Enemy of the States

[Jobe]

(Solo)

Eiras Enterprise located in Ettermire, Alerar.

Times certainly were changing, I had thought. Sitting back in the comfy chair of my former boss, Isaac Eiras, I remembered coming here a couple years back to get information for a job about assassinating one of his competitors. The office certainly hasn't changed that much. Ebony floors, mauve wallpaper, lights at every corner. It instilled a sort of uneasy peace that Isaac slaved to push his customers into before he crushed them with the weight of his wallet. Turning to see the rest of the world far below and behind the safety of tempered glass, I realized why I never decided to become a suit. I was never one for heights, and to be a man of wealth you had to be prepared to take leaps of faith. In my profession, doing things like that will get you killed. Pulling my gaze away from the withering heights and back to his maple wood desk, I grabbed a cigar out of what had once been a locked drawer. Pushing it into my mouth I sat back and dragged a match across the sole of my boot. It paid to work with rich clients, I mused.

The smoggy cities of Alerar were not to my liking, the smell reminded me a lot of New York and such places often made me nervous. It was never a good thing to make a hired gun nervous, but what did Isaac know. He was the Althanian version of a CEO who owned a Fortune Five-Hundred company, and the corporate world here was more cutthroat then in my world. Isaac knew the politics of business and kept pleasure separate from it, but he has definitely made his share of mistakes. Murder, cooking the books, knocking off competitors-- the list goes on and on. He's definitely a man after my own heart, which is exactly why I chose to work for him. Isaac was one of the many people in the higher echelon of Althanian society who actually found religion.

"The Church of the Ethereal Sway," I muttered. What a crock. We had a version of the Church back in my world, only the biggest issues there nowadays were priests fondling little boys and the 'horrors' of a medical procedure called abortion. I never took much stock in such things, and the idea of believing in a higher power was entirely stupid to me. Putting my feet on the desk I leaned back against the glass and fiddled with the Colt 45 revolver that Isaac had conveniently left in his drawer. Such weapons were hard to find nowadays, and if ammo wasn't such a hassle to find at the moment, I would've kept it.

Pulling back on the hammer of the weapon I pushed it back into place, rolling the chamber out to see the golden sheen of .45 rounds. Holding out my hand, I dumped the ammunition and stuffed it in my jacket pocket, and then rummaging around my breast pocket as I pulled out six replacements my client had given me for just such an occasion. Snapping the chamber back into place I threw the weapon back into the drawer and closed it. Leaning over to carefully tinker with the lock, I managed to jury-rig it into place. The old, near-sighted bastard would never know I was here until it was too late.

The funny thing about the Church is that it kept a tight rein on all of its plots and information, and Isaac here was the only member I could find with the right intel that hadn't yet gone into hiding since the outbreak of the civil war. My employers were the type of people that enjoyed the fruits of power, and Mr. Eiras seemed to stand in the way of it. Loose ends, who needed them.

Hearing the sound of footsteps down the hallway, I took one last draw, snuffed out the cigar and threw it under the dark recesses of his desk, grinding it into ash with the heel of my boot. I've met more naive hitmen who let the smoke of burnt cigars wafting into the air and blow their cover. Swatting at the smoke furiously with my arm, I then jogged quietly towards the end of the room where a closet stood open. Pushing into the mess of coats and clothes I shut the doors as the heavy, double doors of Isaac's office smacked stubbornly against the walls.

On either side of a plump, pale-faced man, two mountains of muscle hidden behind suits and ties quickly followed after him. Watching the corporate tycoon angrily march over to his desk and plop down in his chair, I knew it was only a matter of time.

[Jobe]

My heart pounded like hoof beats, the thundering sound welling up in the back of my throat and into my ears. Peering through crack of the doorway, I felt my hot, fetid breath against my face and I knew time was slowly growing still. I had been instructed to do whatever was necessary to extract the information I needed, and I was not going to squander such an opportunity. Leaning awkwardly out of the light of the office, I watched and waited.

Isaac didn't take care of anybody, even himself, and everybody who knew him was aware of it. He was a slob who let himself go the moment he earned his first million, and I was surprised he could still walk with how he treated himself. For somebody who ate five times a day at a gourmet level, the tycoon definitely lived up to his reputation. Graying, honey dew hair waved over his balding scalp as tiny beads for eyes burned with a kind of determination that was hidden behind rolls for cheeks and steel-rimmed glasses. Dressed in the finest silks, his purple vestments reminded me of a sort of pontiff that was part of some church. A large pot belly hung well over his belt and it made the entreprenuer's entire frame jiggle like a car on bad gas every time he moved.

Shuffling papers and pulling a cigar from his box, the pioneer snipped the end off with the delicacy of a botanist, and pushed it into his porkish lips as he scraped a match against the edge of the desk and began to puff away. His bodyguards sat on the separate silken couches meant to disguise the large vacant space between his desk and the closet. Each had a certain air about them that they had been recruited directly from some sort of military service, and those types were always the most frustrating to deal with. As the executive shuffled papers and poke around with his porkish snout, his guards began to talk casually. Without much strain due to the acoustics of such a room, I listened intently as I tried to tear my gaze away from Isaac's jiggling, triple-chin.

"So, you hear about that guy gettin' pinched over in Polat's turf?" the guard with the red flat-top asked as he crossed his legs and made himself comfortable.

Rubbing great calloused hands together as if anticipating something, the one with the golden mullet looked up and shrugged before realization plastered over his face, "Yeah, that chemist guy. The stupe who made that powder stuff.. he really get pinched?"

"Yah," Red said before continuing, "Polat had the poor bastard under his protection; the guy paid him a near mint to keep him safe from some sort of Fallien 'Boogie Man'. Polat had Six suits over at Brooke's, the only high-end place on the east side, and beefed up security 'fore shippin' the chemist there. Heard from Jonesy that some of the guys over there were packin' serious heat. H&Ks, tripwires-- everythin'."

Nodding the Mullet arched a golden, bushy eyebrow, "How'd the guy nab him if they had all that then?"

Looking around suspiciously, the other bodyguard leaned over and lowered his voice to the point that I had to strain my ear to hear him, "Nobody knows. Polat came to check on the guy a week later and found the upper half of the hotel where he put the little miser had been 'sacked. Three of the fellas had their throats slit from ear to ear, and the rest, what was left of em', looked to have been mopped up by somethin' stronger than a fuckin' H&K. With that Romik character nowhere to be seen, Polat's been turnin' Radasanth upside down lookin' for him. Kept the press out of it and bribed every newspaper man from Radasanth to Ettermire to keep their mouths shut. Some wise guy musta planned this to a tee to get past all that security."

