View Full Version : Enemy of the States
(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.
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.
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.
***
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?"
***
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.
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'."
***
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.
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?"
***
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.
***
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."
A series of small creaks from the next cabin over caused me to quickly creep towards the nearest crate, my senses heightened. Pulling off my snowspex I strained my ears to hear the minute sound of whispers, "A set-up," I grumbled.
I was trapped, and I had little in the way to get me outside that damn door other than a host of entirely stupid and useless ideas. Gotta think fast, my mind whispered as I tried to force it to focus on the task ahead. What was left to say that hadn't already been addressed? As I tried to keep a handle on my thoughts, there was a loud scurry of footsteps followed by a familiar strand of numbers that caused my face to grow pale.
Setting my rifle to the ground, I grabbed a sheath on either side of my coat and tugged two gargantuan half-blades called pangas free, the steel glimmering in the sunlight. It had been another thing I had managed to pick up in Corone, and I was positive that the only people who knew about it were I and the armorer who forged it. No need to waste bullets, I reasoned. Whatever was behind that door was sure to know whatever gun Vergil had given me, and I hadn't thought about it until now, but I was running the real risk that I was playing with a gun full of blanks. Trying to ignore the irony, I heard a loud crash as the steel door flew past me and landed with a thud. Not daring to peek over the edge, I stood tall against the huge, iron crate that extended to the ceiling.
If I had been as dumb as they had expected, I would've stepped out and unloaded whatever I had into the unknown and hoped for the best. If. Booted feet began to creep forward as I heard a deep voice mutter, "He's in here somewhere, check every damn crate!"
My knuckles grew white as I gripped the leathery handles of either panga and I could feel my heart attempt to spring its way from my chest. It'd be any second now, and the only thing I could see was red as I silently vowed that no employer I ever dealt with would know how I got to and from a job. I slowly felt my feet draw me into the shadows as a bulky figure strode past me, armed with a Heckler & Koch G3 assault rifle and decked in blackened leather and steel. Goggled eyes attempted to glimpse through the darkness I was standing in, and I could feel the muscles in my body twitch as I yearned for the kill.
Staring down the greased barrel of the H&K, I licked my lips as I fought the urge to lunge, and in moments the soldier turned back and began to skulk further into the cabin. Rookie mistake. The second mercenary carrying a RMB-93 shotgun barely cleared the crate as I stepped quickly forward and shoved my panga into the meat between his shoulder and neck, slicing through it like butter. The poor bastard bucked wildly, unloading a round into one of the containers, pulverizing the iron covering. Seizing the opportunity, I jabbed my other blade into his right side as I heard him yelp, unable to fight me off.
With the first soldier already well down the line and behind another crate, I slammed my back against the wall and felt my victim flail as he sputtered incoherently in thick salvic. The first mercenary turned on his heel and rushed the corner as I managed to get a hold of the shotgun and pulled the trigger, a spray of thick, arterial blood painting the wall behind him an ugly scarlet. Slumping to the ground, the first guard's H&K clattered to the floor and his pale face was frozen in horror. Scrabbling to get a hold of the steel lodged in his shoulder, the soldier I had a hold of managed to sputter, "Shit! Fidal, get this crazy bastard off me!"
Not waiting to meet whoever this Fidal was, I wrenched the shotgun free from the merc's grasp, managed to pull one of the pangas out, and kicked him savagely forward; another mercenary carrying an assault rifle that cleared the crate was knocked sideways. Cocking the shotgun I watched his head turn as he tried to register the situation, I pulled the trigger and unloaded two shells into the fucker before the crates he was leaning on gave, toppling over and crushing them under their massive weight, "Your employer should've told ya' a little more about who it was your huntin'," I said plaintively.
Stopping to reload and cock the shotgun, I reached over and slung my rifle over my shoulder, my hands shaking with what I thought to be excitement. Like Hell I was going to let this streak end, besides, one good hit with one of these guns and I was fucking done for. Moving quickly, I cleared the crate and unloaded another round into two more mercenaries that had just entered the cabin, each flying into narrow hallway of the next cabin. I felt the rush and the sticky, red blood pooling at my feet only spiked my adrenaline.
Forsaking my other knife, I stepped over the bodies and into the hallway, unable to hear any mercenaries from where I was located. I barely turned the corner when I felt my vision begin to tunnel and twist into double-vision, as if I had drank one too many jagers and hadn't realized the bender I was going to be running for the next four days. Dropping the shotgun, I felt my strength drain and I fell to my knees as I mumbled, "W-what..w-what's happening to me?!"
I hadn't realized what was happening as whatever it was in my system wrestled for control to bring me to the ground. Giant black blobs quickly surrounded me while a slender figure between them called out in a feminine voice, her salvic words echoing in my pulsing brain, "Take his guns and bag him, Hector can deal with the collateral damage..."
My mind swooned and my mouth trembled as I attempted to speak, but before I could utter another word something hard struck me in the back of the head as one of the soldier's cold-cocked me. Soon my world slipped from view and I felt myself pulled into the undertow of unrequited slumber.
***
Somewhere in Salvar??
My vision began to yoke and piece the images of grainy reality together as my mind emerged from the sea of intoxicating sleep. Groggy, I steadied myself as I tried to pick my chin off my chest and watched as everything was cascaded into a series of blurs and merged into facets of colours I hadn't even dreamed of. As beautiful as it was, it also gave me the overwhelming urge to vomit. It took me a good fifteen minutes before I got over the white-knuckle vertigo of the room, and what a mess it was.
Cuffed to a chair, I stared abhorrently at the chipped, lilac-hued paint that covered walls that instilled a sort of claustrophobia that had lain dormant within me until now. Tile smudged with the sort of pinkish hue of blood that no amount of scrubbing could get out laid around me. Pushing my head lulling to the side, I glanced at the woman who sat with her arms crossed, in front of a window of double-paned glass, and gave her a lopsided sneer.
Sitting erect, she was a few inches shorter than I was and was of lanky build, but she was still a looker. She was in her early thirties, and I could tell by her weathered look that she had dealt with more than one criminal before. This would probably just be treading water for her, but it was too bad she didn't know more about good ol'e Jack. With the standard white-collar shirt, the woman's slender curves were partially covered by an obsidian coloured vest that stretched down to her waist. A colt python was holstered at her right side, and I felt a sort've kinship with those beautiful brown eyes of hers that stared at me complacently.
Her tufts of chestnut brown hair were cropped carefully to suit that of a standard government agent, but I suspected she and I held a strong mutual interest in women. If I hadn't been so stoned I couldn't tell up from down or felt like someone threw me under a bus, I would've asked. Trying to move my arms, I realized for the first time since I had come to that I was bound in the same leather restraints they used for those at the loony bin and in a teal jumpsuit to match. Following my gaze, the woman leaned over and scraped a manila folder from the right end of the table over to her and flipped it open. She began to speak in an adapted form of tradespeak, but I could easily tell she was salvic to the bone, "Mr. Jobe, I take it? My name is Agent Pkuluk, and I'm with.. well, let’s just say we've been watching you for quite awhile now. How was the sleep?"
Raising an eyebrow I sat back as best I could and smiled with realization, "You drugged me."
"With enough sedatives to kill a rabid bear," she added before looking back down at the document, her bangs falling down and hiding her porcelain-like face.
Raising my eyebrows I whispered, "The fish," and began to chuckle I looked at her, "I knew that crap tasted strange. How'd you know I'd eat it before you broke down the doors?"
Looking up she shrugged, "We didn't. We drugged everything you'd put your mouth on and hoped for the best. In fact, I was about to order a clean-up from our team that does wet work, but you came out practically gift-wrapped."
"What more could a girl ask for," I added with a bemusing look. She had me cornered; I was dressed in her monkey suit and bound to a chair. If I was going to die, I would do so in the hopes that I pissed off the last person I saw who seemed to have a sense of stability.
"Anyway," she deflected as she pushed a photo in my direction. It was a photo outside the tavern where I had met the knights. I stood there with a cigar in my mouth and a look fit for a plastic mannequin as I looked up to Vergil while he spoke. The agent's eyes pierced through my guise while she addressed me, "I see you've met the prestigious and over vigilant Vergil. The old watch dog has his loyalties tied directly to the throne, so it isn't surprising to us that he hired somebody like you to clean up someone else's mess."
Someone else's mess? I thought inquisitively as I watched the woman shuffle through papers and continue to connect what she thought were the dots that brought me here. Whatever story she was cooking up though, I knew I wasn't listening. Vergil had been explicit in his orders to kill this assassin who threatened a cabinet member in the Royal Parliament. Up until now, I was in awe that these snow monkeys could govern themselves at all, let alone how they even learned human speech. Now they had a parliament for nobles and a monarchy to boot. Could it be that the government was collapsing in on itself?
"We also found you here and here," I heard Pkuluk say as my attention snapped back like that of a rubber band. Tossing photographs in my direction, she watched my reaction as I stared at them placidly. One was of me in Corone when I made contact with my medic; the other was in an alley in what had to be Alerar when I was waiting for my contact. Who the Hell did they have taking their photography and how do they keep finding me? It didn't matter what she saw though, as I looked at the photographs, I knew all too well that my face wouldn't betray my intentions. Too much practice for that, I thought. When she judged trying to trip me up wouldn't work, she changed tactics, "Now, our informant has told us all we want to know of your involv-"
"Informant? Please tell me it's Elric, Com'n. He's about as clean as my dirty laundry, give it up," I chided as she pursed her grayish pinkish lips and stared at me.
"Sir Elric," Pkuluk corrected before adding, "Was the least cooperative of all the knights, and I'd be beside myself if I didn't suggest you two get together and swap stories."
Watching her carefully, my thoughts stirred as I shrugged, "What's this about? If you’re on Vergil's side and you know what I was there for, why'd you dope me and pull me out of the field?"
"You’re not the only one who’s after Dominic Bon Waye. The assassin is after a very high profile target and if we were to let you within spitting distance of him, I'm sure we wouldn't want you shooting him with that bolt-action pea shooter of yours."
"Clever," I said, "When am I going back?"
The agent began to laugh haughtily at the suggestion and shrugged, "You can trace the dots from here, assassin. Why would I and my superiors squander all our resources and burn so many bridges to bring a man such as you into the fold?"
Looking away I heard myself groaning on the inside and I knew the answer was going to kill whatever momentum I had. As a hitman with almost twenty years of experience, I've never seen so many of my plans foiled. Someone on the inside was ratting on me, and I'd be sure to make a follow-up with most of my contacts after this was all over. My thoughts drifting back to the matter at hand, I heard myself mutter, "Re-assignment."
"Good, you’re not as dense as I had thought," Pkuluk said coldly, "You’re going to play ball with us instead of Vergil. He’s about as cunning as a block of wood and about as smart as one too. If you’re going to do this job, it'll be on our terms and with what we provide you. We will not risk Chairman Yminir's life on sub-standard equipment. I'll personally see to it that you’re adequately rewarded for your time and effort upon completion, if you make it back alive."
"No need to worry about my well being, tutz, but what if I decide not to play ball," I questioned as I looked at her mockingly. I had an aversion of becoming someone’s yo-yo, especially a government bureaucrat’s. No matter how good she looked.
Giving a small sigh, she folded her hands and leaned over, a dark look slowly taking over her ivory-hued face. Staring directly into my eyes she spoke as if she were reprimanding a child who she had just caught with their hands in the cookie jar, "You’re in an undisclosed supply depot in the middle of nowhere. Even if you don't want to work with us, you've nowhere to go. And although we may let you go your own way, I can guarantee you that gear of yours wouldn't get you six clicks before hypothermia sets in, let alone get you in the right direction."
Feeling an air of defeat, I knew the entire crux of her argument rested on my involvement. Agent Pkuluk was hiding more than her fair share, and I was sure that despite her shady negotiating skills, what she said was the truth. Why risk it on a grudge? Pulling myself up I nodded to her, "Fine, but first, I want out of these damn things. Along with a fresh pair of clothes, I want full disclosure on the assignment, no pussyfooting around. My last offer was ten thousand for Bon Waye. I want triple," I finished with a flashy smile.
Pkuluk looked at me in mock amazement and shrugged as she said, "Deal," And got up as she fished through her pockets for the right key to release me from my bonds.
Feeling her bosom against my shoulder as she leaned over and toyed with my cuffs, I wondered how we'd stand when this was all said and done. I waited until she took a few steps back before I began to rub my wrists vigorously, trying to get the feeling back in them, "Damn. So, where do I upgrade my hardware?"
***
Province of Gamul, 73 Miles Southeast of Knife's Edge, Salvar.
Clutching the sling of a heavy leather bag over my shoulder I took a deep breath and felt the frigid, free air fill my lungs. Looking from either direction of the densely packed streets of the province of Gamul, I juggled the bag and fished for my keys as I stood in front of my new apartment. It had come to this. It had been a long, excruciatingly slow two weeks, but I could finally feel the anticipation again. The urge to kill. I was free again, and it had taken those two weeks getting here to realize how long it would've taken me with my original plan. No use crying over spilled milk, I thought, Too much to do and too little time.
As I opened the door and met the familiar gaze of several government suits sitting about the one-room apartment, I felt that feeling of freedom evaporate when I realized that I was just another killer on a short leash. Crossing the threshold I heard one of the agents grumble from over his copy of the paper, "Cold out there, ain't it?"
"You've no idea," I retorted as I kicked the door shut behind me and moved into the room, feeling the gentle warmth of the hearth fill me like water to an empty glass. Crossing the room's rickety, paneled floors, my nostrils sucked in an overpowering scent reminiscent of maple. The apartment was just like any other one could find in a town like this. Leaky, decadent, and a whole host of other tell-tale signs of a dive. Pkuluk had been insistent on keeping this operation entirely undercover, but that didn't mean she was going to let me run rampant on her watch.
