paws tightened their grip with his every movement. I couldn't ascertain if this embrace was motivated by affection, or if the animal was just clinging to the linen shirt providing minimal body coverage.

Last possibility: the unbearable character of Marsyas was so powerful it also drove beasts crazy, which could not help but contribute to his downfall.

With my most plausible hypothesis in mind, I observed this moron struggling all over the room, shaking his captive arm in all directions, without bringing any alteration in the reptile's mood.

The table didn't know whether to laugh or to rescue the jester who was animating our dinner. Chiron and Cerberus were the first to shout solutions, while catching their breath diminished by laughter:

“Take it with your other hand, you moron!”

Chiron finally got exasperated...

“But I can't!!! The thing is full of spikes and scales, it’ll cut my finger off!”

“Oh I know! You have to put water on it! Besides, it will change color!”, Cerberus retorted.

I took my face in my hand, appalled by so much stupidity contained in one sentence. Geryon chuckled in his corner, completely relaxed in his seat. He looked at me with more amusement than compassion. Jackie had spit out his beer to indulge in the same mockery as our eldest.

“GET IT OFF OF MEEEE!!!!”

He was jumping now. Was it to test his tendon reinforcements or to scare the creature? It looked like an improvised courtship by a lame toucan. The iguana was not giving up any part of his skin, instead it was gripping it with a crazy determination. To such an extent that I could have offered it to join the team.

“You'll let go of him, pequeña basura!”

Mama Welles had taken matters into her own hands, tapping the animal's head with a teaspoon. Frightened by her voice, her fiery eyes, or by the gun hanging from her belt, the iguana broke away from its prey and landed on the ground. He gave the satyr one last bulging wink, before ducking into the duffel bag Geryon had opened.

“This is fucking disgusting. Medusa, how are you going to clean this up?" Marsyas asked me, putting his torn-up shirt on display.

“Uh... What?! Me, cleaning up your mess, where did you see that? You'll figure out a way to resew it. We’ll have to sell that lizard as soon as possible. We won’t impose it any longer.”

“It's an iguanid, Medusa. Moreover, it could be quite nice in a Natural History Museum, no?”, corrected me the naturalist Chiron, busy baiting the entrance of the animal's hiding place.

“In a zoo, yeah! You don't want this thing to get out, it could traumatize a whole generation of kids. We want to attract people, not scare them away! You’d make a good iguanid yourself... Pff”

Marsyas still couldn't digest the fact he had been bullied by someone smaller than him, and stickier too.

“Hurry and sit down! And eat before I give you a smack.”

Geryon had finally considered it worthwhile to intervene.

Mama Welles led him to his seat and put a knife and fork in his hands. She placed a good ladle of empenadas on his plate.

“You have to eat when you're young, especially when you're this thin. Look at that, he’s just skin and bones!”

“Did she just tell me I wasn’t her type?

Discreetly, I ordered him to stop his perverse allusions towards our host by mimicking his next beating. My fist came to strike my palm, and my eyes entered in contact with his to require him absolute silence. He answered me with that silly smile he used to wear on all occasions. Especially the most embarrassing ones...

“Medusa, I perceive an enormous energy. You hold it remarkably very well, but I feel you need to pour it out a little. How about a tarot reading?”

Among other oddities of nature and generous Valentinos, we had also met the tenant of an esoteric store. Misty was Jackie's girlfriend, a young woman full of spirituality, with whom I already enjoyed chatting with.

Her choice of dark colors on her clothes but also around her eyes may have led me to believe she was inhabited by an almost obligatory pessimism in such a city. But it was nothing of the kind.

Well, I mean, not entirely.

She had a special connection to another world, on which we didn't quite agree on its true nature. However, our constant need of elsewhere, of dreaming, transported so much our beings that our agreement was practically sealed. The softness in her look, in her gestures, in her words, were certainly Jackie's greatest weaknesses. Her inexplicable closeness to imperceptible forces, but nevertheless responsible for the currents of the world, marked her with an uncommon originality. Far-fetched for some, bewitching for others. I had no need to remove my glasses to understand her character. Thinking herself as an extra on a teeming stage, from time to time a confidant for the main protagonists of her life, she covered herself with cotton to cushion the shock of the truths she could give. Without ever being sure of which ones would borne out. Both of us weren’t so different. Except she possessed the benefit of the doubt compared to me. My visions only brought confirmations…

I would have liked to see her less hidden in her long sweater, her eyes freed from the locks that surrounded her.

“It's vey nice of you to offer, but I'll have to decline. Fate gives me signs every day, and they never work in my favor...”

“Oh... Too bad… It's not every day you meet someone with such an emotional dynamic. Feel free to drop by if you change your mind. Or just to have a girl talk.”

She winked at me warmly. Perhaps one day I’d like to stage my future and leave it to the interpretation of this introverted shaman.

The owner of her establishment, a ripperdoc former boxer, spoke next:

“I don't do iguana wounds, but for any other inconvenience, you can consult me, kids. For a reasonable price. Jackie's friends are mine.”

Cerberus, between two mouthfuls, added to his invitation:

“I don't forget the call of the ring, I'm ready for a round whenever you want Vik!”

The ripperdoc just shook his hand to confirm their manly appointment. I took the lead in thanking him.

“Thank you very much Viktor, and thank you all for your great hospitality. We didn't think we would find people to rely on so quickly. We’re a long way from home and...”

Jackie pulled his chair closer to mine to ask a question that must have been itching to be asked for some time.

“By the way, what are you planning to do with your first few days in Night City? What the hell are French people doing in this town? If you're looking for a job, I'm your guy. We could form a great team together. A bunch of mercenaries, would be preem! You've more than proven yourselves, and I promise, no more corpo bullshit without you knowing about it first.”

I expected this question to come up again. A group of Frenchmen, here, so soberly dressed, could only fuel the rumors. I took special care to articulate my answer, which was somewhere between truthful and equivocal. An artist was, after all, a specialist in pretense.