Eyes widening in surprise, Mullet grimaced, "Think it was done by a profes-"

"Schazi owes me too fucking much for this," Isaac interrupted from over his desk, "I should be in Fallien trying to forget about this damn war by taking advantage of a well-picked harem," Dismissing the notion of trying to imagine the type of woman who would sleep with that pig, I watched the same thought cross the nearest guard whose cropped, red hair moved with his brow, "Where the fuck is it? How do I keep misplacing this stuff?!"

"What're ya' lookin' fer, boss," Red asked as he leaned from his post with a perplexed look upon his face.

"None of your damn business," Isaac growled as he wrestled with a bundle of papers wadded into a manila folder. Pushing heaps of reports that read of income analysis, product placement, and treasury reports, the tycoon's face flushed a deep purple as he roared, "Adria, Get in here!"

Within moments a middle-aged woman with wavy, red hair rushed into the room, her high heels clicking against the shining basalt floor. Looking down at him with a hawk nose, the secretary pursed her lips and spoke like someone who weathered many of these storms, "Yes, Mr. Eiras?"

Throwing his arms to the heavens and his silken vest almost moving up his midriff to reveal rolls of ugly fat, the executive howled, "Wheres the correspondence on the Smith & Price account? Why the Hell are you always doing this to me?!"

Looking about the desk for the moment, the woman known as Adria carefully extracted a scarlet folder from a mountain of files that stuck out like a sore thumb. Proffering it to her boss, she spoke, "Right under your nose like always, Mr. Eiras."

I watched his chest swell with injured pride, the slob wrenched the file from his secretary's grip and rolled his eyes as he sat down and began to flip through it, "Yer lucky, Adria. Really lucky that you’re the only one who can organize my files or you'd be enjoying that wit of yours on the streets," stopping to lick the edge of paper to turn it, he continued, "Go get me some coffee, wouldya?"

Without missing a beat she grabbed his mug the assistant said more to herself than to her boss, "Black, no cream, three spoons of sugar."

"Yup," Isaac growled nonchalantly as he continued to wrestle with the file, hunched over in his chair. Quickly exiting out of the room, the doors closed behind the assistant, and I felt a little relief.

Maybe I wouldn't have to kill Isaac after all. A client was a client, and I rarely bit the hand that fed me. But as I watched him put the folder down and pull out some sort of photograph, I began to remember all the zeroes that'd be added to my account with the death of this heaving hog that attempted to cling to what he called a life. I matched the odds and the numbers with how fast I'd need to get out of the country once the shit hit the fan, and that's when it happened.

"What the fuck is this," the guard with the yellow mullet said as he scraped one of my knives off the floor.

Oh shit.

As the other bodyguard got up to investigate, I felt the band of knives that hung across my left suspender like a bandolier and found the missing spot. Slowly things began to unravel as Isaac looked up and growled, "What're you two prattling on about?"

Holding up his hand and raising his ear towards the door, I stifled a breath as the closer of the two bodyguards slowly crept toward me, reaching for his piece. It was times like this that I truly appreciated the safety and reliability of Velcro and duct tape, but none of it mattered. Holding his revolver at arm's length, Mullet stretched out a hand towards the door and that was when everything went pear shaped.

[Jobe]

As I watched Mullet draw ever closer, I began to wonder why I just didn't take the revolver from Isaac's desk. No matter, either way it was going to be messy, and I had once believed I'd be leaving this office wearing the suit of one of those two blockheads, and killing them quietly would've been much more appealing than the alternative. Probably wouldn't fit me anyway, I thought as I tried to assuage my bruised ego. Summoning my attention back to the matter at hand, I took another breath that seemed to end in a low growl, pulling on either hem of my jacket sleeves I suddenly felt the familiar, wholesome grip of my homemade daggers released from their secret cache.

With some of the choicest curses of my stupidity, I lurched forward; the was bodyguard far too close as one of the doors caught him in the face with a loud crack. Staggering backward as his right hand reflexively shot up to nurse his wound, a blinded Mullet tried to raise his gun when I had gotten within arm’s reach and wrenched it awkwardly to the side until I heard a sickening snap. Juggling my daggers as I moved in a blur, I watched Red go for his revolver and heard the loud scraping sound of a chair against the black, glimmering floor.

"Yra suhnvha bhitch!" Mullet roared while hampered by his broken nose that still spurted blood over his thick, oafish lips. Unable to get a hold on me as I stepped from the safety of my position and into the threshold of the bodyguard's reach, my steel bit into his right kidney with a wet thud. Feeling the blonde strongman hunch over as the knife came into contact, I drove my other dagger into the tough, meaty part of his left shoulder.

Making my bloody ascent, I heard a shot rang out and felt a momentary hesitation as I tried to recount my physical well being. Another crack thundered in my ears, and then another before I heard Isaac roar, "Damn blanks!"

Throwing his gun to the floor, the corporate executive attempted to haul his lard ass to the door and get the Hell out of Dodge. But, I was too quick; dominating the mountain of a man as he crumpled to the floor I used what momentum I had, crouched down, and felt my feet leave the wet, sticky mess that had once been Mullet for Red.

It must've been amateur day, because by the time the remaining bodyguard had fired his second shot, I was upon him. Gritting my teeth, I ignored the numbing sensation of my left arm as a part of my mind registered the bite of the slug. Only a few feet from the door, I lost Isaac as my vision began to blur in a red haze and my daggers came plummeting down, instinctively slicing long ways across the carotid and then for the jugular. By the time Red had time to gurgle a slur, crimson, sticky blood gushed from the long slit across the length of his neck.

My anger slowly began to wash away as I saw the cowardly executive struggle with the door knob. Feeling my hand vanish beneath my coat, I sent a pair of throwing knives whirling into the air as the door opening in time for the ill-fated secretary clutching a piping hot cup of coffee to catch one of the knives into her right eye and the other splintering the surface of the mauve door, "Damn," I growled under my breath.

In one fluid motion as he watched his secretary fall screaming to the floor, the pioneer looked to me and his face crinkled in frustration and than his eyes widened with realization. Without losing a beat, Isaac wrenched the door open and stepped over the body of his assistant and cried, "Jobe! Jobe! The bastard's in my office!" and with that he disappeared into the hallway, his shoes clacking against the polished basalt surface before I heard the echo of his last words, "The first one to kill him gets a fucking raise!"

Hearing the stampede of booted steps drown out my target, I felt my decision to be an easy one. Stretching to my feet, I made it to the desk in four long bounds before I heard the voices of the guard reach my ears. Grabbing the scarlet folder, I folded it in half and shoved it into the safety of my jacket. Slidding over the cluttered desk to the large slate of tempered glass that stood between me and freedom, I began to pick up the chair and hesitated before I put it back down.