She had lied when she told me I could've gone if I really wanted to, I knew it when she unlocked my cuffs, and I knew it here and now with a bunch of government lapdogs itching to put a bullet in my back. I was a prisoner here, the only difference being that I was on recess, and I had toys to play with. In a few short steps I made it the staircase before I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder stop me midmotion, "You get em'," a deep, haggard voice asked over my shoulder.
A small smirk creased my lips and vanished all the same as I turned and steeled my gaze into a burly, balding fellow by the name of Ferdinand, "Yeah, yeah I got it," I said. He was twice my size in both bulk and height as well three to four years my senior; a real scrapper. Curly, blonde hair rimmed his balding pate along with horn-rimmed glasses and wisps of a beard upon his broad jaw. The agent had been made second-in-command under Pkuluk, and he was the only real pain in my ass. Despite being a by-the-book lawman, Ferdinand and most of the other agents had the same Achille's heel.
"Well.. Get it out already," The agent said as he itched his clenched jaw line with signs reminiscent of a junkie. I wasn't about to deprive of him of his fix, especially when I could bank that if I had any chance of getting out of this mess, it'd be to feed the glutton. Holding the bag in my hands, I unzipped it and moved back a couple steps into the shadows to avoid the gaze of the few straight-edges out there, and pulled out a small, fat cloth pouch that reeked of opium.
Sniffing the air pathetically, the lawman rubbed his hands together and licked his lips as I tossed the bag to him, "On the house, as always."
"Yea- wait," Ferdinand said as he stopped me at the stairs, his wolfish eyes staring into mine with a sort of kinship only he could possibly feel. Looking about he lowered his voice to a whisper, "Adia is upstairs workin' off a hangover, steer clear of her. Mean drunk."
I nodded with a grin and mounted the stairs as my brow creased in mild wonder. There was a guy code in Althanas? Could a lawman slash dope fiend break the barrier with one he knew to be a killer and give him advice man to man? It had been one of many times I had heard the hypocrite tell me Pkuluk's first name like we had been high school friends. I snorted at the thought. My form faded into the cool shadows as I retreated up the stairs from the choking presence of the room, my thoughts turned to how long it would take that bag of opium to disappear and whether all the agents would take a puff.
If the bottom of the apartment stood as testament of being a shithole, the second floor was in dire straits. Chipped, ugly wallpaper flecked the walls and I could smell the familiar scent of blood woven into the fabric. Somebody had died here. Moving past Pkuluk's room as quietly as I could I felt the brass knob of my door and heard the creak of floorboards from the drunken agent's room as I could only deduce she was coming to investigate. Pkuluk, despite whatever honor she had, was an alcoholic, and if it hadn't been for me, she'd plaster herself with that revolting root-mixed liquor she called 'grog'.
Quickly, I opened my door and was slightly blinded by the glare of sunlight from the open window. Moving inside, I shut the door before Pkuluk had a chance to interrogate me, and I stopped. Slowly hearing the heavy breath of someone behind me, I felt the hairs upon my nape prickle as I heard a gruff, raspy voice call out in eloquent fallienite with an accent that reminded me distinctly of a Haitian, "If it isn't the salvic pig in the flesh, eh?"
I had long since been under the assumption that when one has a gun pointed to their back, you have only three things you could do in that kind of situation; Bitch, die, or fight. I had been raised and became a contract killer and watched decisions like these being made almost daily by my victims. Most died, few bitched, and a lot fought for their lives before I took them. At least the few that did manage to fight had the dignity to die in quiet silence. Some asked how a monster could do such a thing, others begged, but generally I never gave most of my victims a chance to shoot the breeze before I put a bullet in their head. Why was I so special?
If I had been four more paces away from the gunman and standing stranded in the middle of the room I would've been dead. It was that simple. Dropping the bag on the floor and staring into the sunlit sanctuary of the city outside, I felt a grin tug at my face as I considered what a fellow assassin had done for me, and it went without saying. A chance to survive; a gentleman's wager with the ante being so grim and morbid that it would cause most upstanding citizens to quake in their boots at the opportunity.
I wasn't going to squander it.
"American," I said as I tried to turn my head only to stop as the gun jabbed menacingly deeper into my back as the assailant reflexively tried to keep me in place.
I heard the guy begin to say something as he stood confused for a moment before his Haitian-like voice rang clearly behind me, "What?"
"I'm American, not Salvic," I said and then added, "Get it?"
Clearly he didn't understand as a long pause of silence passed between us both. That was good. It meant very two crucial things to me. One, whoever this guy was, and I had a running bet on who it might have been, didn't know I wasn't Althanian. Two. It meant he didn't know about my old standby when it comes to situations like these. Perfect.
".. Yah, right. Whatever. You've been making a big name for yourself trying to meddle in this whole business," the gunman began.
I smirked as he felt the need to chat, every instinct trying to pull me around to take hold of that weapon and bash some sense into the bastard's skull, but I stayed my ground. Raising my hands slowly I felt a jab as the assailant grew suspicious, clearly overplaying whatever gun it was he had, "Relax," I said, " aking off my shades. I don't intend to die with the thought of breaking these damned things," I lied.
"No, keep your hands where I can see them," he said as he felt the need to assert control, but was steadily losing whatever angle he had. Slowly my thoughts began to turn on their head at the idea of the wager. Was this guy really trying to give me an honorable fight or was he just stupid?
"Are you kidding me? These things are worth three hundred bucks. There’s no fucking way I'm breaking them," I snapped.
Edging back slightly on the weapon, the assassin poked the gun suspiciously in my back and growled, "Die like a man."
Stayed for the moment, I shrugged, releasing the cache in my jacket sleeves where some my throwing knives were stored, the hilt caught between my thumb and index finger as I lowered my arm out of eye level, "Your mess, not mine."
"You whites are all alike, always concerned. Always tryin' to pull somethin'. You should've done yourself a favor and stayed in Cor-," he managed to blurt angrily before I felt him relax his grip on his weapon. That was all it took.
I whirled around and caught him off guard as I hurled my knife in what I thought to be his direction. Like two lions wrestling for the kill, I grabbed onto the man and caught a glance at his black face and the whites of his eyes. Hand on his weapon and another on his right arm, I didn't have time to examine his face more closely as I shoved us both forward and into the doorway. There was a loud cough, almost a hiccup as the assailant and I met the unrelenting door. Bouncing off the door like entangled marionettes falling to the stage seemingly unaware of their attachments, I braced him against the threshold and tangled his legs in mine as I tried to hold him in place, keeping whatever weapon it was he had out of reach and out of sight.
Pulling some sort of strange fighting style that reminded me of an oriental kick boxer, the man squirmed trying to get out of my iron grip but I held him fast. One of us had to get to that gun; I could see it in his eyes. Bending his left arm which held the weapon high over his head as he continued to struggle, I gave a little and felt him push with all his might before I twisted his arm at a weird angle and shoved him against the door that practically felt like a wall and let out a resounding thump the moment he had made contact.
Stunned, the man yelped and I heard the weapon clatter to the floor as he released his grip. He was all mine now for the few seconds I had before the agents made it up the stairway and Pkuluk crawled out of her room. Untangling my legs and bracing myself as my grip grew tighter and tighter against the man's forearm and shoulder, I felt the same question raise in my mind as it had the moment I felt the gun in my back.
Staring into those brown, fierce eyes of a man who continued to squirm and pull on my grip. He looked to be in his early twenties, his thin face chiseled with a strong jaw line and high cheek bones. His head was practically shaved with how close a cut he chose to have. Fit to be an actor back on Earth, I'd wager. I growled under my breath, "Bon Waye?"
Looking at me blankly as he tried to fight his way out of my grasp I felt my patience growing thin when I heard the thundering of footsteps below as the agents began to mount the stairs. Slamming him against the door again, I roared, "Answer me, Bon Waye!"
"He’s not me," I heard another older voice say in the same thick Haitian accent as I heard the click of the hammer upon his gun, "Now let him go."
Holding the assailant in place I ignored the voice as I looked into the youthful face and didn't respond as my mind raced for answers. A few long, unsteady seconds passed before I heard the voice again, his tone growing bitter, "Let. Him. Go. Unlike my accomplice here, I do have a gun to shoot you with. Don't pull that shit with me."
Hearing the sound of footsteps against the last, squeaky stair before the hallway, I knew help was almost here. The kid continued to fight while I held him, and then with all my might I threw him to the ground to my left and jumped right behind the cabinet that sat against the wall. Feeling the sense of cover behind my back and staring ahead, I watched several things happen at once as the door that had felt so much like a wall come crashing to the ground.
Time seemed to keep pace with the bullets as shots fired out before the dust even settled when the door fell to the ground with a large, resounding whomp. Agents decked in black ties and slacks with white-collar shirts poured into the room and tried to take control of the situation, ignoring the need for cover in a situation like this. After all, why bother to protect yourself when somebody important is at risk, I thought sardonically. I had made it very, very clear to Pkuluk on the way here that if I don't have a gun in my hands and somebody else does, I'm taking cover. They may be willing to throw their lives away for some old codger, but it doesn't mean I have to. I'm a hired gun, what the fuck do they expect?
A sobering Pkuluk was on the frontlines barking orders for what had to be a very short firefight. I had stayed back and crouched to avoid a stray bullet from either side. Covering my head as hot lead pierced the wooden paneling of the cabinet just a few inches over my head; I coughed as debris floated in the air and coated me an ugly, unnatural white. Looking up slightly, I saw Ferdinand and about five other agents returning fire out in the open when a yelp called out over the battering of bullets against the chipped, robin-egg blue wallpaper and everything around it.
I hadn't seen any cover there, but damn. I never expected the guy to stand up to this much firepower. At the sound of glass shattering and something thudding to the floor while all too familiar boot steps pounded against the floor and onto the window sill, I could only guess who had managed to escape as I shot up and watched a cop by the name of Bob fall to the floor clutching a bullet wound on his gut that oozed a brackish, black goopy blood that could only mean it pierced the stomach. Bob would have a couple hours of racking agony until he finally bought it.
If he was lucky enough.
"Medic!" I barked as I peeked over the corner and pulled a 9mm glock from a cabinet drawer. Pulling out a clip from my jacket pocket and slamming it into the weapon I watched Pkuluk approach me and say something when I looked down and saw what I was stepping over. Lying slack jawed and sprawled against the floor, the guy who was with Bon Waye was quickly bleeding out from five or six shots to the chest. He wouldn't make it down stairs before he died.
"Jobe let u-" Pkuluk began to order until I stayed her with a hand. We didn't have time for it. No last minute saves, no emergency medical kits to open and practice blue-collar triage on him and Bob. He was going to die. It wasn't a matter of choice or when, it was time.
"Jobe what're yo-"
"We're not going to save him, the best we can do is make him talk, now shut up!" I yelled over my shoulder as I pulled off my sunglasses, stuck them in my shirt and simply stared at him. Stooping over him I nudged the hem of his black duster away to get a better view of him and cringed. Light hued, arterial red oozed from the wounds and it had been decisive. A shot to the heart was fatal anywhere and there simply wasn't anything to do about it but wait and see.
Or.
Slowly the guy's eyes began to glaze over and I could tell he was going quick, pocketing my gun I slapped him on the cheek and shouted in his face, "Hey, wake up! Hey.. Yeah, that's it. You can die when I say you can, boy. Where’s the hideout?"
Quickly the would-be Haitian gurgled and spat blood weakly, his power of speech about as feeble as his breathing. Thirty seconds left perhaps? Maybe forty? Shaking my head I grabbed his good arm and applied pressure to it, "Hey! Where is he? Where? Tell me where he’s going and I'll send you packing, Hollywood!"
The kid winced as I put enough pressure on his arm to cut off circulation, and I was fully aware that any more than that and he'd go into shock, even this was a gamble. Slowly the guy began to whisper something and beckoned me closer. I complied and turned my ear over as I sunk lower and lower to his level, "What is it?"
His lips jabbered as he struggled for the strength to speak, his breathing becoming a chore as he taxed every last iota of energy within the scarlet ruin of his body to tell me this one thing, "F-f-fu-"
His body cut out before he could complete what I had imagined to be a particularly dirty curse. Slowly his head lolled to the side and lifeblood oozed from his lips as his lungs began to fill with the stuff until he'd drown in it. I had no idea why I expected him to tell me the truth now, I'd practically handed him to the firing squad before I hit the deck. It was only natural that turnabout was fair play.
Standing up, I felt a cool breeze rush through the room and the dust beginning to clear as the agents eyed me like a pack of hungry dogs staring down a hunk of raw, juicy meat. I hadn't time to obey their commands or play this little game of cat and mouse. I watched Pkuluk begin to move her lips and say something, but I didn't listen. I never did.
I looked towards the window again where two agents were walking away from it on either side, and I felt reality zip back on course as I saw a black dot disappear over a nearby roof. Sadly, Pkuluk's voice came back too.
"When I give you an order to stand down, you do it! You got me?" She snapped.
"Uh-huh," I mumbled as I slowly wandered to the door, seeing her try to corner me out of the corner of my eye.
"Hey, I'm talking to you, da-" she started before she opened her mouth and attempted to stop me as I made for the window, her normal cool demeanor seeming to diminish with what I thought to be a dangerous cocktail of alcohol and bullets. I broke into a run and forsook the house, the agents, and everything that went with it. Bon Waye was on the move, and I wasn't going to let him get away. In seconds my feet were on the window sill and another second passed beforeI could feel the cold, frigid air rush against my face.
***
Cotton hued snow crunched underneath my feet as I landed upon the roof of a building that sat affixed next to the safe house I had been kept in. The sound of Pkuluk's curses followed with the bark of orders as she tried to shove her men out the windows and after me. Lousy drunk, I grimaced. I didn't even bother to recover before breaking into a mad dash along the narrow strip of thick slate tiles probably used more to the convenience of chimney sweeps than for decoration. The scenery became a blur as old, dilapidated cottages and a sea of people began to blend and mix as I sprinted faster and faster down the way, my focus sharpened like that of a knife point as I ran towards my goal.