“Well, we had the project to rehabilitate culture in Night City. The opening of museums in partnership with the city council seemed to us very appropriate. We are restoring some very old works, and we thought the New United States of America would be perfect for...”

“Are mercenaries popular here?”

I instantly recognized Geryon's curiosity. He was already planning something for his little flock. To the attic, my desire to spell out my socio-cultural ambitions for this place...

“But yeah, guys! Wake up! Culture? Here? Nobody cares! Morgan Blackhand, Adam Smasher, David Martinez... Have you ever heard of these legends?”

The five of us were speechless, bewildered by gaps that weren’t meant to be for scholars of our magnitude. I just had enough time to skim several shards before setting sail for the land of the free. Geryon pinned this information to his wall of ideas, before extracting some complements from Jackie:

“Let's just say culture could be a good coverage, and a rich source of legal networks.... These guys must be dead to get that kind of fame.”

“Damn right. That's how it works here. A spectacular death gives you a ticket to join the big boys. Forever! Little bonus is a special drink at the Afterlife, bar designed for legends... There weren't 300 of them. All unique, with their own style. Champions, down to the bone...”

“Honestly, there's nothing I can't handle. These guys are not cut from the same cloth. I can crush them all. And build my own modern Pantheon.”

The fearless gleam that had lit up in our elder's eyes didn’t please me at all. I knew no rain could weaken it, it would only grow with the caresses of a complicit wind. The spark would soon reach the powder, to complete an explosion taking away in its breath the fools who thought they had anticipated it. Us. I wanted to clarify our objectives by calling out to my brother:

“The only legends occupying my memory are those at the origin of empires, and masterpieces... Much too old for you to know... I think we can leave a mark on the world in the construction of memories, of buildings... Destruction leaves a bitter mark on beings, even centuries later.”

“My sister is a true utopist. Poets have never left posterity anything but unproductive dreams. Mercenaries have a currency, a code they define as they please and the possibility of penetrating the collective imagination. My choice is quickly made, we’ll be cyberpunks.”

“I won't let you drag the little ones into your delirious whims!”

My tone had escaped me, so the table was pulled from its conversations to focus on our argument. I hated outrageousness, but right now, I could clearly see the strong threads supporting his caprices. Greatness was for him an ambition worthy of our daily struggle against the forces that tore at our souls. Greatness had the outlines of a cure.

Surprised by my answer, he turned sideways to face me, avoiding my hidden gaze. His hands clasped between his knees, his carnivorous businessman stance polishing my apple, subtly indicated to me how much rationality he would put into his speech.

“Medusa. In Rome, do as the Romans do, don't you agree? There is nothing to stop us from merging our projects so that each one of us gets something out of their respective advantages. Contacts, networks, reputation, are all necessary assets for your wish, as for mine. The "little ones" have had to deal with much worse. I won’t put anyone at risk. You were the one who decided the reins should be mine, right? You can play around in your little museum, I'll manage the gigs to ensure a steady flow of money. It's a win-win situation!”

What appeared to everyone’s eyes to be a quiet upgrade, I saw it as an intrinsic reprimand, a slap on the wrist for being too cautious to match Geryon's fiery avidness. Was he making me regret giving up command to him, after a mixed democratic vote? Was he going to comply with my desires for tranquility, for isolation among my reconstitutions in a dark den, with thick walls and no windows? I asked only for modest arrangements, derisory compared to his Homeric aspirations.

I let my guard down, granting him victory. I often gave it to him, so as not to bruise an already gloomy future any further. I could make small exceptions in my program, and agree to carry out some gigs, if it benefited the greatest number. What could be more beautiful than to contribute to the triumph of my elder brother’s will?

“Alright. But all decisions must be submitted to the same election system we have respected for the last 10 years. Every vote counts... The conclusions retained must follow well-defined moral and ethical principles. It’s possible for mercenaries to accumulate material AND human wealth. It is above all the wealth of the soul that one must seek.”

“This has never put bread in anyone's mouth Medusa....”

He still dared to reply?!

“No need for bread when the soul has its grain to grind...”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cerberus scratching his head in confusion.

“So... we're opening a mercenary museum?”

Geryon got up from the table, invigorated by the frenzy preceding the fall...

“Not exactly Cerberus. We're going to be the new shooting stars of Night City. We’ll unhook our dreams and turn our accomplishments into new constellations. Jackie, welcome to the Tartaros Project!”

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

We had left Heywood after a good night's sleep required by the landlady. Our departure had been delayed by the pleas of the latter, firmly opposed to our wandering in the streets of the city, unaccompanied, and without any knowledge of the place.

In spite of all our attempts to reassure her, we could only succumb to her touching blackmail, forcing us to call her Mama, to take her food supplies, and to come back whenever we wanted. We all answered in the affirmative by packing up her gifts, except for Geryon, who was infuriated by so much soppiness. When he had something on his mind, no Greek hero had arrows powerful enough to make him deviate from his path.

Our group strolled innocently through the crowded streets of the City of Dreams, too much for not attracting attention. It seemed the weirdness had taken the place of propriety. I could observe strange outfits, whose confection left free large parts of skin and the fantasies of the passers-by. However, against all odds, we seriously denoted in this eccentric decor. Dressed in black and white, in old-fashioned costumes, without any bright color elating our hair, we looked like Romans in the middle of Carthage.

Especially since none of my brothers seemed to be getting used to this brand new way of life at the moment.

Cerberus had in the meantime received his huge hammer, which he nonchalantly let drag on the ground, extracting cries of pain from earth that were almost unbearable. His imposing build did not bother with politeness, jostling without apology the inhabitants crossing his path.

Marsyas stumbled around muttering a series of words that had no correlation. Except for "implant", "cock" and "performance", an association that immediately found an echo in my mental repertoire of nonsense to avoid. As a consequence, his noggin got a hit from my book, to shut up his absurdities. In a city like this, I suspected he would find a fortune to suit his appetites. My gesture was quite insignificant, when I considered the extent of his opportunities...