Turning to wrench open the broken drawer, I flipped open the cigar box and grabbed three and stuffed my plunder into a pocket, save one. Grabbing a match with a bloodstained hand, I barely had time to set it alight before the first guard came into view. Swiping the match across the cigar, only to pause for a moment or two until it caught alight, I felt the sweet smell of nostalgia as nicotine flooded my system..

"Hey!" a third guard roared as he bounded across the threshold, while his hand reaching into his coat.

Already hoisting the chair before he went knuckle deep into his jacket, I shook my head and called with a sneer, "Going down?"

With a wave of gasps as a sea of bodyguards decked in Kevlar attempted to finagle their weapons from their holsters, I closed my eyes and threw my entire weight into the leatheresque throne and into the glass and was rewarded by the sound of thousands of cracks carving archaic patterns across the surface of the glossy wall. I stifled a breath as I raised the chair to strike the window again but my ears were flooded with the chorus of shattering crystal. A howling wind bit at the ends of my dark duster and I felt a sudden, exhilarating rush of freedom. Hearing the foreboding sound of the first hammer draw back, I didn't bother to look down as my feet left the safety of Eiras Enterprise and I felt myself suddenly lose my battle with gravity.

***

[Jobe]

When looking back at life as if I was savoring every last drop of it before it was snatched from me, I realized something. There were two things that always registered first before anything else when looking death in the eye, and they were the ones that hit me the hardest as I fell screaming from the smoggy skies of Alerar. The first were regrets; things I've never done, opportunities I had never taken advantage of. I guess it was a shallow reminder of how much your life sucked before you met the reaper. The second, however, was far more powerful. It was the glance back on how fucking stupid I was with the events that led to my demise.

Plummeting back to Althanas, I flipped end over end until I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the glassy sheen of the building I had leapt from. Memories sparked in the back of my mind of the most important person in my life leading up to this little pissing contest with Death. It was the one person whom I left in the care of my ex-wife, Holly.

Alicia.

I had almost forgotten her name as of late, and it shook me to the very core. Was this it? Would I be my own undoing and the only thing I could do to comfort myself was to see the black, cheeky face of my daughter's smile? It was like some sort of sick joke. I hadn't even remember where it was that I had last seen her. Surprisingly, the more I thought about it, the more I recalled. Holly and I were at the end of our rope with marriage, and I could recount the scene, word for word. The lonely diner in Colorado Springs where I saw my wife and child for the last time. I began to feel my life slowly unravel as I continued to fall, and this time it was into the clutches of a sobering past.

***

The smell of crunchy bacon and juicy, sunny-side eggs were the first things on my mind as the sizzle of the flat grill comforted me while I sat in a booth across from my wife. Sitting beside her mother while trying to draw on the slick tabletop with the finicky crayons the waitress had given her, Alicia giggled. Holly's short, basalt bangs bounced off her ebony face and her green, catlike eyes were unable to look into mine. She had taken better care of herself than I had over the years, and in our mid-twenties she was still the same tall, lean and mocha coloured woman that I loved. She always kept her hair short, and in the right light the black color always dazzling, especially in the moonlight. She was witty when she wanted to be, she knew what she wanted, and had a thing for kids. Up until I got into the business, we were madly in love. A few years back I couldn't even tell of a time we were apart. But now, I don't even understand how she toughed it out all these years.

Looking out the window at the cluttered buildings of the town, I knew people were just getting up for their routine as a bright, pulpy sun began to crest over the rocky hills of the east. It was seven o'clock, and I remembered briefly that I hadn't gotten up this early in over eight years. It was the factory work that had kept me a night owl and distant from my family, or so I had told Holly. She was suspicious that I had managed to get us out of the mountain of debt we had nearly buried ourselves alive under. The usual stuff attributed to it; a kid, mortgage, taxes, etcetra. The American life really. Honestly I was beginning to imagine she thought I was cheating on her with some rich hussy, and it was understandable.

Smiling at my daughter as she looked up at me and showed me proudly of her artwork, I remembered what I had hid from them. The business trip I had taken for the management course in this factory was a sham. What really happened was that I had spent a week in Brazil, knocking some terrorist organization off its axis. Few people paid higher than the U.S. government when it came to killing, and this was no exception. I had made a cool million in the space of a week by a couple of car bombings while my wife was barely scraping by as a physics teacher. It wasn't fair, I had thought. Holly was a good person. We had known each other since we were teenagers, and she was about to be crushed under the weight of the world by all that debt.

So I broke one of the cardinal rules as an assassin; I withdrew money from an offshore account and networked it into our account and brought everything into balance. Instead of being congratulated, Holly argued with me in and out for the next seven months about what I had done. She had no idea I killed people for a living, and it probably would've been easier to swallow than imagining her husband coming back from a training program in Toledo with three hundred thousand dollars to foot a bill. I had lied, dodged her eyes, and in truth I had completely avoided her. All in all, that probably was one of my biggest fuck-ups.

"So, Greg told me awhile back that there is some sort of job opening up at the plant across town," I said breezily as I tried to forget the tension between us.

"Oh yeah?" She muttered with feigned interest as she wringed her wrists, her thick woolen sweater dropping up and down softly with each breath.

A long silence ensued before I heard Holly say, "Jack."

"Yeah?" I said, my eyes locking onto her sobering gaze, she was the only one in the world who could see through my lies. I missed it.

"Cut the shit," she said tersely, reflexively looking at our daughter, still not old enough to speak or understand what we were saying, "What's going on?"

"How do you mean?" I said as I heard the clicking heels of the waitress and the piping smell of our orders sitting upon hot plates as they were carefully placed in front of us.

"Y'all enjoy your meal now," the waitress said with a smile.

"Thanks," my wife and I said in unison as we picked up our forks and tried to bury the lies away under syrupy pancakes.

After three minutes of complete silence I looked up to see her staring at me again, her dish shoved to the side as she was unable to indulge herself in my presence. Shoving bacon into my mouth, I felt the grizzle dripped onto my rusty beard. Glaring at me, my wife looked down as she tried to find the courage of what she was trying to say.

"What?" I said with a pang of impatience as I put the silverware down with a sharp clatter.

Unable to even bear to look at me, she gazed out the window and muttered, "I'm leaving you."

"What?!" I yelled in surprise, the entire diner growing quiet as everybody turned to look at us. Alicia looked at me with wide, saucer-like eyes as she fought the urge to cry.

"I'm taking Alicia and going," she said as she nodded to her jungle green mini-van," My mother is footing the bill for the next ticket out of here. I'm take Alicia to stay with her and get her away from..."