Two houses down. Maybe one-and-a-half more before I find you, you arrogant prick, I calculated as I barred my teeth and carried myself faster and faster as I approached the end of the first building. I had always hated to run, perhaps it was the smoker in me, but strenuous exercise like this was better left to the athletes. But, then again, there were worse things than having to run a mile in somebody's shoes.
Try jumping in them.
In the last couple of months I had made an unusual habit of making my exits more dramatic than they had to be, but I suppose having jumped out of a skyscraper at gunpoint qualified me for what was coming next. Closer and closer the edge of the roof came as I barreled down the pathway, my thoughts turning towards what I was going to do to this guy. In a couple minutes my brain would be screaming for me to stop this haphazard chase in a world I didn't belong in. But I wouldn't. I was on the hunt; the scent of blood was in the air and there would be nothing short of divine intervention that would stop me from eliminating my target.
Quickly the gap between the houses became bigger and bigger as I reached the edge of the roof and felt my muscles scream at what I was about to do. I think it was the momentum, or maybe my determination that had gotten the better of me, but I didn't hesitate or stop to think it through before I leapt from the safety of the building towards the next.
And was short by mere inches before I caught the edge of the next walkway and smacked into the side of the bricked building with a loud slap. Stunned momentarily, I felt the red welt on the side of my head and was fortunate that my quick thinking caused my neck to turn my head just enough to keep my nose from being broken. Quickly my biceps flexed as I gritted my teeth and summoned whatever strength I had to pull myself up and over and onto the platform of the building. Laying in a heap upon the walkway, I gasped for as much air as I could take in before I had to run again. So that's what chin-ups are good for, my mind exclaimed as one of the oddest, most inopportune memories popped into my head and I saw the flash of a younger version of myself staring at a large metallic bar in a class I had despised as a child.
"Fuck memory lane," I growled as I banished whatever childhood nostalgia that had decided to rear its ugly head and distract me from the task at hand.
There had to be some way to forget memories like that. Pulling myself to my feet, I shook my head and took a couple quick breaths before I heard someone howl, "Damn it, he’s over here! Com'n boys!"
My chest heaving as my lungs gasped for air, I turned and saw a semi-lucid Ferdinand and two other agents barreling single file towards me, each attempting to get past the each other like a pack of hungry, vicious hounds. Each of them had drawn their pistols and had them at their side as if they had prepared for the worse. Slowly I began to back away before I heard one of the agents yell, "Stop! Jobe! Stand down!"
"What are you going to do if I don't? Shoot me?" I shouted back as I watched one of the agents slow out of the corner of my eye, dumbstruck. I had a point. Who else were they going to get to hunt this bastard down? It’s not like they had a whole catalog of choices sitting on the king's lap with assassins lined up at the gate to deal with this kind of shit. Dismissing the thought, I turned back and began to run closer and closer to that stupid prick that had chosen to ambush me with an amateur. It had been professionally and personally insulting, but I suppose like the veteran I suspected he was, there were more surprises in store for me before sundown.
***
Sitting in a rocking chair, an old woman creaked back and forth as she fixed and twiddled with her knitting needles as she toyed with a lavender piece of linen. A calm, quiet silence filled the air with the crackling of embers upon the timber of the stone fireplace just a few feet beyond her and an elderly, withered man sitting in a comfortable, arm chair reading his copy of an exclusive paper that had shipped in from Knife's Edge itself.
The tranquil scene was shattered as I came crashing through the glass and tumbled to floor, rolling to my feet on pure adrenaline. The old woman screamed something in a form of what had to be salvic that I wasn't familiar with. The old man in iron-rimmed glasses dropped his paper and stared at me in disbelief as he looked me up and down, his mind slowly but surely approaching the same conclusion that his wife had.
"Uh.. Hi," I grunted and nodded to the woman, "Mam."
Awkward silence fell upon us as I walked out of the surreal scene that felt so much like a Grant Wood painting in disarray. My body ached as I quickly moved through the house and cursed myself for missing that last jump. I was already behind and there was no telling where that bastard would be now. Feeling the cold, iron knob of the door I turned and pulled it open and was momentarily blinded by the sunlight reflected by the snowy slush painting the streets.
"Great," I muttered to myself as I pulled the door shut behind me, "Where to next, Einstein?"
As if dealt by some hand of Fate I heard another scream as an ebony man with dreadlocks and dressed in clothes so alien to the area dashed past me and down the road to where I had just come from. Dumbfounded, I simply stared as I watched the man haul ass like a bat flying out of Hell. Didn't he know he was going to get caught? Didn't he know that Pkuluk was back in that house probably counting the slugs she'd put in my head for pulling this stupid stunt? What was he running from?
"You have got to be kidding me," I whispered as I watched the answer bound towards me.
A mob of snarling, vindictive villagers ran past me and after what had been a terrified Bon Waye. What the fuck did he do, I wondered, Knock over somebody's hamburger stand? This was just too weird for words. Collecting myself, I saw the dark assassin disappear around the bend and realization struck me, "You can't be serious," I muttered.
Not leaving it to chance, I sized up my shoulders and quickly sprinted across the cobbled street and into the maze of alleyways. I weaved and turned towards what I had thought to be the right direction, the cobbled bricks blurring past me. Not gonna make it, my mind taunted, He's going to get there before I do.
Near the outskirts the city of Gamul sat the postman's horse at the same time every day outside the saloon. The drunken mail carrier delivered the mail to the nearby villages on his route and began his routine a quarter past twelve. I had known this from having come in and out of that saloon with Marcus, the only decent guy in Pkuluk's employment, for about a week before he had pointed it out to me. Guess those paper pushers were good for something after all, I thought as I approached a fork in the alleyway.
I skidded to a halt as I felt my heart leap up into my throat and my mind racing, "Left or right?!"
My mind was blanketed with thoughts coalescing into a makeshift map as I tried to remember which way led to the bar. I knew for a fact that one way led all the way around and towards the safe house and I imagined Pkuluk cracking her knuckles and licking her lips while she watched me run back into her grasp.
Not a chance.
Unable to stand and wait for much longer I shifted back and forth almost like in a dance as I felt frustration approaching, "Left it is!"
Running blindly in the stated direction and turning on my heel, I tried to make up for lost time by pushing my tired legs harder than I had ever pushed them before. I wouldn't lose him. Not after all this, and not after all the way I had come. I had almost leapt out of a train for a measly ten thousand gold and less than half that alone to get the file from Eiras' office. I was working myself to death for mere cents in comparison to the money I could've pissed away on purchasing a new house for Holly and Alicia back on Earth. For a new car.
A new life.
What exactly had I gotten myself into? The thought echoed in my mind as a glint of sunlight caught my eye as I raced past it. Realizing what I had just done, I slowed and turned on my heel with a growl as I jogged back towards the alley I had missed.
Shouts and caterwauls echoed off the narrow walls of the alley and I caught a glimpse of the saloon dubbed 'The Cockeyed Duck'. Sitting in front of it as usual was the spotted, brown horse in question with a satchel full of letters strapped to the saddle on its back and tied to a post reserved for the letter-carrier. Slowly as if drawn to it, I began to walk towards the saloon and left the safety of the alleyway when I caught sight of Bon Waye making his way to it and our eyes met.
Of all the things in my life, I could've sworn I saw the hitman's entire body twitch at the sight of me as he skidded to a halt. He hadn't been expecting me. Me of all people. After all, few things were unluckier than running into the man who was supposed to kill you with a bloodthirsty mob nipping at your heels. I raised my eyebrow as I continued to skulk forward, my hand straying to the glock that I had absent mindedly shoved in the holster I had 'borrowed' from one of the agents.
Slowly my face contorted into a grin as Bon Waye looked from me to the approaching mob of villagers that came dashing towards him. He was trapped now. Death by a shot to the head or by a lynching, I didn't want to be in his shoes. Where was that calm, cool demeanor I heard from him when he was telling me to let go of his accomplice? I suppose I had been right in assuming that with death approaching, all men were cowards.
"Whats it going to be," I shouted to him, slowly closing in on the horse, "Gonna give up? Or should I turn you over to the citizens and let them choose?"
"Neither," he retorted as he took advantage of my winded condition and called my bluff. Breaking into a run, the contract killer raced to the horse and left me to sprint towards him with gun in hand.
Making it to the horse before me, he untied the reins on the post and put his boot in the stirrup of the saddle on the other side of the horse and tried to climb. His head didn't make it over the body of the horse before my gun was in his face, "What's it gonna be, Tex?" I asked with grim satisfcation.
"Jobe!" I heard someone shout from behind me, causing me to shift my gaze momentarily and saw Pkuluk and a pair of agents a few hundred yards away. Tearing my gaze back to the alleged Haitian in time to stop him from swiping my gun I saw through his long, black tendrils of hair a sneer plastered on his face and his crystal blue eyes dancing with glee, "'What' indeed," he said calmly in the funky accent of his.
"Damn it," I snarled as I forced my gun back into the holster and nodded to him, "Move over."
Laughing, the assassin gripped onto the saddle and pulled himself up and offered me a hand with a dashing smile on his face, "Com'n, now."
Reluctantly I considered what I was about to do and knew that with my employer in sight; I might have been terminating my contract when I left with the target on horseback. That'd be one for the books. Mumbling something under my breath I gripped my hand and shoved my foot in the stirrup as he pulled me up and I sat on the edge of the horse with my foot wedged awkwardly between Bon Waye's and the mail bag.
"Better hang on, unless you want your friends to get a hold of you," Bon Waye prodded as he grabbed the reins. Feeling emasculated I knew he was right and slowly, but surely wrapped my arms around his waist, "Didn't know I was going to get to know my killer so well."
"Fuck you," I barked as the horse slowly backed up at the assassin's command and into the middle of the road, with the mob and the agents only a few yards away on either side.
"Yaw," the assassin ordered and the horse turned indifferently to the right in the direction of the approaching mob before Bon Waye looked in the direction of the villagers waving pitchforks and clubs as they approached and the hitman kicked the sides of the horse with all the force he could muster.
The horse leaped into motion and almost jerked me off my seat and onto the ground if I hadn't been holding on, and I swore quietly. Bum rushing the mob, Bon Waye smacked the reins against the horse and roared something unintelligible that caused the horse to break from a gallop into a mad dash that caused villagers on either side to leap out of the way while others were indiscriminately trampled underneath.
Swinging to the commands instructed by the assassin, the horse twisted and turned down the road towards the exit of the city where a guard slept within the gatehouse. Making it over the threshold I held on for dear life as we barreled faster and faster down the snowy road until I heard Bon Waye say, "I'm curious."
"What," I growled under my breath as I watched the ground rush from underneath my feet.
"What was that you said before you got on the horse," he asked over the sound of the hooves against the hard, rocky ground.
Sighing I looked away and said, "Oh nothing. Just how I'm probably out thirty-thousand gold and I just left my employer with my mark on the horse somebody else rode in on."
"Oh," he said unaware of the irony, and nodded as if to entertain the thought before shouting over his shoulder, "The price on my head is that low?"
***
79 Miles southeast of Knife's Edge, Salvar.
I had already decided that once I had gotten back to civilization and learned what I needed to know, I'd probably end up checking in with Pkuluk to straighten everything out. Until then, there was no reason I couldn't delve deeper into this mystery and find out a little more about the man I was supposed to kill.
Once a renowned murderer-for-hire now turned petty horse thief, I could scarcely believe how low on the criminal totem pole I had fallen. Any contract killer worth their salt will tell you that asking questions eventually leads to one inextricable, nasty outcome, which is usually why most assassins keep their mouths shut.
Now, it may not always be the person asking the questions that gets to bite the bullet, but once speculation like that begins the only way to keep a hit of this magnitude quiet would be in the wake of as many dead bodies as it took to tie up any loose ends. I wasn't capable of the sunny disposition needed to think otherwise.
I had quickly learned by the time Gamul was a speck in the distance that I had probably just turned myself into the second most wanted man within the salvic wasteland. It wouldn't be long before I was on every wanted poster beside the man I had been hired to kill, and I had little doubt that it wouldn't take long after that I was face to face with Pkuluk and her posse again.
Frigid air that almost felt like I had been put smack dab in the middle of the Arctic bit into my face as the roaring winds kicked up wisps of snow into the air like the rolling dunes of the Sahara where shifting sands could hide entire cities in a matter of hours. I was already numb to the bone, that much was clear, and it had been a good two or three hours since we had left that Bon Waye refused to slow the horse into a gait, not willing to weather the approaching storm. It wouldn't be before long that dark came, and then it would be time to worry about such things like hypothermia or frostbite.
I had heard freezing to death wasn't as horrifying as it sounded, and most fell to sleep halfway in with the grim reality that this wouldn't be something they'd wake up from. But still, given the circumstances, I was eager to warm myself by the nearest fire I could find. Looking out at the horizon where the shadows of purple mountains sat above seas of powdered white and evergreen I realized for the first time how uninhabited this place really was.
"Hey," I called, my hands still wrapped unwillingly against Bon Waye's waist, more because they were frozen than for safety, "How long have we got before we reach some kind of civilization?"
The fallienite snorted, "You got on the wrong horse if you think I'm going to walk us right into some village that probably has people looking for us by now."
"We're going to have to stop eventually, y'know, pretty soon one of us is going to have to take a leak, and I don't know about you but I'm beginning to chafe," I said as I wrestled with the notion of throwing this guy of the horse and leaving him for dead. It was the first pleasant thought I had had in hours, maybe even days.
"You Americans sure do like to complain a lot," Bon Waye called over his shoulder, "Just relax, we'll find something before dusk."
Panged with annoyance, I could only stare on as we raced faster and faster down the path trying to beat the storm. I hadn't been serious about having to stop, but there would be a point in time where the shoe went on the other foot. Then, after burning these letters for warmth I'd find out just how high a price I paid for getting on this horse. Even if I had to do it at gun point.