Chiron, tirelessly quiet in our tight formation, could not interrupt the tapping of his fingers. As if fused to his machine, no larger than a telephone, they glided across the touchpad, promising its components uninterrupted communication and an unbreakable bond of electrical currents. How could such a tiny device contain language, speakers, and recipients all at once? Only their inventor could enlighten me. Alerted by my reflection, Chiron looked up for only a few seconds, smiling slightly at me, perhaps thinking I was more concerned than I should be.

“They have nice subnetworks here. Don't worry, once I get settled, I'll return to the piano.”

“You'll do well to use that dexterity to make instruments talk. You know you have a wide range of talents... Just be careful you don't fall or hurt your eyes with that thing…”

“Yes, Mom! Since we're giving each other advice, you shouldn't feel obliged to obey every order from Geryon. I'd much rather listen to you.”

“I don't follow them blindly. He's right, I have to adapt a little, his idea doesn't seem so crazy to me... If you don't think he's making the best choices, go along with mine?”

“That's exactly what I’m doing. Still, he often makes you do stuff that put you off. I don't want that to become a habit. If you don't feel like it, spotting a discomfort, you have the right to blow him off. I’ll support you no matter what.”

“It means a lot to me, but I assure you there's nothing that isn't agreed upon. You shouldn't worry so much.”

At the end of my sentence, I affectionately pinched his chin, more than moved by his fears. He nodded before returning orchestrating his microchip concerto.

Finally, my last cad...Wait, where was he?

My search was cut short when my gaze lingered on a very elegant man, ogling a showcase of ready-to-wear clothes I guessed reserved for a certain elite. I approached him, hands behind my back, with the same step that children take when playing hide and seek. As light as a feather.

 I placed myself next to him to better spy the object of his covetousness. Once I was sure my presence had taken him out of his calculations, thanks to a shiver made visible by his goose bumps, my shoulder went to his to start a discussion:

“" Jinguji..." Olala! Now I understand better the need for cash inflow!”

“Have you seen the clothes you buy? As if lace and velvet were cheap... If you compare the supply and the demand...”

“No no.... Bzzt... No numbers for Medusa, she doesn't understand them.”

He chuckled, before taking a more serious tone:

“How's that for an arrangement? You create sculptures or paintings for the corpos to cough up some cash, I'll provide you with the raw material, the contacts, and spare you the business dinners with their frills. To keep all this afloat, we impose ourselves as overpowered mercenaries. If you could charm the very first clients with... well, you know... I wouldn't mind.”

“Hmm... I'm down with that. As for my "skills", I could play them if we weren't just becoming "almighty" mercenaries. "Vigilantes" sounds good too. Of course, I'm not including the bonuses: a large workshop and a light schedule for the runts...”

“You and your obsession with educating the disadvantaged... You had to bring that in your luggage... Okay, it's granted.”

“Wonderful!”

We concluded our contract with a handshake that was more amused than solemn. The vitality his face reflected awakened all my senses: his cheeks flushed with excitement, his smile prolonged by optimism, the warmth of his hand gaining its surface after my agreement. I wanted this energy to follow him in each of his initiatives, while chasing forever, in the rabelaisian abyss, what he had brought back from the old French lands...

I stayed a moment in the same place, regretting his body’s ardor having left mine to return to lecture the happy fools treading for the first time a true renewal. I turned my head in my brothers’ direction, not too fast, as not to hasten the end of their happiness’ spectacle. I saw them, in turn, move away from me to reach this universe that did not count us among its tributary relationships. They became so small, as they left my contact, to sink in these acrid lanes, mixing somehow with beings even more tiny.

I watched, captivated, as a centaurea, an amaryllis, a sunflower and a dahlia whirled in a dry wind, to join other duller flowers, likely to welcome them in spite of their differences. I hadn't noticed that unconsciously, my hand had risen in their direction to summon them to retreat. Or to express my dependence created by their simple presence.

My fear of seeing their colors fade, the juice of their flower stolen, their presumptions trampled, took over. How many had fallen under the blows of their dreams? Which pavements had been painted with the blood of a Martinez? Which gazes had met their last glare in the eternal lights of an insomniac city? The one and true persistent legend that came to my mind was the one inherited from Balzac's character, whose disappointment was such it had managed to change him, making his candor another of his Lost Illusions*...

I closed my eyes to calm my anxieties, passing the baton to my breathing, which I was taming with difficulty. One resolution smothered all the others once I had regained my senses: I wanted to appreciate this city with my own eyes, without the help of my tinted glasses. My world was shrouded in black, protecting it from my devastating omniscience. Chiron's invention preserved both the outside and me from the depths of souls. No gratitude could live up to the service he had rendered me by handing me those spectacles, one fine morning.

But, at that very moment, I wanted to apprehend what was around me by contemplating authentic nuances.

Controlling my tremors, I seized my glasses. I dislodged them and let them hang loosely in my hand. I could have dropped them for lack of grip on my limbs. Exhausted in advance by my breach of etiquette, I struggled to domesticate the wandering of my eyes.

No lightning bolt came down on me.

They were acclimatizing quite well to the brutal colors, making sure my retinas didn't burn during the sequencing of so many movements. All was brightness, artificial and combative. Thousands of lights were showing their dazzle by overtaking the others, in the form of cars or billboards. In this contest of outrageousness, the inhabitants also participated. Strolling in a circuit of joints, streets and roads mimicking connections, they fed an immense heart beating to the rhythm of the crackling neon lights.

I didn't really know who to trust anymore: my preconceived notions of this place as pretentious and falsely alive, or my open mind willing to pick up the positive points....

This city had swallowed up so many lives, it had generated so much controversy regarding its reservoir of accomplished dreams... I could only compare it to Duchamp's Urinal, which left me perplexed in the manner of all twentieth century works. Ugly, vain, with a flushing system that took away what was left of you... I felt sorry for the poor people who died here, because it was dramatic to die in such a hideous metropolis...

It had at least the merit of taking my glasses off.

As I walked with growing confidence to discover Night City, I was stopped in my tracks by a breakthrough in my field of vision. On my left side, stood a huge building, mostly supported by entire walls of glass... In this darn glass, my pupils had plunged...