"From what?!" I sputtered as I tried to find a way to reason with her, but to no avail.

"You." She said as she fought the urge to sob and instead her lips tightened across her mouth as she became more and more angry. When we first met, I found the way she got angry to be kind of cute, but now I knew better.

"You’re kidding," I managed to say before faltering under her reproachful gaze and then rebounding with, "Your takin' our daughter to Louisiana because of me?!"

"No, Jack, I'm not. I'm not a fool either," she interrupted," You were an A student in High School, and you decided to take an out-of-the-way job in a bottling factory in Colorado and we've stayed this way for what? Five or six years now? See where I'm going with this?"

"Don't." I said defensively.

"No. I'm not going to sit back and watch you hide things from me any more. You’re doing something that you won't tell me. I'm not stupid," she snapped before adding, "For God's sake, Jack, you can't even look at me when we see each other. You won't even look at me when.."

Trying to meet her gaze, I sighed, "Please, Holly, just drop it," unable to look at her, I resided in trying to watch Alicia scribble on the table, but it was of no use, it wouldn't be much longer now.

Pulling at her coat she stabbed a finger at me and shouted as her once calm demeanour erupted in violent anger, "What are you hiding from me that is so fucking important? Where'd the money come from?!" she said with tears in her eyes as my daughter began to wail in fright, "Who are you, Jack?"

Feeling the gaze of two dozen customers and a handful of employees, I felt myself shrink under her reproachful look. I married Holly for many reasons, one of them was because she asked for it, and the second was because I loved her. I'd do anything for her and my daughter, and I had no way of telling her of the unspeakable things that I did. As I watched the mother of my child shush and quiet her with reassurances, I grabbed my wallet.

Shelling out a crisp hundred dollar bill onto the table I watched my wife and lifelong friend scramble to her feet as she tried to juggle Alicia from her position and block my exit, "Oh no you don't, Jack!"

"Holly," I said as I pulled on my brown leather jacket, my voice stopping her like a bullet, "I'm doing this to protect you and Alicia."

"No, Jack! You don't have that right; the moment you decided to keep secrets from me and your daughter you lost the 'father of the year' title," she roared as she managed to slip out of the seat and block my way, hitting me so hard I had to back up a step, "For the sake of our family, for us, and for yourself, Jack-- tell me what is going on! You can stop this, all you have to do is tell the truth!"

"You don't want to know, Holly."

"What?!"

"I'm doing this for the three of us," I whispered only to get backhanded so hard I thought she knocked one of my teeth out. What could I say? I wasn't about to tell her I traveled all over the world to kill people for a living, and that the blood money I had made doing it paid for our house, food, clothes, and even our cars. Plus, it was that kind of information that would get her and Alicia killed if the wrong somebody decided to dip into my past.

The sound of my daughter's shrill wails were the only sounds in the restaurant as even the owner looked at us blankly, not knowing what to do. I grabbed Holly's hand as she prepared to reprimand me for my silence, her soft black face becoming red as hot tears bled from her eyes. Pushing her away I took one step and stopped, "You don't want to know the things I've done, Holly. Do yourself a favor and just leave. Don't try and find me."

As I stormed out of the diner with injured courage, I heard my wife curse and Alicia wail as she saw something she didn't yet understand. It wasn't a far walk to my house, but I broke into a run until I reached it. Wrenching open the door to what was once my house, I quickly disappeared inside only to reappear a few minutes later carrying a duffle bag and a pack slung across my back.

Pulling upon the door to my car, heard it groan as the metalwork inside that was rusted by several, long Colorado winters work in hamstringed autonomy. Climbing into the charger, I turned the ignition and ground my teeth when I heard the tires screech as I backed out of the driveway. In a reckless one-eighty turn, I felt my entire car swerve as the tires turned too fast for the pavement and the smell of burning rubber met my nostrils.

I sped off back in the direction of the diner and rushed right past it, my soon-to-be-ex-wife's mini-van long gone. She was probably halfway home already to pack up before she left for Baton Rouge. Glancing at the speedometer, I saw the orange arrow twitching as it unwilling over ninety as I pressed the gas to the floor. I didn't slow down until I saw the exit sign to Colorado Springs.

***

With a shudder, the scaffolding under my feet creaked and gave way when I landed. I fell floor after floor while the wooden planks attempted to slow my descent. By the fourth one down I landed with a thud, the cigar knocked out of my mouth, and the sound of shots ringing out from both above and below. My vision blurred by blood dripping from a gash in my forehead, I managed to get to my feet and looked inside, only to see any empty office with the door hanging wide open. Picking up a steel pole that sat sideways across the scaffolding, I didn't bother to cover my eyes as I cracked the paned glass with a savage swipe. My reflection shattered to my feet as I paused to clear out what was left of the glass and hobbled gingerly inside.

A fierce pain jolted up the side of my body as I looked down, my foot twisted the wrong way. Fucking perfect, I thought indignantly. By now the guards were bounding up and down the stairs to cut me off and deliver my head to Isaac. Unwilling to give them the chance, I hopped out of the room on my good leg only to slow to a stagger as I tried to stay off my right leg as much as possible. Out of the hallway and down the flights of steps I crawled until I was sure I had heard voices in the stairwell. Slipping into the mail room, I shoved a startled mail boy aside with a bloody hand and looked around. Sitting at the far end of the room, a porthole meant to be the chute for unwanted mail stared at me pensively.

Unwilling to lose the opportunity, I made my way to it, threw open the hatch and had my broken leg halfway in the chute before I recalled Alicia's smile. I almost fell backwards as I realized what she meant to me. It wasn't the fact she was my kid. I had three others in my time, and Alicia was the only one I could remember that reminded me of something killing had taken away from me.

Interrupted by the thunderous sound of a muzzled fire, I looked up to see a pair of guards running towards me. Not giving them the chance, I ducked into the chute and fell down the pipe, the steel cover hitting me squarely in the back. Sound whooshed past me as I sped down the tunnel and fell into a dumpster before I even registered the light of day. It wasn't until I slipped into the sewers and the grate locked over my head that I stopped for breath by the rancid canal and growled, "What the fuck am I going to tell Vergil?"

***

[Jobe]

Somewhere in Radasanth, Corone.

Three days spent spelunking in dives and holes-in-the-wall; I met my contact and slipped out of Alerar and right from under the noses of Isaac's security forces. Sure there had been close calls, but I had gotten out all the same. I had managed to find some place quiet afterwards in Corone and got a former medic who had been in the Coronian Civil War to fix up my leg and arm the best he could. At knifepoint and a fistful of gold, I shouldn't have been expecting much from someone who was a raging alcoholic and had poor depth perception. I still couldn't walk properly and if I didn't find any other kind of medical attention in the next few months, my bones in my leg would set wrong and I'd be left with a permanent limp. And that was the 'sunny' side of the prognosis.