***
84 Miles southeast of Knife's Edge, Salvar.
Shoving my hand in the pouch that sat between Bon Waye and I, I ignored the itchy feel of burlap until I pulled out a fist full of letters in a language that looked more like chicken scratch than anything else. Staring into the whites of the eyes of the person I had been supposed to kill I grimaced and sat the letters on my lap with my back against the cool stone wall before turning my gaze to the roaring, hungry fire that sat in the middle of a dry, dirt floor. Elbow on one knee, I grabbed a letter that seemed to be closest to a language I spoke and read the front carefully, "Somano Tahr, seven-eighteen Saint's Cross avenue. Heh. Sorry, Somano," I said before I leaned over and tossed it carefully into the crackling pile of burning letters and any dry twigs we could find.
I could only guess how many hours it had taken before I had spotted the cave in the distance, but it had been approaching twilight by the time we managed to get the horse tied somewhere dry and warm enough that we wouldn't have to scrape its frozen corpse from the ground the next day. We had mixed results with the condition of this cave, and I already knew by the stench that this had once been or still was the home for something. I was in the pool for it being something big and with sharp teeth. But it wasn't like a couple of gun-toting assassins couldn't handle such a thing.
Resting my head against the cold, limestone wall I could hear the whistling, terrible wind that scratched at the landscape just a few feet around the corner. Staring into the crackling, popping fire I was entranced by the dancing flames as my thoughts turned to a job more almost nine years back in an apartment in Bosnia that I had set fire to in order to destroy damning evidence that lined the walls of a particularly seedy photographer. It had been more trouble than it was worth, I later found out at the hands of some bruiser that represented my employer.
"You hungry?" Bon Waye said as he interrupted my train of thought, his hands resting upon a pile of letters that he had been expending for the forty-five minutes.
Hearing my stomach grumble loudly in protest, I looked at him and lied, "No, you?"
"No."
We were trapped together, and we both knew it. There was no need to fight when there was nowhere to run, so if we did ask questions the answers we got back had usually been honest. Usually. Picking up another letter, I threw it into the fire and said, "So where are ya' from anyway?"
A long pause followed before the fallienite looked up from the fire and said, "Zhamat," before adding, "A commonwealth in Fallien. You?"
Having studied the geography of most of the known continents in Althanas extensively since I arrived, I knew of Zhamat very well. The haven for thieves had been a place truly spectacular if one who read the accounts actually believed them. But, I humored him anyway. I waited awhile as I mulled the answer over before saying quietly, "Little place called Morwell, Virginia."
" Ah," the assassin said as dreadlocks tumbled down his face and the glare of the fire made him seem more like I had been sitting next to the Devil than a human being. This wasn’t that hard of a leap to make, if you really thought about it.
"You and I are going to have to learn to trust each other if we're going to make it out of this country alive," I heard myself say, hardly believing the words had come out of my mouth.
The fallienite burst out laughing at the thought and said, "You and me? I'm supposed to trust somebody who’s had a gun in my face?"
"Or somebody who had a gun pointed at the back of my head," I added with a trace of frustration.
"Good point," Bon Waye said before looking back into the fire, the reflections of the flames dancing in his azure eyes.
The air became thick again with foreboding silence as I tried to think of a way to get the information from him. It'd be an uphill battle, but I was sure that if anybody knew more about what was going on, it was the man sitting by me. But, there was a big difference in telling somebody the town your from to the contract you signed to kill somebody important.
Bon Waye wasn't stupid, but he was on the other side, and I knew he'd be a tough nut to crack if I wanted to get this show over with. As I watched the flames dance hypnotically in front of me and listening to the rumbling of my stomach, my thoughts turned towards the conversation the guards Eiras had way back in Alerar. I had suspected there hadn't been very many fallienite 'boogey men' in somebody's employment that could pull off a job on a guy under the protection of a crime boss like Polat.
Putting two and two together, I stared at Bon Waye in a whole new light with a respect few men deserved. I knew of Polat, and I've worked for him. He was one of the few bosses in Corone capable of buying modern weaponry for his own private army. A smile creased my face as Bon Waye looked up at me and asked, "What's so funny?"
Looking at him carefully, I tilted my head and nodded to him, "Just out of curiosity, what do you know about this chemist named Romik?"
"..What did you just say?"
The fallienite's bushy eyebrows rose in such surprise I had to force myself from laughing, I knew I had reeled him in. Tossing another letter carelessly into the flames, I felt his eyes boring holes into me," That's what I thought."
***
57 Miles southeast of Knife's Edge, Salvar.
Dawn broke as sunlight crested over the mountain peaks while a horse galloped unbridled across a snow swept path and kicked up a trail of white dust as we booked for Knife's Edge. Since that night three or four days ago, Bon Waye and I rarely spoke when he had spilled the beans on some of the operation at hand. Like clay in my hands, the information worked and fit into the details of my involvement the more I mulled it over.
What had been a simple pull had evolved into this. An assassination. The word had deep, ominous meaning to it and it was one on a very short list of words or phrases that grabbed my attention. It wasn't some word that one used to describe a run-of-the-mill, conventional murder that contract killers had practiced since the start of the profession. This was bigger.
Much bigger.
Assassinations got you into the books. Some of the most dire, terrible events that bloodied the pages of history had been sparked by the killing of kings, queens or pivotal political figures that ran my world by the seat of their pants.
Bon Waye had been cryptic in what he had told me, and he had detested the idea of going right into the heart of the problem when people had been looking for the both of us. But, it worked out. The borders would be closed by the time we reached it, and I was with a guy who would be on every wanted poster the law could print. What better place was there to hide than in the center of the Salvic powerbase?
It'd be weeks, maybe even months before the heat died down enough for either of us to pay a staggering price to get ferried out of this fucking place. The best idea would be to stay low and out of sight, I had told him. Knife's Edge had places where we could hide, and Bon Waye knew a few of his old contacts within the plot that could get us some hiding unless they wanted to be found out.
But that was if and only if they didn't try to turn us over and distance themselves from us, of course. We were flying into Knife's Edge with more heat than a volcanic eruption and I expected guns to leave their holsters. But we'd deal with it. There wasn't much of a choice.
Crossing a narrow bridge that sat above a frigid, rushing river, I felt my mind race. We'd be in Knife's Edge in three days, and I'd need to figure out what I was going to do with the fallienite that sat in front of me. Even though Dominic Bon Waye continued to race in a frantic search for somewhere to hide from the law or whoever else it was he pissed off, I wasn't sure if it really crossed his mind that what he was running from was sitting right behind him.
***
Damiung's Corner located in Knife's Edge, Salvar.
As I watched Bon Waye's hand rap the heavy, metal door thrice, I suddenly realized how fast three days snaked by. Getting to Knife's Edge had been the easy part, and I hadn't realized until we got here how huge this city really was by sheer comparison. Thick, dense bricks of iron-laced granite blockaded the rolling mass that was the capital of Salvar. I had watched guards that looked like they had walked out of some medieval war flick skulk about the ramparts wearing proudly the colours of the nation they had served to protect.
Wide, rushing rivers that frothed and roared downstream gave the illusion that the city's aqueducts were hemorrhaging water at a startling rate. If it hadn't been for a personal favor a slaver owed the fallienite, I would've assumed we'd be ducking through those grates at nightfall. The truth was, the only unchecked caravans and coaches that went to and from the city gates were those owned by slave traders that traveled directly to the slave market deep within the bowels of the city.
Now, it probably would've been a good idea on somebody's part to check these damn things for folks like us. But it seems the guards watching the entrance had more pressing matters to attend to, in the form of patting down traders for contraband and ensuring weapon shipments from every corner of the frosty tundra had made it to the stockpile. So it could simply be said we slipped through security in a matter of minutes, only to arrive in the market hours later.
Personally, I would've rather taken my chances with the aqueducts.
Slaves and indentured men fouled themselves within the cages they were wedged into. Side by side they were stacked, and I could hear the pathetic whine of broken men who were no longer people, but mere possessions. It was probably the saddest sight I had seen in years and from the lofty perspective upon a bale of hay no less. I was sure that one day I'd return with some sort of writ by an angry abolitionist who demanded those men who were now creatures of apathy to be free. I couldn't say I wasn't looking forward to the prospect.
As if on cue, a narrow slat slid out of the way and a pair of bulbous, bloodshot eyes stared us down. The guttural, gravelly voice alone had been enough to derail my train of thought, "Password?"
Immediately Bon Waye's mask of stoicism cracked as he tried to mouth the words, and he began to beat at his coat as he searched his pockets for something. Anything. A couple of awkward seconds later the assassin produced a slip of parchment from a breast pocket and looked at it carefully, practically butchering the phrase as he read it aloud, "No Mah-ahn's Lan-dud."
Guess the guy wasn't an avid reader.
Instantly the slat slammed shut and I could hear the working of several locks being undone and I nudged the fallienite with my elbow, "You sure this is worth it?" I said.
"You want to live?" He responded coldly.
The truth was, I hadn't been the one in mortal danger here; I had no stock in any of this. I was just here for the ride until the timing was just right. I had no idea what I was going to do when that time came, but having let Bon Waye live this long would problem bite me in the ass in the end. But the moment I crossed the threshold here, I'd be in the same situation he was. Swimming with sharks.
Nevertheless, the door swung open before I can answer, and my head snapped reflexively in the direction of the darkness within. Peering into a place that looked practically like a dungeon, Bon Waye brushed me aside and melted into the shadows. Glancing back towards the sunlight that poked down the narrow, cobbled stairwell we had descended from, I watched a raven fly indiscriminately by before my feet moved on their own volition. Soon, all I could see was darkness.
I heard the rusty hinges upon the heavy door squeal as it was shut behind me, virtually trapping me with murderers-for-hire and borderline psychopaths in the darkness. Keeping up my pace, I carefully groped forward and the only sound I could hear was the heavy, unabated breath of that infamous fallienite. It was fair to say that I had absolutely no idea where I was going, but I knew already who to expect to be there. Bon Waye hadn't been superfluous in the details he had given me on his cohorts, but I knew enough about each one to learn the house rules without much involved.
First, the lights were to always be dimmed. The leader, Leonardas, was an albino and had a sensitivity to light that was just plain irritating to the others to accommodate him. He was obviously pale in complexion and always carried with him a pair of kukris he had made with steel and the ashes of his dead brother. And here I thought I had seen all the freaks Althanas had to offer.
Next, nobody was allowed to speak of the hit in question, and there were coded phrases or words in place for such a time that it needed to be addressed. The tech guy they had supplying them with weapons had made absolutely sure of that. Squints, he had been called, gave paranoia a whole new subtext when it came to preparation and trading. The arms dealer had a thing about talking out in the open, and would never speak to anybody outside of their little clubhouse.
Lastly, there were to be no outsiders brought in on the plan. The money was already being split nine ways, and as far as anybody was concerned there would be no further 'sharing' involved unless they cut a guy out. Lucky me. I had my own theories as to why Bon Waye had wanted out of the country so desperately other than the obvious, although whatever that reason may be was still a mystery to me. But, I came to understand that walking into here was like waltzing into a veritable wolf's den; you take your chances.
These jokers were going to disrupt one of the most powerful political engines around that was virtually holding this primitive, crumbling country together by a thread. A lofty goal, one might think. Too lofty to have been brought up by themselves. My thoughts turned back to the matter at hand as I felt the cold, unfeeling grit of granite and decided to stick close to whatever it may have been. Closer and closer I walked, almost stumbling several times as I tried to figure out my next few moves in advance when I heard the sound of a wet slap against something akin to flesh.
Thump.
It was small at first, but as I got closer I could hear it growing louder and louder and in more detail and the hint of what I thought to be a muffled scream. The sound of voices became more and more apparent as I approached, more than four steps behind Bon Waye. A lot of them. Feeling my hand stray towards the glock that sat in its holster, I could only guess as to what that sound truly was.
Feeling someone move past me, I suddenly caught a glimpse of luminescence at the sound of a switch being flipped then a dim bulb flickered overhead. All I could see was dull, unrelenting rock before I heard someone say behind me, "This guy stupid or something?"
Turning quickly about I grinned stupidly as I felt my face fill with red hot embarrassment. Standing before me was a hulking, barrel-chested figure wearing a wife beater and had his beefy hand upon a lever. Arching his unibrow, the guy growled, "Any last words?"
"Yeah," I said, "What's that noise?"
"That?" The burly bruiser said at the sound of another muffled scream, his ear perking up, "That's the sound of the poor bastard your replacing."
***
The gears to the lift groaned and whined as we descended, as if it were the last trip it was ever going to make. The fat guy who operated the thing looked at me occasionally, always shaking his head in disbelief and turning away towards the exit. I hadn't been the most orthodox hitman they had ever seen, but compared to these weirdos I was a regular.
Slowly the rusted, steel floor began to sheen with dull light as the granite wall slugged by, giving way to a ridiculously large entrance that was big enough for two of that fat guy to stand in side-by-side. In moments I felt the ground shake as the lift grinded to a halt and I heard Bon Waye say, "This is it."
"Home, sweet home." I muttered as I squared my shoulders and followed the fallienite over the threshold, the enforcer following closely behind. Lights that had been specially dimmed were wired everywhere in the wide expanse of the room that looked more like a cave than a place for a human being to dwell in. Water dripped down from the ceiling that looked to have been artificially sculpted as was a web of wooden planks and iron plates bolting it to thick, grounded timber that served as columns.
And it was utterly empty.
Not a soul other then the three of us were here, and the eerie sound of our shoes clacking against the rocky surface almost drowned out the fresh, terrible screams that emanated somewhere within the underground labyrinth. It was the sort've thing you'd expect out of some kind of B horror flick that one of those nut-jobs in a place called Hollywood back in my world would come up with.
"What's with the digs?" I said finally, my voice echoing as it bounded off all the walls in the alleged room.
"How do you mean?" Bon Waye said, giving me a tired look. He was quite used to my questioning by now, and had learned a long time ago that it’s better to just answer and look away rather than ignore me.
"This looks like a place I'd bury a bomb in. Some kind of shelter?" I reasoned, my feet pounding against the floor as we were making the last leg across the room.