“Well, well, well, my dear... Aren’t we fooling around?”

No. Not now, not here.

My body froze instantly, muted by panic, mired in a flutter that would not yield any reaction. I forced my eyes to stare straight ahead, focusing on a board presenting a bar. Naked women, seemingly holograms, surrounded a man watching a braindance...

“Don't try to escape, sweetheart. I’m afraid all your attention is on me. So you finally decided to come to America. You listened to your brother after all. I thought you'd refuse...”

His syrupy voice, his sardonic face I imagined without having to face it, everything about him disgusted me. My repartee replaced my distaste.

“Yes, he is convinced we’ll find a solution here. The corporations possess all the knowledge and...”

“And you believed him? What allows you to hope for a way out? Still so naive, still so... Passive... Rah, no country will release you from your past Medusa, or from your debt...”

“I know that. You remind me often enough. I just wanted to...”

“Satisfy your brother's good pleasures. Oh, and flush out a safe home for your "little ones". But Medusa, have I taught you nothing by giving you those eyes? Now you know the pleasures of one are fluctuating, and the safety of others is constantly disturbed by those pleasures... You go to a demon-infested city to find a paradise. What an idea!”

“You've had your say, now you go back to your lair and leave me alone.”

“You repudiate me without greeting her? She also followed you here!”

What I dreaded the most appeared in the reflection of the windows. Blonde curls, sublimating a look full of malice, of a blue that would absorb the entire ocean. She was standing next to me. I was running away from her image, by all means. Her schoolgirl laughter put a bit of ocean in my eyes, which struggled to swallow its waves. 

With great speed, I put back my glasses, to break at all costs this portrait of my past. The curse insisted to plough my heart.

“Don’t bring her back... Please...”

My pride had retired in favor of my lull. I could no longer bear, even for a split second, to hear the flower that had escaped me repeat its last moments of joy.

“Glasses are useless, no subterfuge will prevent her from reminding you your fault. Your eyes shall betray you as soon as they judge it necessary. Speaking of which, do you recall the poem you liked so much... I'll sing it for you!”

“Stop it”

My hands could not support my head, no eyelid could contain such an ocean. The murderous words mingled with childish laughter to defeat the last ramparts of my reason.

““Blue or black, all beloved, all fair,/ numberless eyes have seen the dawn;/they sleep in the bottom of graves/and the sun still rises..." You see, I’m not the one phrasing it, it is Prudhomme! No glasses, no tomb, shall hide what characterizes you Medusa...”

“Stop... dishonoring... what... I love... the most... damn it! Shut her down!”

“At least give her a sign, if not a life...”

A much heavier noise had conquered the atmosphere, bringing me back to reality. I lowered the hands I had placed over my ears and began to wipe the tears from my cheeks before they could be seen. Looking up, I confirmed what I had guessed was a gunshot, fired at the window. The shards of glass weren’t harmless, they could still exert a power over me. But they wouldn't have the same attractive force as a huge pane of glass. Geryon had blown away whatever was tormenting me, in the most radical way possible.

“Is he still here?”

“No... I can't hear him anymore...”

“Great. Stay close. In the case he shows up again, I’ll blow his head off. Corpo property or not, I don't care.”

“Hm. Thank you, Geryon.”

My arms wrapped around my chest as I sought comfort. My confidence had evaporated with this monster’s words, and I felt frail and miserable after such an episode.

My other brothers quickly surrounded me, covered with the same anxiety as I had endured before.

“Are you sure you're okay, Medusa?”

Marsyas was the first to inquire about my condition.

“Yes yes, nothing serious. He was just declaiming his usual rubbish.”

Chiron touched my glasses with his fingertips, probably checking if they were not cracked.

“I'll double the thickness and make some changes to increase the opacity.”

I nodded weakly so as not to interfere with his speculations. I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of my favorite lollipops. Their taste relaxed me somewhat, with only one of my senses being engaged in a trivial activity. The mint invaded my palate and chilled my still quivering muscles.

Cerberus struck the building with his foot to vent his anger, the final sign that told Geryon it was time to act.

“Well, I'll leave you be for a few hours. It's high time the project took shape.”

“Where are you going? Are you leaving her in the middle of the street? She's still in shock...”

Cerberus was beginning to lose his temper, his adrenaline had found its pretext to break free.

“You’re by her side, aren't you? Here, I have three bottles left, give them to her every two hours, the symptoms should dissipate. It is becoming urgent to take things in hand.”

He threw the holy water at them before merging into the crowd he had already become accustomed to. He had wasted no time in getting his landmarks. Cerberus put his jacket on my shoulders before asking me what I wanted to do.

“What I would like to do... Is a little guided tour...”

They all sighed in unison; nothing annoyed them more than my thirst for knowledge. I kept my acting for a few more minutes, using their kindness to satisfy my desires of the moment...

Geryon’s POV:

Every drop of rain that weighed down the leather of my jacket annoyed me a little more. The white cross was finished, I started the corners.

“It's up to you. You can die in this sordid alley, between two dumpsters. Hopefully, rats or scavs won't give you time to rot.”

I was about to finish the second wreath. I looked up for a moment to support the corpo's gaze as his chilled body hung limply against the wall, his feet no longer touching the floor.

“Or to honor our little arrangement. We agreed on a batch of ten shares. And since you're a man of your word, you're going to take it... right?”

I tightened the grip of my left hand around his throat. The unintelligible gurgles coming from his open mouth didn't suit me well. I looked down at my Rubik's cube again. A final combination finished it off.

“Okay... Argh... It's okay! MERCY! Kpff...”

I wouldn't be able to get anything more out of it. I spread my fingers and let him crash to the ground. Bloody spittle stained his cheeks and ran down his reddish jugular, as he wriggled away from me. I put my derby on his thigh to immobilize him.

“Remember the terms? That's 0.2% dividends in your pocket. And 100,000 eddies in mine. If the business works out, you'll achieve a rapid return on your investments in a few weeks.”

“Kof... and if prices collapse?” he coughed. “My company will fire me. That's all their own funds...”

