Nemesis

[Thunderer]

Abraham Levy was a businessman in the Manhattan stock market. He was, usually at least, due to the risk of the business, very rich. He was married with an eight years younger fashion model. They were David Levy's parents and they were still together when he was born. But after a while, Abraham got bored of his courtesan, and discarded her for another. Along with her son. Living only with his mother, already a former fashion model, might have played a role in David's love for ponies. Some other things might have, too. Aging, torn from the influential connections that her ex-husband maintained, and with not much more than basic education, David's mother did not have many ways left to earn money, so David spent the rest of his childhood exposed to the lower classes of the Manhattan "citizenry". He liked to play with the urchins of the slums, to which, and most other things, his ever withering mother was casually indifferent. He managed to establish himself as the gang leader thanks to his high origin. When his mother could no longer earn enough money to support him, which was earlier than he would have liked, he had to find a job. Together with some members of his gang, he was employed in a local workshop. However, he was not used to hard work, unlike the friends of his from the slums, and as efficiency was the only thing that mattered there, he fell from the top to the bottom. Everyone ridiculed him for being lazy and overweight, and it did not look like he would keep the job. He was always given the easiest tasks and, of course, the lowest pay.

One day a colleague of his, who had injured his arm with a machine before, and was straggling behind everyone because of that, was fired. A month later, while going to the city centre for some administrative work related to his own health insurance, Levy saw him. He was sitting on a street with a bowl for charity, his arm still in bandages, which were stained with blood and dirt. It reeked of gangrene. Levy did not give him anything, but hurried away instead. That day changed him.

Tomorrow he gave himself a challenge. He did not like work, but he could train himself to labour by force. He found an old, rusty, large ball bearing that had once belonged to a space transport. Every time the team was supposed to have a break, he lifted that bearing and started polishing it. He did it every day for a year, and as shine was emerging from the rusty ball more and more, diligence was emerging from his ever dirtier hands. And muscles. A lot of muscles. The bearing was very heavy. This enabled him to move forward -- and upward.

After all the years, only one thing remained from that glorious time of Levy's. It was a reflex. For a few moments he stood in front of the talking Kusarian man, blank, as if lost in some deep thoughts. Levy had removed his sunglasses and both of his eyes were, like the aiming systems of a Bounty Hunter fighter, closely fixated on the man's crystal-bald head. Then he suddenly snatched an oily piece of cloth from his pocket and, out of random, started polishing the Kusarian's nape.

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