"It’s for booby-traps," A gravelly voice growled behind me, almost making me jump, having nearly forgotten the enforcer had followed us.
"Not entirely true, Ian," Bon Waye said as he scratched his head and pulled locks away from his eyes, "We may use this to ward off those government pigs, but there’s another reason why we have this room."
"And that is?" The bruiser and I asked in unison.
"To hear people coming," Bon Waye said, his face a mask of stoicism, "Leon doesn't like surprises. So this room was designed to be the only entrance and exit into the hideout and the echoes are so loud it emanates all throughout the maze of tunnels and caverns. If any law men decided to sneak in, they'd be in for the fight of their lives. That much I assure you."
"Smart guy," I said simply as we reached the threshold and crossed into the lair of the beast.
***
"Please, no!" A shrill voice wailed just beyond the corner as we made our way into the hub of the hideout, followed by the sound of a crack against flesh and another pitiful scream. We had walked for a good twenty minutes to meet this guy, and already I didn't like him. The leader was an eccentric and had a thing about fine art and sculptures, Bon Waye had told me.
Immediately my vision dimmed considerably as I and the other two assassins moved into the room that had served as Leonardas' stronghold for the last six months. Standing still, I staggered at the sight of beautiful sculptures of ivory and rock littering the elegant room that had been virtually chiseled into what it was today. The luxury and exotic look of paintings and fine silks draped across the walls was almost as sick as the scene that was displayed before me.
Bare-chested and bound by ropes, a withered wretch of a man hung listlessly in the air over a pit of burning coals of fire with a crowd of people dressed in get-ups both familiar and alien to me surrounding him. Standing separated from them all, however, a short lanky fellow's chest glistened with sweat against his pallid flesh. That must be Leo, I thought. Holding a bull whip in his right hand, the man gritted his teeth and looked up at his victim once more, "Why'd you do it Caleb?"
Dangling like a morsel over a cauldron of fire, the accused simply whimpered as his back was turned towards us, revealing crimson streaks of flesh that had bubbled and burst under the fury of that damned whip. Speaking in an accent like that of a Englishman, Caleb bleated, "I didn't mean to!"
"Liar!" The group of figures said, almost in chorus.
"Are you lying to me?" Leon said in an accent similar to his victim, looking to be even more offended at the thought of a lie than whatever betrayal the wretch had committed in the first place, "Dare you, Caleb, to question my accusation and destroy what little trust I have in you? Tell me! Why did you try to let the doctor go?"
"I-I-I.." Caleb began; I could see tears streaking down either side of his face and snot dribbling down his lips the closer I approached.
"Wrong answer!" The leader roared before flicking his wrist, causing both the whip to crack in the air and the pitiful soul to flinch and give a moan of agony. Not hesitating to let the man rest with the burden, Leon lifted his hand one last time and snapped the bull whip forward, cracking it against the man's flesh indiscriminately with each word," You. Betrayed. Us!"
"All of us." The group of four parroted over the screams of Caleb as he was struck thrice.
"Please, Leon, I beg you! Stop!" Caleb howled as he dangled madly over the pit.
"Stop?" The leader called, the red irises of his swelling in the reflection of the flames making him seem even more sinister than he already was, "Gladly. Boys and girls, I grow tired of this waste of flesh, cut him down and burn him!"
The mob cheered as they rushed to the command of their employer, almost like they were fanatics of some cult. But who knew, anybody who was stuck here for that long could easily have been brainwashed by this psycho. Quickly, Leon's eyes surveyed the room, forsaking the man he had condemned and settled his sights on me.
Like a pontiff, the man's chest swelled and he moved proudly off his veritable altar towards us. Feeling Bon Waye rib me, I heard him growl low enough for only me to hear, "See what I was telling you? Let me do the talking unless you want to end up like Caleb over there."
"Well met," Leon's voice echoed in my ear, interrupting my train of thought. Reluctantly I looked over and saw the face of the crazed madman that had been behind it all, and all I could see were the red eyes of a certifiable butcher who was knocking off his own men one by one out of sheer amusement.
"Yo."
"Quite," Leon had said to me as he looked me full in the face, trying to peer through my sunglasses. After a few awkward moments he twitched and shrugged, "Let’s be off then."
As he strolled past me and the others, Bon Waye and I gave each other a brief glance before turning around and following the pompous ass. In seconds he blended with the shadows and slipped out of the large room while I could still hear his comrades squeal with glee. Moving after him and into the darkness, I felt the fallienite and enforcer just a hair's breadth behind.
"Sorry for the commotion, really, I haven't expected you so soon," Leon lied.
What was I, born yesterday? Those wise asses had been following us around the city ever since we stepped out of the market, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out. They knew we were coming, and they needed to work on their detective skills, especially if the bastards were trying to best a guy like me.
"Now, I know why you've come back, and I figured you might after our little spat," the albino continued after awhile, "But, Mister Waye, I think you'll be infuriated to hear that we've decided to cut Hector out. Don't think he'd be able to handle it when it came down to it. Understand?"
Hector?
"He’s dead," Bon Waye responded, his pace slowing for a few seconds as he fell behind Ian and I could hear him pull something out of his jacket.
"Oh," Leon said wistfully, "I am sorry to hear that.. but I am glad to see you've found a replacement."
"Hollywood!" I mumbled under my breath as I recalled the young, black desperado who tried to square off with me in the apartment. I bet Pkuluk had either had him rolled into a river or left him on the spot, which was about the range of her commitment, I guess.
"I'm sorry?" Leon asked while a dull, yellow light poured into my eyes as he turned a knob and pushed a door open that had been neglected oiling. Only a few feet away, I was almost taken aback on how close the albino was given how far off his voice sounded.
"Nothing," I said, "Just recalling something."
"Oh," The crazed leader said as he grabbed a robe of felt and silk that mimicked that of leopard spots off a coat rack, and didn't bother to turn around as he swung it up and over his naked shoulders, "Well then. Let me be the first to welcome you to my humble abode for these long, winter months..."
As he turned to go on and on about what luxury he lived in, I stopped paying attention to the albino and began to look from either side of the room. Fine, striped wallpaper stretched down the walls and against countless paintings that hung about the room. On the far side, a mahogany cabinet loomed, but not far away from the large oaken table that sat fixed in the middle of room with countless chairs piled along it save one, ornate ivory throne like structure that sat on the far end. This place was for tastes so different from mine, it was beginning to make me sick.
This was all a bit off, I realized. I had expected guns and a lot of yelling, what gives? Why was he being so calm when we, of all people, had a lot of heat coming down on us? Could they really not have picked up on the simple fact that Bon Waye and I were wanted men or did the leader just not care?
Something was telling me they hadn't noticed.
They had probably been down here for longer than I had even guessed, but given the condition of that torture display earlier, things weren't looking good. These people had gone from trained killers to a fringe cult and there was no explanation for it. I didn't like that, not one bit. All of these people seemed to be two cards short of a full deck, and my instincts were screaming at me to watch my step.
Snapping back into the real world, I noticed the albino had been gaping at me as if he had realized something almost criminal about the situation. Walking up to me, the man placed his cold, spindly hand upon my shoulders and smiled weakly, "I do apologize, good sir, it seems I've forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Leonardas Romulus II, hired by the Church to fend off its enemies and institute a new golden age in this desolate land."
"Oh?" I said simply. He was sounding more and more like he was under the delusion he was some sort of royalty or something.
"Yes, but what may I call you good sir?" The assassin said as he looked me full in the face with those red eyes of his, expecting my answer to be something worthwhile.
Seeing Bon Waye step into my line of vision and further into the narrow room, I gave a toothy grin and said, "Call me Jobe."
"Ah yes, Jobe it is! Say, before we talk politics, might we dine? I'm famished." Leon began before I cut him off and replied with a plaintive yes. There was never anything wrong with a good meal, and I hadn't eaten in two days. So, watching the man step back with a wide smile on my face, I quietly began to bide my time.
Needless to say, I felt a bit of relief when we had left the room, or as Leo had put it, 'The King's Court'. I wasn't far off base when I had assumed the prick was nuts, but I didn't really see the full scope on how crazy he really was. Inside his dining 'hall', we all sat at the long, oaken table in the dim light and it seemed more and more like I was about to dine in Hell. That was if the food hadn't ran out all those weeks ago.
The underground bunker had been stocked to the teeth with everything the assassins could possibly need, and with their employer footing the bill no less. But something had gone wrong. Nobody had heard from the person that had hired them in months, and it was like these trained killers were awaiting an order of some kind before they carried out the hit. And so came the enormous weight and dependence the hit men began to put on each other to steal supplies from above in order to live on with the false hope that their pay day was just around the corner.
But, frankly, everybody was getting sick and tired of waiting for that day to come. Luckily, they had that psychopath Leo to fall back on, who had vehemently protested against going ahead without the command. And if it wasn't loyalty that prevented any one of them from talking out of turn, it was the grim reality that it didn't take all that much for their cohorts to agree on cutting them out.
Hearing Leonardas' voice in the distance trying to explain the intricacies of his plot in cryptic code, I leaned over my plate and stabbed at a chunk of chewy, dark meat that looked like it was three months past its expiration date. Raising it to my mouth I looked at it one last time and heard my stomach growl in protest before I shoved it unwillingly into my gullet.
Finding it a might bit chewier then I had first thought I worked it in my mouth a bit and felt the hair raise upon my nape. Looking up as I fought my basic instinct not to swallow it, I saw Bon Waye mildly amused as he watched me eat, having not touched any of the food since we had sat down. Probably a smart idea and I would've done the same thing, if I weren't so hungry.
"Where'd you guys get this stuff, anyway? Looks a bit off," I interrupted as something occurred to me. Nobody but Ian, myself, and Bon Waye had been acting right. Everybody from Squints to the old timer named Kurt seemed to be acting a bit unusual.
"From the market," Leonardas said, looking at me with a mixture of disdain and annoyance that he had been interrupted, "Something the matter?"
"Is it fresh?"
"Is what fresh?" He responded dumbly.
Trying to quell my frustration I pointed at my plate with my fork and said, "The food, is it fresh?"
Taking a long time to answer as he furrowed his brow at me, the albino looked down at his plate and then to his fork before turning to Squints, "You made sure this food was fresh, yes?"
"'Course, sir," the short and lanky trader jeered from behind his coke-bottle thick spectacles, "Smelled fresh when I took em' out of the leaded cans."
"Oh Jesus," I muttered as I felt my insides turned upside down and my eyes widened as I looked back to my food in disbelief before grabbing the cloth in my lap and smacking it down upon the plate, attempting to bury it from my sight.
Beginning to cough, I clenched a fist and put it on my knee and tried to force myself to stop when I heard the dry, humorless voice of Leonardas say, "Is there a problem, mister Jobe?"
Glancing up, I saw Ian set his fork down in realization and Bon Waye tilting his head at me in wonder at what I was going to do next. I turned to Leon and muttered, "No, nothing at all. Indigestion, that’s all."
"You too, Ian?" He said as he turned to the burly enforcer, "Not hungry?"
"Err.. uhh.. no boss, no thanks," he said as he tried to look away.
Not even considering the fallienite, Leonardas shrugged and looked back down at his meal, forgetting the matter entirely. No wonder they had all been acting nuts, the bastards had been poisoning themselves with food contaminated with lead! I wasn't a doctor, but it was common sense nowadays that that crap was bad for you, and I could see the signs upon their faces now.
All of them with the exception of the Ian, Bon Waye, and I had different degrees of sunken cheeks, their eyes darted from right to left, and I could've sworn I saw the pale, redheaded woman called Tess walk with an unusual limp. It was there, right there and I couldn't see it! These lunatics were slowly killing themselves with this food, and it wouldn't be before long they all turned on one another after slipping into a form of dementia you just can't crawl out of.
Torn from my rising panic, I heard the sound of silverware being dropped upon the plate and the albino's voice as he said, "Well, perhaps it’s time to pay the good doctor a visit."
"Doctor?" I asked, momentarily forgetting what I had just swallowed.
"Why yes, hasn't Bon Waye told you?" Leon asked as he looked to the fallienite who slowly shook his head," Mr. Romik has made it his mission to build us what will help us take down our enemies once and for all."
Looking perplexed, the old, balding man named Kurt glanced at me and smiled softly, "He's building us a bomb."
"Blimey!" Leon said as he glared at the elderly man who seemed a bit more ghoulish than at first glance, "I expected more from you, mister Kurtis. It's not just a simplistic explosive device he’s building. Its a spark," he snapped.
"A spark to what?" I piped up as I placed my elbows on the table.
I could see his scarlet eyes dance with malicious glee as he stared at me a long time before saying with the comfort and dignity of a madman, "A revolution."
***
At first glance, the bombing in Salvar was far more elaborate and much more foolproof than what it had diluted into, and in fact the original plans for it were damn near brilliant from what I had managed to find of it. There had been copious notes taken of everything from guard rotation schedules to the correlation between the structure of the targeted building and the layer of deadly permafrost beneath it. They were so informative that it was often hard to find what it was the albino had overlooked.
Drawn up, the plans had originally consisted of two complex, ingenious bombs, dubbed Drinkers, that were to be planted in the key 'stress points' that the Parliament sat in order to maximize the impact and effect the blast would have once it went off. They were to be clocked and left to sit so that the assassins in question had enough time to get out of Knife's Edge that they wouldn't be caught in the aftermath of the explosion.
Romik Cadogan, as Leon had called him, was the virtual power behind the throne so to speak. He had been the coronian chemist that had been kidnapped in order to make the Drinkers in question. Cadogan, a first-generation salvarian immigrant, had discovered a chemical compound in his research that was able to absorb and breakdown water with such efficiency that it created massive amounts of energy. At first, this breakthrough was going to be harnessed as a form of energy and used like the age of electricity back in my world and potentially would've put Romik in the history books for centuries to come.
But before Romik could make good on his landmark discovery, Leon had gotten to him first.