“It's the law of the market, buddy. People get screwed every day by assholes like you. But trust me, it's better to piss off a corporation than the leader of the Tartaros.”

Short of breath, jaw hanging, the corpo tried hard to hide his tremors. He got up on his elbows and gave himself all the trouble of the world to plunge his optics in mine. His eyes took on a bluish glow, and the amount due appeared immediately on my checking account.

“Congratulations. You've won a share of Night City's greatest treasure.”

“Th...thanks to you. Mister...”

“Geryon. I hope for your sake our paths will only cross again for another partnership. Good luck.”

I was tired of the aversion corporatist vermin inspired me, who dragged themselves along the ground with the energy of a corpse.

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

“So, what do you think?”

I let my gaze wander from the perforated frames to the feet of the ageing columns, which it was impossible to understand how they could support such a building. Medusa's mind would have easily rambled about the splendor of the building once it was renovated. Mine was busy calculating the cost of repairs.

“Hard to say. Is it marble?”

My hand brushed the cold stone of one of the wall's pilasters. This fragment of Europe was already beginning to revitalize me.

“Yes, they all are. The floor too. The roof is slate. But many other stones were used in its construction. All from noble materials...”

The Administrative Manager did not leave my side. He seemed determined to sell me his museum.

“Mmh. The tapestries are to be redone. The insulation too, obviously. And I'm not even talking about the whole piping system...”

“You would nevertheless benefit from one of the largest living areas in the city. And located in the center of town, too.”

“Who knows the plans of the building, apart from the administration?”

“It was donated to the municipality by Mr. Richard Night. No one else is involved. If you conclude the purchase, we will obviously erase all traces...”

“For 150,000 eddies less, perhaps your offer might begin to intrigue me. And I'll include the repairs in that price.”

“That is to say... this museum is priceless. You put me in a very delicate position...”

“Come on, nobody else will buy it. You know that. And you could take credit for supporting a charity initiative. An opportunity to reclaim the influence the corpos have stolen from you for far too long. That's my final offer.”

The office worker scratched his ear with his low-end cyberware, squinted at his notebook for one last time, then he faced the facts:

“Do you have a pen on you to close the deed?”

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

“Here we go! As you can see, the inventory is complete: all the furniture has been delivered. The repairs have been done, and apart from a few leaks, there's nothing left to fix. 1500 square meters to have fun with your family...”

My hands were firmly planted on the ebony table in the center of the living room. As my position as head of the family demanded, I communicated my information and orders to the family members.

“Chiron, you will take care of the armory and the control room. Marsyas, the bar and reception are yours. Cerberus, the theater, which will be used as a training room, is your responsibility. I take the office, the meeting room and the bedroom upstairs. And finally, you, Medusa, have the basement workshop. There is also a hall of mirrors and... I have installed your greenhouse.”

“I thank you for that, it had to do with health emergency. I haven't seen a single plant since we arrived...”, replied the interested party, who had only looked up at the mention of her living space.

“I still wonder how you were able to find this in such a short time! It's almost as big as Arasaka's headquarters!" said Marsyas, who couldn't stand still and opened one by one the drawers of the kitchen.

“It's as if we were super rich...”

Suddenly, a loud crash confirmed he had dropped all the silverware I had imported from France. I rolled my eyes at my sister, who showed her support by tilting her head with a sorry look.

“Hmm... We need to discuss the rules and recruitment," I said. “As you know, each of you will be responsible for ten protégés. Choose them carefully after the selection tests. Medusa and I will take the ones with the best scores on the average of the tests. As for the tests, we have designed them to highlight the qualities and values we must embody: physical strength and endurance, intelligence, culture, talent and altruism. You will be your apprentices' mentor until the end. Is that all right?

“Got it, Geryon," said Chiron. “And what about the rules? What do you propose?”

The centaur already began the installation of  his inventions under the marble slabs...

“Showing respect for cultural institutions and for each member of the gang seems essential to me" contributed Medusa.

“Everyone should also pledge to help members and non-members who are unjustly endangered” Cerberus dared. “Good way to build group cohesion and trust...”

“Good ideas” I retorted.

“I also suggest we limit private initiatives as much as possible: our apprentices will have to swear allegiance to us, members of the Circle, before making decisions affecting the clan’s renown.”

Medusa had written in her notebook absolutely all our proposals. Without her help, I would never have been able to raise the money needed to build our home. I had drawn on my personal capital, but her "manipulations" had considerably increased the sum. While retaining the loyalty of a certain upper-class public, with well-filled wallets...

“We reuse my concept of Athenian democracy... Debate and collection of ideas, vote by show of hands, deliberation, application. Simple as that!”

Proud of her demonstration, she scribbled something quite large on her page. Should have been another inspiration she wanted to exploit later. Or maybe a drawing of Cerberus, who was slumped over in his chair, looking like a complete idiot...

“Nothing else to propose, I think we've done the trick”, said Chiron with a shrug.

“Anyway, we’ll be able to define precisely those ideas when the first disciples will arrive...”

“Well, guys, that’s not that I’m bored, but... I’M BORED. Thanks, Geryon for the blabla and stuff, but I have an appointment to honor at Jig Jig Street in 5 minutes, so I’ll delta!” exclaimed Marsyas.

“Marsyas don't tell me you planned to visit street workers at this hour?!”

Medusa, discomfited, had let her jaw hang and I had contracted mine in a rictus.

“Before meeting your courtesans, Marsyas...” I uttered.

“I called a tailor, he’s waiting for you at the door. He’ll design our uniforms. Let me remind you how important your behaviors and bodies personify our clan.”

“I picked our symbol too” added Medusa.

“It will be the head of our dear Kronos. I made the sketch from a sculpture. Gentlemen, you’ll experiment the needle of one of the best tattoo artists this city owns tomorrow, so try to stay sober until then...”

“Hey, my main task is to deliver flyers to lure common people, who will come to our buildings! I'll give them a taste of paradise...” Marsyas defended himself with a wink Medusa avoided.