If all had worked out as planned, I would be able to walk right and maybe even run in the next six or eight months. It was a miracle I could stagger from place to place, and I knew enough about medicine to realize that I shouldn't have been able to stand. However, with the majority of the pain gone and my leg in some sort of odd splint, I could still get the job done.

A few weeks after the botched Eiras hit, the crime underworld was still in a buzz about how I left the mangy bastard alive and left with only a scarlet folder. Many of my former employers were not pleased to hear of the blemish on my record, and I could already expect my rates to plummet until I finished off ol'e Isaac. Fuck, it didn't matter, there was no where the executive could hide that I wouldn't eventually find him, and I had so many informants in his business that there wouldn't be a pin drop that I didn't hear about. But still, I was left wondering what it was exactly that I had risked my life over and had received a spiral fracture, some lead in my left arm, two broken ribs, and a lot of memories that I clearly didn't need. It had to be important? Right?

I didn't hear anything. That's right, nothing. Zip. Nadda. My contacts were quiet, my employers had clammed up, and I was left stranded until I got the go-ahead and the location for the next meet. I had gotten myself a decent place to sleep, despite the lack of it. Through professional insomnia coupled with my REM disorder that only let me sleep comfortably in three hour periods that seemed like blinks, I was approaching the breaking point. Nothing seemed to be making sense; I was beginning to see things, and I had the inkling that I wasn't quite on the end of the stick that I wanted to be. It was only a matter of time before insanity set in or I'd die from sleep deprivation. But, after seven days I had managed to conk out for about a day before I leapt over the proverbial brink. Then, a week ago, I was contacted.

I had received my signal to meet with my employer, and it was keenly placed under the door to my room. Was lucky to find it really, if I hadn't caught some sleep, I'm sure I wouldn't even have the faintest idea what a letter was or who had bothered to send it to me. But, it was clear enough. Scrawled in handwriting far better than my own, and in an ink that seemed to smell of something expensive, it read in elegant tradespeak:

Monday at 9:30 between Elmer and Chase. Pick up the newspaper under the bin. Open it and look left. We'll find you.

Come unarmed.

Aside from the terse message and the lack of time of day, I hadn't the faintest idea why they'd expect me to come without a weapon. I mean, I was certainly one for obeying my client's wishes, but I wasn't stupid. You don't get shot and break a leg only to end up buried outside in some fresh grave in the middle of nowhere. I've done that to too many people, and I wasn't in the mood to devise a clever way to ensure my employer wouldn't try to dupe me. And on second thought, my mind turned back to the message. Something irked me.

'We'?

I suppose nowadays, it was too difficult to ask to see all the angles and be three or four moves ahead in a world that didn't have workable telephones or even the concept of computers. Hell, what did I care anyway? If they wanted more people to carry orders around, fine. As long as I could be on my way with my next paycheck I shouldn't give a damn who or how many people I was working for.

Waking up the next day with a snort, I crawled out of the hay-mattress and staggered to the table in the second of a two-room apartment. I shrugged on my suspenders and shoved most of my weapons back into place as I donned my thick, woolen duster. Not even bothering to check the time, I knew it'd take me a couple hours to find the fucking place to play their game, so why rush it? Making my way to the door I grabbed my crutch and wedged it under my armpit. Wrenching the door open by the knob, I found myself over the threshold before I even remembered to bring the note with me. Unwilling to go back I quickly began to dictate the note again and again as I made my way to the staircase to the lower part of the tavern, "Nine-thirty between Elmer and Chase... Nine-thirty between Elmer and Chase... Eight-twenty between Elmer- Wait? Damn."

It was gonna be a long day.

[Jobe]

The thriving streets of Radasanth ebbed and flowed like a tide across the city as citizens moved in and out of the fray. Merchants presented their wares and yelled into the crowd, plucking people from their daily lives to peddle and haggle with them in the hopes of feeding their families. I watched cutpurses and pickpockets move about the crowd like sharks skulking about schools of fish, their nimble fingers probing and grabbed in an effort to make a small fortune in a matter of minutes. I was impressed, I always had a knack for spotting people cutting above the law, and if I wanted to take a huge pay cut and thought I'd make a difference in the world, I would've become a cop.

Fuck, Maybe I was really growin' soft, I thought with surprise but dismissed it just as quickly. With wounded pride, I hobbled along towards my destination, I wondered how freakishly similar this would've been to an ancient Persian setting. Different cultures blended and melted together, the shops stacked alongside one another as homage to a bazaar and it's traditions. Y'know, maybe Althanas and Earth weren't as mutually exclusive as I had first assumed.

My thoughts slowly drew back to the matter at hand, and I almost overlooked one of the small boys that thrusted his hand in my coat pocket. Wrenching his fingers from my belongings, I stopped to hold them in my twisted grip, "Quit showboating to your friends and pick your marks wisely," I said coldly. With a bewildered look, the kid's face faded quickly from view as I shoved him back into the crowd. Poor bastard hadn't even developed the technique yet. I knew what it was like to grow up with nothing, my family being the workin' class type. Being one of the oldest, I was often in the position where I had to feed my family, so I've been around the thieving block a couple times myself. But, just because I sympathized with the little prick didn't mean I liked to share either. Silently recounting my possessions in my pocket I ground my teeth, "Four gold and a .45 shell, Damn," I mumbled with a pang of injured pride.

Encryptic messages and explicit instructions were almost a second nature when it came to my job. I eventually expected it from my clientele, after all, they were often the type of people that had no qualms with spilling blood, but had every reason in the world to keep it a skeleton in their closet. As I looked up and saw the street sign etched 'Elmer', I moved against the throng and onto the sidewalk where I spotted 'Chase'. Looking about, I saw smudged paper wedged under a garbage bin that sat in plain sight. There were few better hiding spots, and I was speaking from experience. Casually, I staggered over to the barrel, my splint thudding upon the road. Bending over to pick it up, I avoided curious stares as I slapped the dirt away the front page and looked at the title of the newspaper, "The Radasanthian Reader, eh? Whadda mouth full."

Pulling the crusty pages apart I glanced at the page my employers had circled with ugly red ink and muttered, "..Chaos?"