The details of which are for another time, but in the most basic terms as I understood it, the albino had somehow gotten wind of this breakthrough and dispatched somebody to retrieve Romik by 'any means necessary'. I still didn't know how it happened, but I was willing to bet a year's salary that Bon Waye had been behind the Cadogan kidnapping. Ever since then, though, the researcher had unwillingly succumbed to Leon's will and has been locked away to continue to do the albino's bidding until the plot would be carried out.
And now it had turned into this.
Between the black out between Leon and his employer, to the poisoned food, and the religious, fanatical glue that held it all together there wasn't some kind of cure-all answer that explained it all. The remnants of the albino's plan after he fell into madness confounded me and the only unaffected variable shared between the original plot and this one was somewhere down in the caverns a chemist sat toiling away as he witnessed his benevolent creation that could stand to benefit mankind mutate into an unspeakable horror that would be selfishly used time and time again in the future to come.
***
Lofty. That's what Leon had identified Romik's quarters as. From what I made of it, the room had not been lofty by any sense of the word. In fact, dark, dank, and pathetic only come to mind. About the size of a squatter's room, the underground prison's walls, ceiling, and floor were all made of the same damn thing; cobbled granite.
The dwelling was pitch black save the oil lamp that hung from the ceiling, but the foul, gray look of the place was so gloomy and depressing I could almost smell the hatred Cadogan had for this man. At the center of the room, a long, thick steel chain had been bolted to the ground and was virtually the only thing confining the researcher to this cursed place. There was no need for a door, Leon had said, because there was no reason Romik would need privacy since all he should be doing in there is working.
The sound of quiet voices boomed off the cobbled gray and into the corridors, and only by listening to it carefully if you were at a distance that you would realize the implications and danger the meaning of these words had. As for me, I stood against the wall beside Bon Waye and tried to listen quietly as Leon and his 'subject' continued to bicker.
To the left stood the chemist with his arms crossed as Leon clenched his teeth as he jabbed a accusatory finger into his chest to emphasize his words. Looking to be in his early fifties, the scientist's bushy black hair that sprouted from his scalp was ran with streaks of silver while bifocals almost seemed to have grown from his ears indicating his poor vision. He had a stocky build that seemed to be the common norm for a salvarian. Pale, burly forearms stretched from his brown-coloured vest and the chemist may have looked to have been roughed up, but he certainly didn't show it.
The only question left in my mind was how they had got him to build it. The chemist could not have done it willingly, that much I was sure of, and it'd certainly go a long way in explaining things. Listening to them prattle back and forth, I could understand bits and pieces of the argument, for they spoke in such a thick dialect of the frosty language that I wasn't even sure it was Salvic to begin with. But, judging from how pissed off the albino was, I could tell they obviously weren't chatting about the weather.
"... When?!" Leon hissed, his face cross as his scarlet eyes tried to bore holes into the indentured researcher he had kidnapped. Surrounding him, his cohorts that had been plagued with lunacy stood around with complacent looks on their face in some bastardized way of attempting to support their leader.
Tilting his head, Romik looked down at his captor thoughtfully. After reaching some sort of conclusion, he raised an eyebrow and said something matter-of-factly before I heard, "... Lasts ... days ... make ... no more."
At the sound of this, Leon shot him a dark look and snapped, "No! ... not ready!"
Amused, the chemist gave a small shrug and this time spoke in broken tradespeak for everybody to understand as he addressed the leader in a belittling tone, "Take ovr leave."
Hearing those words didn't go a long way to soothe Leon's temper. Not one bit. Looking expectantly down at the hotheaded assassin, the chemist watched Leon's eyes burn with hatred as he tried with every ounce of strength not to strike his captive, and I could bet it wouldn't take much to change his mind either.
In a huff, Leon spat something in a language I couldn't understand and by the look of the color draining from the faces of his cohorts; I could tell it wasn't good. Watching Leon thrust a hand in his leopard-spotted robe, he gave me a withering look as if to blame me for all that had transpired and then turned on his heel and stormed out of the room with his cronies in tow.
Bon Waye was the last to leave as Romik look at me stoically before ushering me away from his work bench. Stepping towards the exit, I felt myself knee-deep in wonder about what it was exactly I had just witnessed.
It took a couple of hours for the sparse feeling of confusion that plagued me to sink into the depths of the back of my mind as I and the others sat down in a room allocated in a deeper part of the caverns. Lost in thought, I sat and stared blankly at the chain of hazy images reflected against a manila, yellowed screen that stood before our eyes. In front of the darkened room, Leonardas forsook the jargon as he continued to explain his fractured plans to us, the need for cryptic words coming to a swift and abrupt end. While in the back, what suspiciously looked like a projector bumbled on with the occasional minute click as it switched slides.
I felt like a spy sitting in on an enemy as he discussed his entire evil plot in every detail, and in some ways I was. But, it had been too informal for my tastes, and the albino had made no attempts to negotiate with me or formally accept me into the band. He just assumed I was a part of it, and it seemed like it was too much trust on his part to just simply forget about me.
It was too easy to assume his madness had taken that much of a toll on him that he had lost all of his common sense and paranoia in one fell swoop. How cut off were these people from the outside? They had managed to get food and water from the surface, and they had stalked Bon Waye and I until we entered their lair. How could he not know who I was and what I was going to do?
But before I could deduce it any further, I heard Leon's British tone of voice in the air as he called," Mister Jobe?"
"Ya?" I answered simply.
"You'll be here," he said as he tapped the screen with a pointer, near the far top-right edge of a image that was supposed to resemble the royal quarter, "You will be stationed at St. Gabriel's at the northeastern corner of the building."
Knowing full well I wanted nothing to do with this assassination, I forced myself to look candid as I sat up and said, "What do you need me to do?"
"Once the bomb erupts, you, Dominic, Kurt, and I will cover all the exits to the Parliament. We will shoot anybody and everybody that makes it out of the building that isn't killed by the blast of the Drinkers. If all goes according to plan, we should be over in the space of twenty minutes," He explained simply until he dribbled on into another one of his copious fits of lunacy.
This was madness. How could such a well-oiled machine like this fall to pieces? It was like planting a monolith carved with the secret of life somewhere near a group of primates, wandering off, and returning to see that had broken it to pieces and beat each other to death with it. It did not make any sense.
This plot was devised to destroy and cripple the Salvic nobility and was an effort made by some shadowy group of conspirators that it seemed like it would've turned the civil war on its head if had been successful. But now, this? This was the remnants of a hit that on either side could've been in awe at and it had managed to devolve this fast in the space of less than a year.
Was this its purpose?
From what I knew of the Ethereal Sway, they didn't fuck things up when it came to carrying out their plans. Even if I had known more about the church, I could tell this didn't smell like something they would endorse. There was something at work here that threw the proverbial monkey wrench into the entire operation and even though I played for a different side, I felt nothing but professional pity for these people.
As I wrestled with my thoughts, the lights flickered back on as Leon concluded his speech and rolled up the canvas before I heard the words I thought I'd never hear, "With all this in mind, gentlemen and lady. We're going to pick things up a bit."
"How quick?" I heard Kurt ask.
"Given what I had discussed with Romik earlier, it seems we've waited too long. When I had him begin construction on those Drinkers, I didn't take into account the half-life the bomb would have once the chemicals were mixed," Leon stated with the air of a tin pot dictator who looked to be putting the political spin some sort of great loss.
"Get to the point," Squints called out, being the only one with the authority to do so.
The albino's gaze narrowed into a glare as he looked to be finding the right words for what he was about to say. After a long pause, Leon coughed and shuffled his feet as he muttered, "I'm moving up the target date."
"To when?!" I said in surprise as my blood ran cold.
"Tomorrow night," he retorted as he glanced at me, "We will have only forty-eight hours before the Drinkers become unstable, so we are going now. Money be damned."
The buzz of fluorescent lights hummed in my ears as I stared into the rough, tired eyes of my reflection. The glossy, shimmering glass was run with fissures that cracked up and around the entire frame, even passing through my reflection's face. The bathroom was the only place I could find that I could be alone and I could contemplate what I was about to do. I stared at my reflection’s eyes that were red and puffy and circled with dark rings caused by an insomnia that seemed to offset the image I always had of myself in my mind's eye. I looked like shit.
I had a choice to make, and it wasn't an easy one. Right now, I was at the heart of a problem that could go a long way on making or breaking the monarchy that held sway within the tundra. I had pieces of the puzzle that didn't fit together as well as I would've hoped, and a drunken agent that is probably turning over every rock looking for me and my target.
I don't know if it was the lack of sleep or the past couple of days that made this so complicated, but it seemed that way at least. On the one hand, I could walk out of here, find Bon Waye, put a bullet in his head, escape this shithole, and track down Pkuluk and collect my pay if it were still there. The second option.. that was a bit more tricky.
As my reflection peered at me with a sort of apathy I had become accustomed to, I felt the glock held in the holster grow just a little bit heavier as I weighed the decision carefully in my mind. Looking into the mirror I watched my reflection's lips move as I heard my own, deep voice speak barely above a whisper, "Could I do it?"
Could I take them down?
The easy answer was always plain 'yes' with the condition most of them were in. Crippled by lead poisoning, malnourished, and as far as I knew not very suspicious of who I was they all had bull's eyes painted on their backs. It'd be like shooting fish in a barrel, I thought pragmatically.
But there were too many variables involved in the entire thing. There was the bomb to consider, as well as what kind of contingency plan Leon would have if this sort've thing happened. Despite how crippled they were, the assassins still had two able-bodied killers at their disposal. This included Bon Waye who had supposedly managed to kill all those people in his search for Romik.
Closing my eyes, I forced myself to forget about the consequences of my choice, and felt myself torn. I had rarely experienced any empathy for anybody before, because killing people has a way of stripping that luxury from you, but for the first time since the fall in Alerar I felt the inkling of what it is like to be needed.
I quietly snorted at the thought. Me? Play hero? I'm a contract killer, not a hero, I thought sardonically. It wasn't as if I could flip the switch and do something that was out of my nature to do. It wasn't that simple. It couldn't be.
"Could it?" I heard myself mutter as I opened my eyes and saw my reflection in a whole new light. I looked toward those grim hazel eyes that stared into my victim moments before I pulled the trigger, thinking they probably held the answer.
Looking away, I felt foolish; there was no more time to act like a coward or some sort of philosopher and ponder my place in the universe. I was Jack fucking Barrett. I killed the most dangerous prey and I took money for it. I was a hunter who couldn't see the forest through the trees. I was a murderer. There was no need to complicate it any longer, and no reason to dig deeper than that.
"What's it going to be, Jack?" I muttered as I stared into my reflection's tired eyes. Were almost a dozen lives a fair trade for the millions this would impact? Could I, for once in my life, be something more than a hired gun? After a long couple of moments, I straightened my jacket collar and looked away from the mirror.
Walking slowly across the chipped and broken tiles of the bathroom, I felt my finger against the cold, metallic switch I flipped it down and was cascaded in a world of darkness. Leaving sympathy and the choice behind me, I opened the door and felt the dim, yellow light hit my face as I crossed the threshold into a world that was about to drastically change.
***
Shoving a pointed shell into the Dragunov SVD sniper rifle I held in my grip, I felt the golden yellow sheen at my finger tips before I pulled on the bolt that fed it into the chamber. Sitting on a hay wagon that they had managed to smuggle into the hideout, laid countless crates and steel cases filled to the brim with greased weapons and piles upon piles of ammunition. There were spotted horses stood reined in front of it while they waited until they could leave this God forsaken place.
Those of us that had been assigned to the rooftops had chosen our rifles indiscriminately, and to be fair it wasn't much of a choice. There were Dragunovs, Winchesters, and a type of rifle I was pretty sure had been commonly used by snipers in a war back in my world called 'Nam. The fact we had weapons and ammo of this caliber could only mean that the black market in Althanas I previously had thought to be shallow was much, much deeper.
Looking up from my gun to look for more rounds, I saw Leonardas pocket a modified pepperbox pistol that was so dangerous that the only safe place to be when it went off was behind it. All around me there was activity as I sifted through the wiry hay that hid the boxes and cases of the armaments Squints and his cohorts had sold to the assassins.
The albino was talking to the merchant who stooped at the end of the cart, his cap fit for an engineer shadowing his face as he listened to his client. My guess was that they were finalizing the deal they had between them, but given how far along they were with all that lead in their system, you can never be sure what the Hell they're really talking about.
I still hadn't fully understood why exactly the trader that had access to this kind of tech was partaking in the job as well. It was as if the small, lanky guy had desired to protect his investment, whatever that price it was that you paid second-hand gun runners like these. Setting the rifle standing on the ground, I felt my suspicion grow within the dim cavern as I leaned forward and dug into the hay until I felt the grainy, wooden texture of a large box in my grip. Plucking it from its captivity, I stared at the numbers blazoned across the end of the box that were sprayed in white paint and indicated with the proper paperwork what exactly it was I was holding.
'MA-17-36B', it had read. Where had he gotten this shit? By the color of the box and the serial number, anybody who had ever been around the U.S. military could tell it was something they owned. What were weapons from the U.S. doing here? Better yet, how did it even get here?!
Sliding it across the cart I saw its fine, jungle-green paint swimming in my eyes, "Crowbar!" I called
Instantly I felt eyes upon me and the cold iron smacked none too gently into the palm of my hand and I heard somebody mutter, "What the fuck is that? It's huge!"
"'Bout to find out," I said with a smirk as I bent over the container and wedged the bar into it and began to push down on it.
The crack and splintering of wood was enough to make everybody look towards me and before I could get it open, a foot smacked down on the top of the box and kneeled until I saw the darkened gaze of Squints as he looked at me with those thick glasses of his," Not yours."
"Huh?"
"Special request. You keep out of it if you know what's good for you," he muttered as he moved his squat, ugly little face a smidge too close to mine, "Got it?"
My face broke into a smirk and his imposing demeanor faltered as he saw the look in my eyes, "What?"