Cerberus, who had woken up from his brain freeze, asked our specialist of Ancient times one last question.

“But why Kronos in particular? No link with erudition...”

To this dialogued course, Medusa immediately responded present. She had risen, had firmly anchored her posture by leaning on the central table, and gave a dramatic dimension to her riposte.

“Because we'll be the titans who were once locked up in Tartarus, who will finally come out to challenge the new gods of this era.”

“Oh yeah, fuck, when you put it that way... On the other hand, it's better not to reveal this to corpo investors... Hehehe… For our good advertisement, you know?”

I saw Marsyas stop walking, turn towards us, a wide smile on his lips. He ran his hands through his dissident curls, spreading the electricity produced by a brand-new bullshit...

“Publicity... The genius I am could have a brilliant idea... Cerberus, I'll need your help!”

“Let’s get one thing straight, you're not getting anything that requires my nudity...”

I contained with the strength of a thousand giants the astronomical "no" that had almost manifested itself. Medusa joined her hands, as touched by grace. Me, I double-locked up my instinct.

“Marsyas, I am curious to see what you concoct for us!”

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Medusa’s POV:

We agreed, seeing in his collaboration a first milestone for his future commitments. It was for his experience, to encourage his initiatives, to increase his confidence... So many arguments I had put forward and I regretted deeply.

In the third row, on a rather isolated table, Chiron, Geryon and I were letting our deepest fear infuse. Invited in a shady bar by the satyr, we had been asked to order a drink, while enjoying the show. But what was it? The representation of Beauty in Death? Of nationalism in French romanticism? Of the responsibility of publishers in the society’s reading habits?

Clearly, nothing clever nor sophisticated would pass through this greasy spoon. My two dumbest brothers were about to promote our business, right in the middle of a den full of head to toe chromed social rejects. And since the house did not serve wine, I’ll content myself with my book of the day, loyal and constant in its task of distraction.

José-Maria de Hérédia**, save me from the madness threatening my composure...

“What the hell did you have in mind? Why the fuck did you say “yes”?!” Geryon growled, his nervousness reflected in the compulsive tapping of his shoes.”

“The question I ask myself is: should I film the carnage or not?”

Chiron had seen the opportunity to bring out his old camera. To my great surprise, he wasn’t the most exasperated of my siblings, one could even say he was enjoying the bloodbath Geryon would inaugurate without delay.

“A word before our marvelous entry into the big league?”

He was filming me now, perhaps to immortalize my wrinkle-free face before the catastrophe.

“Yes. Let's pray.”

In an attempt to alleviate my older brother's obsessive tics, I named an essential step forward I had finalized on my own:

“Did you know the town hall granted me the right to chair an exhibit in the downtown museum? If they're interested in my work, they've even agreed to give us lecturer positions at the university. Can you imagine the visibility?”

“Is this really official?”

“They're probably calling me back very soon...”

“Forget it. Do you really believe they won’t get wind of this merry chaos? We’re fucked. And nobody calls you when you’re fucked. And then... I just gave you a holo, you still don't know how to use it properly.”

“But I do! Look, I managed to link a picture of Jackie to his number.”

He whistled to imitate a feeling of amazement.

“Impressive... Chiron, the techie, what grade would you give her?”

“I'll always give Medusa a 20 out of 20, because It's not easy for her to understand AND accept technology. After all, she was brought to a city where cyberwares are idolized! She’s Miss "paper at all costs, no shards", that's not a small effort...”

Satisfied with the nerd's death blow, even if it didn't radically value my progress, I turned back to Geryon like a conqueror would disdain the losers. I took my most upright posture on my stool, letting my head throne in the heights of victory, and conceded him a beautiful:

“Et toc!”

“But who still says "et toc!"??? In 2077??? Medusa, live in the present time for pity’s sake....”

His annoyance, he had to restrain it. Because the stage of the bar was filled with musical instruments familiar to me. The drums, worn out by the energy of its drummer, and the electric guitar, abraded by time, found their owners in a flash.

The three elders were forging their weapons to face the deluge, the cadets were organizing it meticulously.

They had invaded the scene with their disheveled hair, their crumpled clothes and their ruddy faces. I suspected a quick stop at the bar to soak up some courage, or alcohol, to get through the effort of the show. The crowd cheered as soon as they entered, whistling and bellowing to keep the music going. These good people were asking for entertainment, and they were sure to obtain it. I tried to ignore the blond young man’s insistent greetings and concentrated on my poems.

He took the microphone with drunken awkwardness, to introduce himself to his audience:

“Good evening everyone. Hip. Tonight, we wanted to perform a song of our own composition... Which should be used as springboard to our very new association! I’ll be your singer... My brother here will take care of the percussions, and my three companions just over there can give you other details if you ask for them! Hip... Come on, fellas, are you hot????!!!”

“Yeah come on, we've been waiting for an hour!”

A barfly had spoken up, completely unaware of what was about to happen. I was watching the structure of the roof, the solidity of the building, to make sure it would not collapse under so much nonsense...

“Ladies and Gentlemen...!”

His shirt lost a button... The red of his cheeks got promoted...

“The Tartaros!”

The instrumental was not bad, if we disregarded the randomly struck cymbals, or the slowness of Marsyas' diction. The more the prelude progressed, the more the notes got lost in useless ornaments. Cerberus didn’t know where to give rhythm, his colossal stature made the drumsticks tiny, twirling according to his bursts of clairvoyance. His clownish improvisation made his sticks frequent the airs, more than the bass drum. His head was caught in the reproduction of a movement from bottom to top, transported by this concert of incoherences.

Marsyas, completely scruffy, was making his microphone dance while shouting lyrics as senseless as ridiculous:

“Culture is great...”

Cerberus helped him in the choirs:

“Indeed, greaaaaat!”

“It’s not too laaaaaaaate....”

“Oh no not too laaaaaate!”

“To find it, come to our museums...”

“To spend all your fucking money!!! Oh shit, I’ve got a frog in my throat...”

Cerberus choked for a long time, giving the satyr all the space he needed for his guitar solo.