So, they had interests in Salvar? I knew that much, already. But as I reached the end of the article there was something scribbled at the end of the page. Unlike the first message, it was an odd blend of Russian, Arabic, and bits of a language I didn't even understand. Salvic. The stuff was ripe with it, and I'd bet my left nut that I could've probably made a fortune teaching some of this crap to people. Lifting the article to the light I pulled my sunglasses off and squinted;

Protecting the Lion sometimes requires someone to step into the shadow of the sword. Sacrifices must be made, Jobe.

I hadn't the slightest clue who the Lion was, but I had an idea. Sometimes people had sticky fingers when it came to political work, and stepping off the grid to protect whoever the fuck this was would probably be in my realm of expertise. As I rolled the question again and again until it was puddy in my mind, I felt eyes boring into the back of my head. Glancing to the left, I saw a huge, looming figure dressed in a jacket and jeans that I instantly recognized, Always hated that stare of his, I thought offhandishly.

Folding the newspaper and shoving it under my empty armpit, I watched as the graying giant turned away and began to lumber down the sidewalk. Quickly, I hobbled after him, darting and weaving about like a salmon moving up stream. Before I had even gotten within a few feet of my employer, I felt an arm wrap around my neck and a calm, fluid voice whispered in a thick salvic accent, "Hello, Jchakobe. We've been waiting," and before I had time to answer I felt what had to be a pistol poke into my lower back and a hand push me forward, "Keep walkin'."

***

[Jobe]

My eyes began to adjust to the sinister procession that sat before me; I leaned on my crutch as I felt the miracle to even walk begin to dim while I witnessed what was unfolding. Dragged out of the streets of Radasanth, I had winded up in some place the knights had called 'headquarters'. Yeah, you heard me right. I was murdering in the name of a royal court, and at a sizeable sum I might add. I wasn't sure whether to be impressed or horrified at what I had learned, but having worked with leaders of the free world and dictators across the face of my world, I was used to what they had called 'politics' by now.

A splash of water hit the cold concrete floor followed by a pitiful, dehumanizing whimper that made my jaw clench. Standing abreast two hulking figures, I watched as a giant, emaciated man fell upon his back, his graying hair covered his eyes as he hacked and coughed, spewing frigid water at my feet. Looking about the room, men and women of gigantic proportions stood around the large, iron-cast bucket of water as their leader circled the pitiful creature. He had once been an infamous official of the Ethereal Sway, a chief inquisitor who probably had more blood on his hands then I had on my own, Father Cexthuli they had called him.

Circling him, the man called Vergil looked at him wolfishly. Considering his captive carefully, the seasoned warrior stopped and boomed, "Speak."

For a salvic knight of Rathaxea's court, the guy was far older and far crueler then he had first let on. Usually when people aged and began to wither, they became more pleasant as they circled the drain. Whether it was more out of fear or out of senility, I hadn't a clue, but Vergil had shown no sign of either. The more I got to know him, though, the more I realized that he was the kinda guy that would make Death itself hesitate, which was probably the only reason why the bastard was still around.

Throwing his gray bangs from his face, the former priest glared at the shadowed figure with fierce, determined eyes. He had been starved, beaten, and tortured for the better half of four months, or so I had been told. He was a tall, lean man who had towered over me the first time I met him. His arms bound behind his back, the gargantuan monk leaned over, a man who was in his sixties mind you, and spat at the captain's feet. Leaning up to stare at him coolly, he growled, "I don't answer to you and your bastard of a Kin-"

Before the monk had finished his sentence, Vergil's heavy hand knocked him stupid and the knight leaned over, gritting his teeth, "What was that, Father?" emphasizing Cexthuli's title with cold, mechanical emotion.

I had been dragged here to see this, and as the priest fell into silence, I was beginning to regret my decision. I had dipped my hands in the bloody art of torture before, sometimes for information, other times because it was instructed by my employer. But I never completely understood how a soldier could do the same thing I did and call himself a patriot. Shoving him forward, one of the guards caught him and shoved the inquisitor face first into the pool of water.

"You will tell me what I want to know, priest. Or the last thing you will ever know is the revolting, chewy taste of your own innards," Vergil said with a streak of passion itching at his voice, "It is that simple." Standing in plain clothes; a leather jacket, linen shirt, and black jeans, I could only guess the knight had thought it was common apparel at the time. Vergil dwarfed everybody in the room in both size and mass. His face and balding head were cut and mapped by ghastly scars, the old warrior's good, yellow eye had a stare that would stop a man dead, his other milky with cataracts. A small inkling of a beard hung at the end of his chin, while his bushy, and honey dew eyebrows began to gray.

Pulling his head up for air, the knight Vergil had called Byron tugged the priest's face from the salty water and stared into his face indifferently. Blubbering as he belched and tried to vomit, the inquisitor may have been tough as nails to the people he had made interrogate, but anybody could be rendered to tears when they realize that breathing air is a privilege, not a right. Folding his arms across his broad chest, the salvic leader spoke again in their native tongue, "Confess, father. Tell me what you insects were plotting!"

Sputtering for breath as the old knight began to shift to push him back to the bucket, the priest's will started to crack, "No! Please!" I almost pictured the gargantuan monk holding his hands in front of his face in defense, if they hadn't been bound that is, "I-I'll... I'll come clean," he said sheepishly as if he feared the sky would fall at his very words. Ya never know with priests, though, with them it just might.

Looking about his fellow knights as his face broke into sinister humor, Vergil growled, "Just like the writhing worms they are, when the going gets tough they back down," A large, hearty roar broke my concentration as the entire assembly of what were supposed to be the honor guard to the salvarian king himself broke into mocking laughter. Losing all humor in his face, the knight waited until the room fell into uncomfortable silence, then he barked, "Speak!"

Taking a large gulp of air, the priest stared down to the floor, "We were planning to assassinate Him," he paused for breath, half expecting Vergil to knock him sideways, but the blow never came, "We.. we just want to be free, you understand? We want the people to have a voice, to be able to.. rule themselv-"

Cut off by the motioning of Vergil's hand, the monk looked up in horror as the knight tried very hard to contain himself as he spoke, "Don't you dare placate your ambitions of my people to my men and to me. You're an insect who tried to end your lord and master and topple a government that has stood longer then when your first ancestors had crawled upon these shores and spilled their seed into those whores they subjugated. You will find no sympathy from us. Continue on, the only solace you’re going to find here is a quick, painful death," he spat and then added, "If and only if you choose to cooperate with us."

It took only moments for the idea of further torture to register in the priest's mind before he began to weep, his determination shattered as he saw his life slowly coming to an abrupt close. Leaning forward, the warrior dwarfed the giant and growled, "Get on with it, vermin. Tell me how you found out about the hidden passage, who did you bribe?!”