"Get the fuck out of my face before I give you an anatomy lesson with this crowbar. Got that?" I growled.
I watched him stand and kick the box back into the hay before moving briskly back towards the safety of his group. Witnessing the display, Bon Waye and Leonardas looked at each other with a grim expression on their faces before they looked back at me. I'll be sure to pick that creepy bastard's brain the next time we were alone, I concluded as I pulled the strap of the Dragunov over my shoulder. The pair looked away and paid me no mind as I scraped as much 7.62 shells as I could fit into my pocket and plucked a couple checkered egg-shaped devices from a nearby crate and was gone before they even realized what I had taken with me.
***
The Parliament within Rathaxea Square, located more than 243 yards away from Castle Rathaxea.
The cover of darkness alone had helped us slip under and past the massive wall that partitioned this part of the city away from the rest of Knife's Edge. To keep out goons like us, I would imagine. Hearing my rifle clatter in front of me as I tossed it out of the hole, I growled as I pulled myself up and over the ladder and out of the aqueducts. Feeling the cold, bitter air nip at my face as I bent down to recover my Dragunov, I looked around to see the streets were devoid of all life.
Despite his madness, bits and pieces of the albino's fractured plan were still legit, and he had it on good authority that the guards that roam the narrow, cobbled streets within the square changed shifts every four hours. It left the streets quiet for the space of five minutes if you were lucky, but most of the time the archers that lined the walls provided adaquete cover to insure that their defenses weren't breached. That was if they hadn't been blinded by the darkness. The guards had practically left the aqueducts completely defenseless save the lone patrols that roamed the places closest to the palace and parliament.
They hadn't seen us coming, that was for sure. And those that did never managed to call for help before I and the others were on them. Stabbing, maiming, and silencing them forever as we ran the man-made creeks red with blood. Left to my thoughts, I made a quick jog across the street and into the narrow alleyways between the buildings that littered the square as I made for my position. It wasn't the most silent jaunt I had ever made, but given the time frame, I didn't want to be anywhere near Ground Zero when the bomb went off.
The very idea of it was laughable to me, but here I was. Turning a corner I heard the distant sound of a voice that must've belonged to my group. The guards couldn't have been out yet! Out of all of us, I had the longest leg to make before I got into position. As I understood it, I was looking for the clock tower, Saint Gabriel, that stood at the edge of the square. It's size alone was big enough to give me cover while giving me the perfect view of the entrance I was assigned to.
Unwilling to miss my deadline, I barreled faster and faster into the darkness, the seconds ticking away within my mind. However, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that somehow I was being followed.
***
The well, oiled iron hinges upon the door opened with ease as I pushed it forward and slunk into the darkness, closing the door behind me. Engulfed in black, I groped forward as I looked for what I had been told should've been there. The cold, unfeeling texture of metal stabbed at my hands as my fingers clenched around the strange device I sought after.
Unable to see my hand in front of my face, much less the damn thing, I knelt down and set it on the ground as I heard a small squeak when I opened its small little compartment. Reaching deep into my pocket, I wrestled with one of the matches and pulled it free before I scraped it against what I hoped to be a stone floor. Dim, faint light instantly sparked as I muttered to myself, "Better not be some kind of shovel or something I'm fiddling around with."
Pulling the match quickly towards the dull, gray bust of a lantern, I dropped it into the pool of oil that sat contained in an iron-cast cup at the bottom of the light source and shut the door as the scent of crackling almonds reached my nostrils and a yellow radiance filled my vision.
Dum.. Dum.. Dum..
The heavy copper bell that hung atop the clock tower boomed with such a din that it shook the world around me and caused me to wince as the sound bounced off the walls like thunder. Time's almost up, I thought. Gears and widgets began to churn as automated clockwork parts within Big Gabe rang solemnly as it struck midnight.
Making it to the long, spiraling staircase, I grabbed the railing and raced over the first step before I even realized what I was doing. I didn't have time to doddle around by any means, because my very position depended on my precise timing. Unlike human beings, time was never as forgiving.
Beads of salty sweat dripped down my forehead and threatened to run into my eyes as I climbed higher and higher upon the cold, stone slabs that served as steps. The farther I came, the more air I sucked in until I felt as if my heart was going to burst. This wasn't right, I may have been a little heavy-set, but that was entirely muscle and I was usually able to run a good mile before I felt even an inkling of becoming tired. Was I really that old already that I couldn't even climb a simple set of stairs?
Bullshit. There’s no way I had gone soft so fast, but my body screamed at me to stop as my veins began to burn and I felt like I was circulating battery acid. But, I didn't stop. Clenching my teeth, I swallowed the pain and continued to run up towards my destination, unwilling to miss my window.
The smooth, grainy feeling of the wooden staircase ran my hand raw as I gripped onto it for support. I'd be going at my palm for weeks afterwards trying to dig out all the damn splinters that I smuggled out of the building with me. Occasionally I'd feel a sharp prick here and there, but I chose to ignore what I could. There was no reason to give up now, not even for a microscopic piece of wood.
I had heard once before in my life that time stops for no man, but it wasn't until this moment at the ripe old age of thirty-five that I felt the grim truth that there was only just so much I could do as time continued to tick away. I felt the overwhelming urge to find the guy who had made the proverb and kick him in the teeth for having made such an audacious claim. Nevertheless, I wouldn't stop until I reached the top of the clock tower. It was too early to feel like an old man. Not now, not tonight.
***
As I felt the last step before the threshold under foot, I almost collapsed as I paused to stop for breath. In the part of mind that was separated from the coursing pain that racked my entire body, I imagined my lips could've been some shade of purple or blue as I bent over and hacked and coughed while trying to suck in as much air as I possibly could, but it always felt as if I was one breath short.
My muscles screamed in agony as my heart pounded and threatened to leap out of my chest while sweat dripped into my eyes and blinded me as I worked and toiled to draw breath, but it felt as if I was about to suffocate. Something was very wrong, and I had no idea what was doing this to me. A poison? A disease? Why were my lungs refusing to draw air?
My mind screamed in pain as my need for air became more and more dire. I wrestled against the pain and the exhilaration one experiences as they're choking to death, and pulled the black; leatheresque strap connected to the Dragunov from my shoulder and dropped it to the floor. Stuck to me as if sweat had acted like some sort of glue and caused the cotton to conform to my skin, I struggled to pull my long jacket off as I gasped for air.
Like a burden lifted from my shoulders, the jacket fell to the ground and like a tidal wave air began to rush into my lungs anew. For several minutes I stood there and groaned as my limbs ached and felt heavier than usual. It felt as if somebody had tied weights to my limbs and asked me to run a marathon, and if it were the case, I probably would've put a big, gaping hole in their forehead.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock...
Struggling to gather my stuff, I felt a sudden chill as wind whipped and coursed through the empty, open spaces in the tower. The icy cold feeling of salvic winter ran down my spine and it made Feeling a certain deadly calm take root inside me. I grabbed the rifle and made my way around the large bend that stood between me and the humungous, copper bell that hung amidst a network of gears and gizmos.
Taking one last look at it, I saw the hemp rope that streamed from the bell and into abyss below. Making it towards the little iron door that sat between me and the rest of Rathaxea square, I dug within my pocket and pulled out a large, plastic radio that I had been given and pushed the hard, black rubber button on the side as I raised it to my mouth, "I'm in position. Someone eye Gabe's face for me; it been fifteen yet?"
"Chzzzk... Fourteen and counting, mister Jobe ... Hiiiiisssss ... show time in five minutes..." My radio belched with Leon's familiar, pompous voice before it died a hiss of static. Slipping the radio back into my pocket, my mind quickly leapt to the same conclusion I had made before, and it was very unsettling.
Leonardas was unpredictable, and I couldn't get a grasp on how he kept letting all of this fall through the cracks and not do anything about it. I kept hitting the same wall as I did before; lead poisoning. It was becoming an all too convenient explanation for what was going on around here. There was no way a man like Leon would've been employed for a job like this if the person who bought his services wanted the job to be successful. Leon was a powder keg, stubborn, and he was of course a lunatic. It wasn't the ideal cocktail for this kind've hit by any means.
Making my way to the maintenance hatch that led to the clock face, I heard the clockwork artifact rife with activity, which had made it almost impossible to hear the radio transmission in the first place, let alone the world around me. Getting to my knees, I sat my Dragunov off to the side and peered at the simplistic latch when I noticed the fringes of the hatch had been welded shut.
"What the.." I muttered as I reached for my gun, only to look back at it again and exclaim, "Who the fuck did this?"
If it had been that welding was common knowledge in Althanas, I would've been less suspicious, but this.. this wasn't something that would occur in a world that was practically set in the dark ages in most places. Gripping the barrel and butt of the Dragunov, I left caution to the winds and smashed the end of it into the iron hatch.
Clang!
The sound jarred my senses as the vibrations rippled through my arms and into the rest of my body, "How thick is this fucking door?!" I exclaimed. Getting to my feet I dropped the rifle at my side and reached for my holster where the glock rested. Pulling it out, I knew that the sound of bullets hitting the tower would've normally given my presence away to whoever patrolled the streets instantly, but the entire building's machinery was so loud that I was sure that it could muffled the noise.
Aiming carefully, I squeezed the trigger thrice; the handgun kicked as holes whistling with smoke appeared at the latch and was accompanied by a loud boom that radiated around me. Cold seeped in from the hatch and blew the gray, metallic smoke inwards as I shoved my glock back in the holster and walked towards it.
"The thing is as thin as fucking tin," I muttered as I quickly inspected it before raising my boot and brought it down with a loud, cantankerous smack. The metal gave away easily the more and more I kicked until finally the hatch sagged outwards and wafted in the breeze. I moved quickly towards the opening after retrieving my Dragunov and peered into the world below until I set my eyes upon the large, shadowy building that looked to be bustling with life within.
An icy streak of blue arced across the dark sky as waves of different hues of mauve and amber smudged the greasy black like thumbprints. White dots poked holes in the night sky like a pencil through paper and the radiance of it all wasn't lost on me. The quarter had been lit here and there with torches and braziers that let alleys and the walls of buildings dance with shadows in a way that my world hadn't experienced in decades or possibly even centuries.
The moon hadn't even shown its face which had only magnified the sheer beauty of the night sky, and it was something I didn't think I'd live to experience. The calm, serene silence of it all seemed pure and uncorrupted all the way up here, and I felt a pang of regret as I raised the scope of the Dragunov to my eye and forsook it for more earthly desires. The metallic grip of the barrel felt cold and unfeeling as the wooden stock was wedged in my arm pit.
If it hadn't been for the soft, yellow tinted windows I would've never been able to spot the Parliament. It was a three-story rectangular building that looked to have been made completely from bricks and had been accustomed to the common decorum of the time. Gargoyles were mounted on the roofs and designs were etched and carved into the building itself. At the front of the building, a lofty entrance that was lit with twin braziers had an overhanging roof that was kept up by four well placed columns that resembled that of an empire long past in my world.
Moving my scope against the grain of the building, I saw black dots or a sea of countless figures standing and sitting in various places within the large, vaulted room that served as the floor for the nobles. They were mouthpiece for the entire nobility that lead the fiefdoms and feudal city-states that were carved into this barbaric, untamed land. Royal guards and lonely figures that resembled the agents who had picked me from that train lined the entrance, and were all armed to the teeth, as if they were ready to fight the coming war on their doorstep.
I hadn't a clue what these people were discussing that was so important that they had to die over, and in truth, most of my jobs led the same way; drawn conclusions, preparation, and then this. These couple of moments of waiting for a carefully organized plan to be carried out that was only moments away shook most people of my profession to their core. Fortunately, none of that was here and I felt my rifle grow heavy as I heard the incessant chatter of the assassins who had organized all of this on the radio.
Keeping to myself hours beforehand, and had made necessary precautions to whatever I felt would come back to bite me in the ass after this. In truth, my watch on Bon Waye had drifted until I was sure he knew that I wasn't paying attention to him any longer. The idea of killing such a man not only didn't seem plausible to me, but I had grown to admire the man behind the gun and I was sure that one day that was going to be the one thing about this job that I'd regret.
Pulling up on my rifle, I felt a sudden gust of wind as something within me clicked and the comfortable silence lulled into uncertainty. The brief feeling passed as I looked towards the building one last time and my gaze became transfixed upon the yellow-eyed stare that Vergil had become infamous for. Walking from the entrance and flanked by a trio of knights, a group of men and women that looked very much like old royal bureaucrats were huddled together as they moved into the streets and quickly disappeared out of sight.
Vergil lingered a few minutes longer as he stopped with a look on his face I could easily register as realization. In one sudden motion, his head popped up and I had to zoom in closer to see where his gaze followed until I saw that he was staring at the clock tower. Before I could retreat back inside his eyes narrowed and then his mouth opened in shock as he turned on his heel and ran back towards the building.
Before he even made it to the steps, an orange flush of red plumed from the building as the sound of glass being shattered and a powerful clap thundered in my ears seconds after the explosion. Knocked back by the sheer force of the blast, Vergil flew back and disappeared out of site as guards and agents were tossed around like rag dolls and the roaring flames licked and consumed the powerful building that had been the Parliament.
Screaming erupted from the nearby buildings and soon the entire quarter was alive with hysteria as it quickly awakened. Soon guards of every shape and color came pouring into the streets from every which way, but they were too far away when the first victim ran screaming from the building, his hair alight in a halo of flames. Sighting him carefully, my hand rested on the trigger when I heard a loud crack against the background and the man was carried off to the side as the sniper's bullet tore into him. All around chaos began to erupt, and slowly but surely the brilliant view of the night overhead faded into an appalling black.
The world below bled, screamed, and burned as what was once the Parliament building became another wound in the landscape of Salvar. Flames gushed and fed upon the bricked building like it was kindling; the fire and embers were so hot that it literally began to melt the rock that made up the foundation of the building. Whatever had been construed as a government quickly vanished as guards and agents that approached the building seemed at a loss of what to do before they were cut down by enemy fire.