“See how he's dyiiiiiiing... It's because he's not cultuuuuuuured...”

He played two more tunings, before a bottle thrown from the bottom of the stage came towards him. The same impatient drunkard had all the culture he needed for the day.

For months...

The glass that made it up resonated in my limbs, so it could not reach its original target. My hand left the page of my book to position itself, as if it had an invisible thread to pull with its index and middle fingers. The bottle came back to explode in the face of its owner, who toppled from his chair, flat on the floor. Stunned by the shock, he first tried to understand how such a prodigy could have been achieved. Then, with the capacities of his inert brain, he got up madly to accuse any form of life in the surroundings.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? FUCK??? We’re looking for a peaceful booze and they hired buffoons to waste my days off???”

Cerberus answered him with more zeal, straightening up to impose his stature in the debate:

“What kind of asshole throws things at people??? If I throw a potato chip at you, you'll die on the spot, you son of a bitch!”

“Go ahead and try it, you brat...”

That's all it took to tip the scales. The hound threw himself on the guy already on the ground to give him a good beating... More than alcohol, blood and fight acted as stimulants he couldn't do without. Hyperactive, he needed his dose of exaltation so that his energy did not fall on a poor innocent who would have simply looked at him.

Chiron had been laughing for a few minutes, urging Geryon, by patting his arm, to raise his own to cheer them on. He wanted to share this new piece of uncontrolled violence with his brothers.

Geryon, meanwhile, was beginning to calm the boiling bar, swearing that none of this had to do with his project. I also saw him suggesting to Marsyas the punishment he was going to experience, by breaking his glass of whiskey in his fist. Finally, the insolent little goat fell off the stage, victim of a coveted chaos, in which his laughter mingled with the raucous complaints of the audience.

In the midst of all this commotion, I preferred to slip away. To get some fresh air. The excessive noise was unbearable, and nothing in this collective madness required my help.

Leaving the bar without a single drop of beer on my blouse, I chose to have a little walk in the neighborhood. My glasses blocked any intrusion, my lollipop tasted like childhood, and my steps spread soothing waves. I constituted, gently, my small world of calm. With the ink of the fallen evening, I drew its contours. I would then incorporate soothing sounds, such as the murmurs of passers-by, the crackling of digital ads, the gentle shock of my candy on my teeth. My walk easily found its detours in these almost deserted streets.

Perhaps Night City unfolded its charms once the sun went down... The chariot of Helios*** was no longer as imposing when the night swarmed its stars and unleashed the power of neon lights....

Somebody cut the course of my thought by incorporating an unpleasant noise in my moment. I glanced at the alley on my right. Nothing unusual. Until a shadow occupied the dim light. The shadow became a humanoid form once it was still, on the ground. It had arrived so violently, that I suspected a third person who might burst into my evening.

A man, dressed in a green and white uniform, emerged from the darkness. He had indeed pushed the more feeble man who was struggling to stand up straight. The harassed man raised his head, he presented a dejected face. I realized he wasn’t so young. He must have been in his fifties (which I didn't dare to translate into "cybernetic years" language): his limbs were having difficulties to support his body, his dark circles were sheltering the rays of the moon so much they were pronounced, his hair was organized in spikes which, once combed, must have shown a beginning baldness. His glasses had been broken in the altercation. He was also wearing the uniform, minus the mask with the red emblem.

The mask. Geryon's documents. The Trauma Team.

These experienced doctors, colleagues, I caught them in the middle of an argument.

Believing frictions were gone, I put away my vengeful reflexes that wanted to help the older man. As I was about to turn back, my eyes still on the victim saw the foot of his aggressor landing brutally on his rib cage, bringing him face down. His head had hit the tar hard, unaccustomed to react to this kind of attack. He was defenseless, not knowing any tactics to escape the imposed hold. The man with the covered face spoke, certain of his teammate’s docility, who had finished squirming.

“Listen carefully, last time you run the operation. I told you to leave her. You’ve always had your own way.”

“Ross, you... you can't... ggghhh... blame me for doing my duty...”

His words crashed against his throat. He weakly tried to swing his leg to the side, unable to move it an inch.

“You don't have a duty, man. You just have terms to honor. No high contracts, no advanced care. Period!”

“We can't afford... to work like machines...”

“We also can't afford to favor the gonks with no money. How do you think we pay for our stuff? Our research? With good intentions? You're fired, Dorian.”

“You... No... No... My whole family depends on this job!”

I felt his fingers exert more force on the ankle.

“I'VE BEEN WORKING FOR THIS COMPANY FOR 30 YEARS!”

“So what? Did you believe in benefits or preferential treatment based on seniority? I've only worked two weeks for the Trauma, and I can already tell you're a useless and replaceable old tool. With a bit of luck, I'll have your job after you leave.”

“Bastard...”

The assailant let his weight increase the pressure of his shoe on the poor man. I couldn't see his expression, but I knew he was grinning. He was jubilating, this “little corporal”, in his exercise of power on more fragile. On more sensitive than him...

“Stop, haaaaaaaahhhh!!!”

It was the last straw.

“Hey! Fantômas****!”

Both of them turned towards the source of this voice.

“Get your foot off this man right away.”

“Uh... Wait, princess, I didn't understand you correctly?”

He pulled his service weapon from his holster, pointing it at me.

“Did you just give me an order?”

“That's right, and the woodlouse you are will carry it out.”

I had no contact with his eyes. Therefore, I would have to rely on my surroundings, or my speed to counteract his attacks. So be it...

“Wow... If you weren't so cute, I would have blown your head off. But... I'm in a pretty good mood. I just got a promotion. You'll suck my dick to make it up to me bitch. Come on, on your knees!”

I spotted some shards of glass not far from them. My hand, hidden behind my back, was busy fixing one. I just had to make it a little bigger. My fingers distended more threads, in order to sew a worthy counterattack. I put on my best smile as I asked this jerk my question:

“But, where is your hand?”

“Huh??? What, my....”