As I watched the inquisitor's composure break under the accusation, I felt someone grip me tight on the shoulder and tear me away from the procession. Before I had heard a single word, I was dragged out of the room, and the last thing I saw before the door slammed shut was the pitiful gaunt face of the priest as the other knights began to huddle about him. I was positive from then on that it would be the last I ever saw of Father Gregory Cexthuli.

[Jobe]

Sitting at a table in the empty tavern, I tried hard to forget what I had just witnessed. Had it really been in the name of a King? I've met and worked with other assassins who had darker motives then what they had and still managed to do it cleanly. It was a terrible waste to squander your only lead on the drowning method, and even that only got you so far. By the way they acted, I could tell they were amateurs, but they certainly had done this before. Wrenched away from my thoughts, however, I stared into the crazy eyes of the knight across the table, the one who had dragged me here. The same one who had held me at gun point, and he called himself a patriot. Fucking coward.

A wild mess of tangled, black hair hid those leering, cat-like eyes that reminded me so much of Holly. He had a basalt spike that jutted from his chin akin to that of an Egyptian pharaoh; he had certainly looked the part of someone of royal stature. His compatriots had called him 'Elric', but it was probably just a nickname. He was scrawny and smaller than the other knights, but he still towered over me with a dominant presence of a warrior who had seen his fair share of blood and iron. He was dressed in similar clothes like that of his commander; trimmed jeans, a loose linen shirt, and a dirty, gray duster. Something about his eyes, though, didn't sit well with me. He was hiding something, and I had a feeling that whether or not I found out, I wasn't going to like it. But now wasn't the time to get cold feet, I was already waist deep in this shit, might as well wait until they offer me a stick to pull myself out.

"I apvologize, about earlier," he began with his smooth, serpent-like tone, "I hadn't the slightest idea that we would be revealing state secrets in your presence. You wouldn't have walked out ohv that room if you had known some ohv the things our friend, the father, did," pulling his seat closer he cupped his gloved hands and grinned wolfishly, "Mr. Jchakobe," he muttered as he butchered my name with the finesse of a Bible salesman, "Why don't we just get down to it? My superior won't be available, so perhaps I should be the one to inform you ohv your jhab."

"Jobe," I corrected with a mocking tone, watching him raise his eyebrows in surprise. I bet I'm one of the few people on the planet who had called him out on his faulty vernacular, and none of the other knights seemed to possess it. Reaching for my pocket as his lips moved to speak, I extracted a cigar and smiled, "You mind?"

"No, no. Ohv course," the knight said as he waved his hand dismissingly at me. I could tell his patience was wearing thin, and didn't really care either. He wasn't the boss of this operation, and I wasn't about to cross the proverbial line between the employer and the employee. It was bad business, bad policy, and just fucking stupid.

Clenching the cigar between my teeth I struck a match against the smooth table and cupped my hands as I lit it. Watching smoke billow and haze Elric's face, I sat back and pulled the sunglasses from my face, revealing cold hazel eyes, "Look, I understand where you're going with this," I said as the cigar in my mouth dipped up and down. Hanging the glasses in my coat I arched an eyebrow, "But I've seen these things pan out like this before, and I don't do business with subordinates. Vergil placed his order, and he was the one who found me. He is the only one who will be giving me the details of this job, understand?"

I swear, if looks could kill, I'd probably be sprawling to the floor and clutching my heart. Glaring at me with those crazy eyes of his, the knight could barely contain his composure as he managed to whisper, "Is that svo?"

Nodding, I took another long draw, leaned back and puffed circles into the air, "Yup, sorry chief. Those are my terms."

Slowly the knight who had the gift for gab got to his feet, spreading his hands across the table he stared at me hard as he prepared to think of something. It was on the tip of his tongue when I heard the door open behind me and the sound of heavy booted feet slowly approach. Looking up briefly, the knight managed to mutter, "As you, vish, Jchakobe." Slowly melting into the background, Elric faded from view as Vergil's bulky midriff came into view.

Looking up I sat forward and casually uncrossed my legs, unwilling to piss off a vicious man who seemed to have blood flecking across his face. Pulling up a thick, steel-reinforced chair, Vergil spun the back of it towards me and sat upon it like a saddle. Leaning over, he clumsily placed his muscle-bound forearms across it and growled, "We will negotiate."

Somehow, I began to like Vergil's terse, brutal approach over his subordinate. I had little idea at the time, but when I insulted Elric so deeply, I hadn't realized how grave a mistake I really made. I gave the knight a curt nod and said, "What's the job, Verg?"

***

[Jobe]

Cairm's Way Station in Cairm, 216 miles north of Ettermire, Alerar.

Staring through the thin glass of the darkened supply compartment and into the busy streets of Alerar, I growled under my breath, "Back into the Lion's den," not even aware of the irony of such a statement. After receiving my assignment from Vergil, I had managed to finagle my way back into the country and found myself in dire straits. I had to be in Salvar in less than a month to meet my contact, and my options of getting there were far and in between. Traveling by ship cost a fortune and three or four months, plus we would have to get through the royal blockade that had formed around the country, which was no small task. Caravans were ridiculously slow from Alerar, each taking up to a year-and-a-half to trek across the slumbering mountains and to their destination. On top of that, a secret war between merchants and trading companies had erupted in the savage tundra, and it made the civil war look like a fucking tea party. I was not going to be wrapped up in that on top of everything else. So what did that leave? Trains.

It was easier said than done to get upon one of the supply trains to Salvar, and I had not been pleased to hear what it would take to get to Knife's Edge. In an effort to starve the Church and the revolt of their resources, Rathaxea had stopped all trains except those traveling directly to secret supply caches. The security was unbelievably tight, and it had reminded me deeply of the ports in my world where we traveled by air. I had managed to slip the majority of my weapons into various pieces of luggage in order to get them through customs, and that wasn't even the worst of it. In order to ensure that the trains to Salvar were free from stowaways, the Salvic government had taken an extreme leap forward to preserve the security. Starting at the halfway point, the compartments of the train were to be sealed and purged of all air for four days at every point beyond that until it reached its destination. I didn't have that kind of time.

The plan was simple. A mile away from the midpoint, I would leap from the cargo bay of the train and hoof it through the wilderness to my destination, Gamul. There was a problem, however. Unable to see any conceivable way of making it in time with a bad leg, the knights had employed a physician to re-grow the bones in my leg and set them to get me up and running. It had been excruciating. The treatment had been experimental, and the side effects didn't even compare to how much pain I went through to run again. Feeling the smooth glass of the prescription bottle in my jacket pocket, I grunted. It had taken less than a week for the medication to bond to my system, and I had been told by the doc' that if I didn't died from an overdose, the side effects would remain with me for the rest of my life. Fucking perfect.