The said hand holding his weapon was sliced by the glass I had previously readapted. As big as a tray, with the speed of a bird of prey swooping down on a rodent, it had separated the hand from his arm in one clean stroke. It broke against the opposite wall. This magnificent sound of cracking completed by the languid hand caving in a final gesture. The hot blood spurting from the severed limb gave a certain harmony to the whole, like a painting that leapt without finding its canvas....

Exquisite...

The amputee’s hollering made me lose the inspiration given by this mental picture.

“Keep it down! Good Lord, you’re not at the opera! They wouldn’t let you in to be perfectly frank...”

A Navy wearing the same symbol as his mask landed a few meters away from the incident, generating in its wake a powerful wind that will have taken the better of my impeccable hairstyle.

The coward must have called for backup...

He ran towards it, in such a pathetic way I could not hold back my laughter in the palm of my hand. Manners, please Medusa….

“Open the door!!! Hurry, she's a lunatic!!! She fucking cut my hand!!!”

Safe in his vehicle, which would leave in a moment, I wanted to create one last memory for this vulgar torturer.

“From Hippocrates!”

Before the doors closed, I threw my half-finished lollipop into the thin opening of the metal chariot. It shattered into pieces on his already blood-stained helmet. The vehicle hadn't even taken the time to park for more than a few seconds, it had already returned to the city's air network.

I got a little closer to the fifty-year-old man, taking care not to disturb his recovery. My magic trick should have been painful to observe for a cartesian spirit...

When I arrived in front of him, I bent down to match his height. I was on my knees, analyzing any weird reaction, in order to spot any urgent problem. I finally spoke:

“Are you okay, sir?”

I held out a kind hand, in case he needed support. He looked at me dazed, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment or surprise, I couldn't tell. He quickly closed his wide-open mouth to answer me.

“Yes yes I... You... Why did you help me?”

“Do you really need a reason to explain that? From what I've heard, you also act in the interest of others without seeking retribution.”

He lifted his hand, which showed his index finger in the cold evening air. He wanted to retort, given the movement of his lips, but changed his mind when my argument was anchored in his reflection. His impulse manifested itself only with a tiny sound, cut off in its evolution.

“Now you've got a point... And... How did you manage to... It defies logic!”

“Ooooooh don't pronounce this cursed word or I'll faint... Nothing I do follows any logic. I only know the logic of the heart. I am an artist!”

“Oh... I see. That's very good, very good.”

He gladly took my hand to accompany his walk. He dusted himself off for a few seconds before I called out to him again.

“How much do you need?”

“How much?”

“The month has just started. You'll need money, even if it's only to house your family.”

“You mean you would offer money to a stranger, just like that?”

“Why not? These are just numbers. Do you realize we’re being kept on a leash by numbers that don't represent anything tangible... The richest shouldn’t be looked after, It should be the kind-hearted ones. There’s only a handful...”

“Miss.”

He came to take my arm with his trembling hand. He was freezing. I blamed myself inwardly for not having thought to lend him my jacket. His gaze wished to be on my pupils. I didn't return it, convinced of his good intentions. His eyes were glassy, smiling, and tired.

“I'll find a way to tackle these numbers. You're so young, keep your money. You have my thanks, a thousand times, for the decision you made. Few people would have stepped up like you did.”

“Don't you have to provide a decent education for your children? In this city, saying it costs a fortune is a true understatement...”

“Yes, my son will enter college for his first term.”

“Is he studying medicine, like you?”

“No. Literature. I've tried everything but... It's no use, he won't let go of his texts!”

Seeing him recalling a golden memory, reshaping his previous incident into an unfortunate escapade, a fantastic idea emerged. His little laugh spreading in the atmosphere, deglazing the drops of rain that were wetting our mood, I felt like making him a proposal. A request that would surely not please Geryon, but that would strengthen my own desires.

Fate introduced its different characters, capable of cultivating my nature, and reducing the influence of my monstrous host.

“You could join us.”

“I beg your pardon? Ah... You're one of those direct sellers, right? I already have a very good connection to the Net...”

“No, not at all. Listen, I'll vouch for your son, I'll pay his school fees.”

He hiccupped again in surprise. I intercepted his hand before he could state a stammering opinion.

“Think about it, you could join my organization which is in dire need of a doctor in its ranks. Our goal is to promote culture throughout Night City while ensuring a better tomorrow for its most deserving and passionate residents. We’ll never ask you to choose between two patients, you’ll have the equipment and recognition you deserve, for anyone you want to treat. I'm offering you a job that's more than rewarding, with unfailing security. Of course, a gang isn’t the quietest institution, but researchers will never be propelled into this kind of battle…"

“And... you'll be there to back me up?”

“You have my word. No member will be left behind. Health is at least as expensive as culture here. Our troop will be able to deliver both, at minimal cost. When you’ll meet my brothers, you will be totally won over, I'm sure.”

He scratched his chin, keeping me waiting for endless seconds. I had no way of knowing if my explanations had been clear, or relevant, but they came from the depths of my heart rejuvenated by this chance encounter. My skull was overflowing with sketches, with imposing sculptures to be designed to finance the studies of these disoriented young people, suffocating in this treacherous city. I was eager to meet them, to support their dreams, to defend their creations against established but no less destructible corporations.

Take away a civilization's culture, and you participate to its imminent extinction. Give it back, with a hint of passion, and you become an emissary of greatness.

We wanted it accessible to all, if only to entertain the crowds entangled in this dreary daily life.

The doctor broke my enchantment by cannoning his verdict.

“Very well, I’m in! Call me Dorian from now on, young lady. Your name?”

“Medusa. Welcome, Dorian. It's a real pleasure!”

I trapped his hand in mine to diffuse my warmth, so rare in such troubled times. He shared my smile as he followed me to the bar, so that my "associates" could meet our first recruit.

“That's it, I know! You're some kind of angel!”

His joke discreetly curbed my pace.

“You're way off base, dear Dorian!”

“Uh... Lady Medusa...”

“Yes? What's the matter?”

He pointed to the area of his discomfort.

“Your nose, it's bleeding...”

Fountain, by Marcel Duchamp