I could walk and even run, but what about getting there? Staring at the case that sat at my feet, I winced at the thought of what it had taken to convince Vergil to give me a weapon. Surviving in Salvar wasn't easy to begin with, but I wasn't about to fight Nature itself without having better odds. I had managed to get my hands on an old, 1917 Enfield rifle that looked to be reminiscent of one of the world wars back in my world. The thing was a relic, and I was never completely sure whether it would fire or fall apart in my hands. With twenty rounds and a decent sight, the bolt-action rifle could take out a fully grown Kodiak at two hundred yards in a good light; I had little reason to complain.

Sitting upon a crate inside the cramped compartment, I could feel myself counting the days it would take to reach my target. This had been bigger then I first thought, and I couldn't argue with what had been offered to me. Ten thousand gold to kill an assassin; it had sounded too good to be true when I heard it, and it probably still was. I had many dollar signs thrown at me over the years, and when you killed people for a living, you had to subtract over thirty percent to the agreed payment. Some of it was for keeping witnesses quiet, cleaning up scenes of the crime, or to get me out of the country fast, but most of it was insurance money. Ten thousand gold was spitting into a bucket compared to my usual fee on Earth, but given my current conditions, I wasn't about to fight it. I'd be lucky to see six at the end of this.

Suddenly a gush of steam whistled off in the distance and the train lurched forward onto the track. The cityscape of Alerar rushed forward and began to blur as the engine tugged the supply train onward and into the dank, hollowed out tunnel that weaved through the mountains. It'd be two days before I saw light again, and looking up into the sinking sun overhead, I fell silent as I was left to my thoughts and I began to search for my lamp.

***

[Jobe]

Somewhere between Salvar and Alerar..

Flipping open the latches to the case under dim lantern light, I saw my sallow skin and gritted my teeth as I feared the worst. The pills the doc' had prescribed me were working wonders, but the medicine had been so potent that there was a bigger risk of my liver giving out than actually making it to Knife's Edge in one piece with each pill I popped. Wrenching out the stock of the rifle from the felt padded case, I winced, "My bones are fucking dense enough," I hissed through my teeth as pain shot throughout my body. It wasn't going to be a pleasant experience, but I had to rely on this pain to track the feeling in my limbs when I got out into the biting cold of that savage wasteland. Pulling the slim, steel barrel of the rifle from the case with the finesse of a frustrated primate, I wedged it into the stock and began to gently screw it in until I heard a satisfying click.

It had been a day-and-a-half since I entered the Alerarian-Salvic tunnel and I wasn't pleased with how well this was going. I was already suspicious that no guards or customs agents had come to inspect this cabin before we left, but I hadn't heard a squeak from the other cabins in what had to be the last couple days. I could only assume somebody had given away my position and ratted me out. I had guessed that once we left the safety of the tunnel, I'd be ousted twenty minutes to an hour down the stretch by whoever was running the show. I had been warned by Vergil that the trains weren't reliable from the get-go, but if I had wanted my mother as an employer, I would've asked. The express lane had its price, I thought methodically as I pulled open the chamber and shuffled in lead-tipped rounds that gave a sickly glow in the lantern light.

I glanced at the empty food tins that had began to clutter in my pack and gave a loud, hissing sigh of frustration. Being a hitman, I was often presented situations that rarely left me with a choice that I liked aside from the obvious result. If I were to make the jump early, there would be no turning back and I'd have to tack on another week on top of a three-week trip, leaving my rendezvous in jeopardy. I didn't have enough food, not enough ammo, and not enough time to make it to Knife's Edge, but if I didn't find some way to stretch my limitations I'd be meeting Vergil again very, very soon that would probably result in a public execution. Did I forget to mention that this job was off the books? If I was caught in any way between here and my target, I'd have to hope that the retainer of five hundred gold I had in my pocket would buy me some good faith and a swift death by the executioner.

Pulling the chamber shut with a click I grabbed the scope and snapped it into place, my right eye beginning to twitch from all the duress. Cutting it close like always, Jack, I thought plaintively as I stood up and reached for the rest of my gear. Any minute now I'd have to start, and then I'd be able to see where all the chips lay. Shrugging on a bulky, mammoth-fur jacket that stretched down to my hips, I wrestled with the thoughts of which one of the knights had betrayed me. The obvious choice would always be Elric, but Achmed's Razor, the philosophy of deducing a complicated circumstance to the simplest variable and then following it, wasn't going to bail me out of this one.

I was in far too deep, for all I know Vergil could've sent me on this suicide mission in order to pick one more assassin off the streets. I shouldn't be surprised, out of all the people in the world, the people who did the most good were also the most deceptive. As I reveled in the heights of my paranoia, I felt the sudden drop in temperature within the chamber. Show time, I thought while I rushed over to the rest of my supplies and began to gather things. It wouldn't be a pleasant trip, but I had the essentials. Emergency rations that would last me about a week, a box of matches, some whale blubber, a multi-tool, and even some snowspex. I'd be facing Nature head on, and in less than a week, I'd be forced to kill for my food. Perfect.

Pulling up the lantern, the cabin danced with shadows as light flickered against the wide, iron-cast crates, and I switched it off as I attached it to the pack hoisted on my back, a metal sheath acting as a glove against the lantern glass. Either way I looked at it, when I hit the ground, it was going to be hard. Immersed in total darkness, the sound of air whooshing against the narrow pocket between the train and the tunnel wall caused the hair upon my neck to prickle. Pulling on what I thought to be the snowspex, light suddenly flooded the chamber from the glossy windows and I watched as everything was bathed in a brownish orange from behind the goggles.

Chugging forward, the train entered the Salvic tundra, the entire landscape bland under the threat of a snow-blind. Damn. It was bad enough I was going to be in short supply, but not being able to tell which direction I was going would probably get me killed. Pushing over the crates towards the door, I began to question my judgment of assembling the rifle now instead of later, but quickly lost the inquiry when I saw a flood of what had to be light blue streaks over the horizon that resembled what I had known to be a sky. Pulling on thick woolen gloves that were cased in leather and feeling my stocking cap and padded hood over my head, I gripped the handle to the metallic door and mumbled, "On the count of three."

I clutched the handle longingly, and couldn't bear to speak as my mind painstakingly rattled off the number with addled suspense before I yanked the handle with all my strength. I almost toppled over backwards as the door refused to budge. Letting out a gasp of surprise, my face darkened and I tried again but to no avail. Then a third time, and then a forth until I felt the chains rattle against the door and my face turn hot with anger. Looking out the window I saw the dim sky fade from view under the white haze and whispered, "Oh crap."