Taking aim at a noble who was engulfed in flames as he waddled out of the building, I stifled a breath and pulled the trigger. Immediately the Dragunov kicked and I watched through the scope as the noble was thrown back into the cascading fires that soon devoured the entrance once more. Again and again I pulled the trigger, taking out any wounded or near dead victim I could find until I heard my radio begin to hiss with static again.
"Jobe!... hissssss... Jobe! Pick up the fucking radio, over," I heard a familiar voice roar over the chaos below. Moving back inside, my Dragunov now propped up on a stand on the narrow metallic threshold that stood between the inside and outside of the clock tower; I dug into my pocket and grabbed my radio.
Looking towards the shadowy stairwell, I pushed the black rubber button and growled, "What is it? Who is this?!"
Letting go I was immediately rewarded by a giant gush of static and then bits and pieces of the same voice, "... Chzzzzzzzzzzk... Danger ... Hissssssss..."
Hearing the ominous word my heart began to pound, and my thoughts began to race as I clutched the button and shouted into the radio, "I can't hear you over the static, what the Hell do you mean by 'danger', over!"
Like the first time, when I let go of the button, static emanated from the speaker followed by a jarring ring as whatever was fucking up the radio continued to do so. After a long while I heard a faint voice through the static followed by what I thought was gunfire. Quickly, I put the radio as close to my ear as I could manage and heard the whisper again, "... Channel.. Krissssssh..... Seven..."
Flipping the radio over, I found a thick, black dial built into the back of it and each part and saw the corresponding number engraved in the plastic. Pushing it to the appropriate place, the static rapidly died away and the sound of gunfire and screaming could be heard from over the radio. Clear as a bell, I thought.
Pushing the button, I raised the radio to my lips and looked about, "What is this? What is going on?"
I heard the sound of something hitting the ground and a roar followed by the familiar accent that was akin to a Haitian, "Drinker screwed up the radios.. don't worry about how, just get the fuck out of that tow-"
The sound of glass being obliterated caused my arm to snap up and protect my face as I fell away and saw fragments of metal and plastic fly in the air while my scope exploded out of the corner of my eye. Not willing to take a chance of getting filled full of lead, I crawled as far into the tower and away from the hatch as I could when I recovered. I didn't have to time to think about what had just happened when I heard Bon Waye's voice again, "Jobe, get out while you can! They're coming for you!"
They?
Reaching for my glock, I unbuttoned the holster and felt my paranoia spin my world out of control. My gun was halfway out of its holster when I felt the cold, sinister feeling of metal pressed against the back of my head and the hammer of a gun being drawn back as I heard the British voice that belonged to the albino ring out, "Well met, mister Jobe."
How do these people keep getting the jump on me, I wondered silently as I began to inch my glock further and further out of my holster. I stopped when I heard Leon's laugh and felt a savage prod in the back of my head as he threatened me with what I could only guess to be the infamous pepperbox, "Get your hand off that gun and put your hands in the air."
"Funny, the last person who let me put my hands in the air I smashed into a door and watched him get peppered with enough lead to make him as crazy as you fucking are," I said sardonically as I looked towards the guts of mechanized parts that sat behind the clock face and governed St. Gabriel from within.
"Spot on," Leon said as he pushed me forward with the pressure of that cursed gun, "I wondered why Dominic had been so quiet when Hector died. I don't think he took too kindly to the death of his brother, do you?"
I heard the words tumble out of my mouth before I could stop them, "His brother?"
"Oh you didn't know?" I heard the assassin say from behind me, his tone becoming less and less what I deemed to be crazy the further we walked to the end of the clock tower, "Blimey, he must really like you. Goes to show what those monkeys will do for a leg up, doesn't it?"
"Whatever you say," I mumbled as I tried to figure a way out of this mess.
" Stop," I heard him say as he touched my shoulder and I felt my feet plant me in place as I stood more than eight feet away from the wall, "I'm curious, Jobe."
"What now?" I growled under my breath as I contemplated how fast I could get to my knives in time before he could fire that faulty gun.
"How'd you do it?"
" Do what?"
"Kill Squints," he said with an edge of jubilee that made my blood run cold, "I mean, he was supposed to be with Jess to arm the bomb under the building. But, when I found him, he was floating down the canal and he had his throat slit from ear to ear."
Bon Waye. Immediately I suspected he had set me up, but it didn't stand to reason. Why would he cut the trader's throat and then warn me that this pig and his goons were after me? Opening my mouth to speak, I knew that whatever answer I gave him would seal my fate, but whatever kept him talking kept me alive a second longer to figure a way out, "I caught up with him when you and the rest of your goons left for the surface. Thought I'd teach him a thing or two about manners."
"Is that so?" Leonardas said with a tone that was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable.
"Yup."
"Well, I suppose I should thank you," the albino said as he put his hand on my shoulder.
Wrong move, I thought as a grin creased across my face. Ducking out of the way, my elbow came swinging back as I spun around, and the edge of my fist caught a bewildered assassin off guard. Making contact with the side of his face, my fist hit the albino with a thud, and the impact caused him to fly against the railing that separated the world below and the withering heights above.
With a crack the pepperbox went off as I swung out of the way and felt the bulk of the lead rounds whizz past me while the rest grazed or tore into my right shoulder. Like a lion, I was upon him in moments and my hands were grasped around his scrawny neck as he flailed for his life.
"Are you happy with what you've done?!" Leon gasped with what air he had left, his face beginning to turn a shade of red akin to a radish as I squeezed harder and harder.
"What do you think?" I growled, "You're insane and someone left you running the show. I have only one question to ask you, Leon."
"Wh-Wh-Whaaggght?!" He gurgled as I released some of my grip.
Looking into those scarlet eyes I whispered the words that have been coursing through my mind since I met this veritable butcher, "Who hired you?!"
Opening his mouth to speak, the albino closed it and his eyes danced with malicious glee as both of our radios began to hiss with static. Looking down before I could realize my fatal mistake, I felt a pointed tip against my stomach and heard the snake-like voice whisper in my ears with mad laughter, "Long live the king!"
This was it? This was how I was going to die? Cursing myself for my stupidity I felt the kukri begin to graze against my flesh. Before the blade could rend me, I heard the wall behind me give as the air burnt around me and the force of the explosion sent the maniac and I flying over the railing and into the dark abyss below.
Bathed in flames as they licked and threatened devour me, I fell after Leonardas who cackled madly as he descended. Closer and closer the darkness came, and the world around me moved so fast my eyes couldn't register anything from the stairwell to the walls surrounding the tower. Faster and faster I fell after the architect of this archaic plan and I swore I could've heard Death sharpening its scythe as it prepared to come and claim us both.
I couldn't explain what had happened, and I didn't even know what it was that had caused us to fall. But near as I could tell, in a few moments Leonardas and I were about to become floor pizza, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Above I could hear the distant crackling of wood and the smell of smoldering maple wafting in my nostrils. It wouldn't be long until I hit the ground, and if I was lucky my teeth would fly into my brain on impact and kill me instantly.
If.
Out of the corner of my eye I kept seeing a white streak following us below, and at first I had thought it to be timber or flames of some kind that could just as easily be chunks of engulfed timber racing us to the bottom. But, the faster I fell, the more I felt the need to turn and see what entity it was that was competing to be the first to hit the ground and be smashed to smithereens.
Unable to bear it any longer, I tore my gaze from the world below and towards the source that bothered me so. Before my conscious mind could register what it was, my hands instinctively made a grab at it. My hands began to burn and blister as I was jerked upwards and my descent was immediately subdued. The feeling of hemp rope had never felt so good.
Leonardas continued to laugh madly as the gap between us quickly became bigger and bigger. Feeling the flesh upon my hands burn, I quickly smacked my boots on either end of the rope and heard the threads groan and the smell of burning leather reached my nostrils. Soon, the assassin turned over until I could see his face and those cursed red eyes that were streaked with so much joy.
"Sic semper tyrannis, eh Jobe?" The albino managed to howl up to me before he too was swallowed up by the darkness, leaving me to my haphazard descent until after a few long moments I heard a loud, wet smack below.
***
My feet hit the ground as I looked up and saw streaks of crimson red streaking the rope and into the plumes of fiery clouds that ate away at St. Gabriel's. Feeling my hands burning with a pain I had never felt before, I pried them free and looked down to see the deep, scarlet gashes that ravaged my hands. My digits stung at the sight, but at least I was alive, and was thankful for that much.
Slowly, I moved backwards and almost tripped over fallen debris as I chose to look up and saw the rain of black ash fall from the fiery heavens. It would've been a beautiful sight if I wasn't of sound mind and knew it wouldn't be long before the foundation gave and the entire clock tower would collapse in on itself.
Turning on my heels, the way to the entrance was well lit from the engulfed debris that littered the floor around me. Making my way to the door as I decided to forsake this place. The only question left in my mind was how exactly I was going to open it without causing myself further agony, but quickly threw the notion under the proverbial bus. I made it within a few feet to the door when I heard a pitiful gurgle from behind me and I turned on my heel.
Laying in ruin, his arms gnarled and twisted in angles that were so sickening I could already tell that if Leonardas had lived he would never be able to use them again. I made my way towards him, slowly approaching the monster that would later become directly responsible for over three hundred deaths and irreparable damage to Salvar that very few people thought it could ever recover from.
At his side, I saw that those scarlet pupils had bled into the rest of his eyes making his appearance more demonic as his face was streaked with black, brackish blood and I watched more of the gooey, hot lifeblood dribble from his lips as he tried to speak, but he no longer had the ability. Kneeling down, I tilted my head as I tried to get the full scope of somebody I would've gladly run through for everything he had put me through. Looking at the rest of his body, his chest was contorted and popped out of place as broken ribs poked through his abdomen like shrapnel.
In a few moments Leonardas Romulus II would be dead, and he was in a kind of agony I never hoped to experience. Moving my gaze back to his face I saw the muscles twitch and try to move into a sneer as he looked at me. I'd seen that look before, and I knew what it meant. You won, now kill me while you still have the chance, he would've said if he could.
Giving him a toothy smile I considered it for a moment and then raised my palms up showing him my horrible disfigurement and shook my head, "Not this time, you don't deserve the courtesy," I said with satisfaction. Getting to my feet, I watched Leonardas continue to smile weakly at me as his brain began to shut down, the wisps of white hair that were matted to his face now glistened with blood.
Moving away from him, I heard the madman gurgle incoherently as I made for the door and managed to get it open by gritting my teeth and swallowing the agony that followed. The cold hit me the hardest as I gazed into the empty streets and saw soldiers in the distance rushing towards the burning building carrying buckets of water and anything else they could to save what was left of the Parliament.
I don't know what possessed me to, but as I heard the familiar thundering dong of the large copper bell overhead I turned and looked up in time to see the massive, flaming ornament falling from above and knocking this way and that on either wall, making its decadent din every time it made contact. Stepping quickly over the threshold I saw the ruined form of Leonardas as he stared up at his fate. Gritting my teeth, I closed the door behind me and was across the cobbled street until I heard the loud crash that ended one of the most infamous of mass murderers that Salvar will never have known.
***
Outside the Royal Quarter, Knife's Edge.
Slipping out of the quarter had been easier said than done, and I had made many narrow escapes along the way. Soldiers and guards alike had swarmed the streets, immediately sealing off all access to Castle Rathaxea and there looked like the quarter was quickly being brought under lockdown. Taking advantage of the situation in the only way I could, I ducked and weaved throughout the maze of alleyways and climbed into the safety of the aqueducts.
When I reached the surface, the entire city of Knife's Edge was in an uproar as its citizens were gripped by the blind panic that had begun to spread like wildfire. Entire precincts of the city had to be contained as people from every walk of life spilled into the streets and looked to the twilight, purple sky and saw the smouldering remains of St. Gabriel as it sat ablaze like that of a torch. In truth, I don't think anybody whether they held the seat of authority or not could've prepared for this.
More and more I realized that the longer I stayed here, the greater the risk I'd be trapped here. Only once I reached the safety of a narrow passage near the end of one of the streets did I reach for my radio. The dull hiss of static echoed in my ears, but other than that it had been quiet. Holding the speaker to my lips, I pushed down on the hard rubber button, "Bo-"
The click of the hammer upon the gun had been all it took to get my attention as I looked up and saw who was standing just a few yards away. Staggering forward, his face bloodied and wisps of white hair matted to his face almost making him unrecognizable, I stared into those eyes that burned with hatred. Rather beefy and dressed in the same trousers and suspenders I had seen him in for the last three days. Sunken eyes rested atop purple bags, his sunken cheeks and stubbled face made him look more and more like the madman he had served. As I crept backwards, Kurt didn't bat an eye as he spoke, "Y-you ruined e-e-everything..."
"And?" I said as I stared at the colt navy revolver as it drew closer and closer in my direction.
"You killed them all didn't you?! You offed Squints, decapitated Jess, shot Ian, and left Leon to die.." The old marksman jabbered, his voice barely above a whisper. Looking down, I noticed for the first time he held a growing red spot on his gut which looked to have been mortal and if it was any indicator I was about to get deep-sixed by a man on the brink of death himself, "Why?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know damn well what I mean!" He howled, loud enough that the entire street on either side could hear," Why'd you do it?!"
"Look, I'm not good at guessing games, old man. Just cut to the chase or put a bullet in my head already, damn it!" I growled as I turned to face him.
"Y-you stabbed me," He said as he lifted his hand from his gruesome wound, "A-a-and you left me! You didn't finish the job! Why?!"
"I--"
Smoke wisped into the air as a gaping hole formed in the old assassin's forehead as his entire head jerked back to the roar of a gunshot. Spinning on my heel, I saw Bon Waye holding a glock in one hand while gasping for breath as beads of sweat rolled down his face, looking as if he had ran a marathon to get here. A grimace smeared across lips as I heard the one called Kurt crumple to the ground, "That's why."
***
I had seen enough of these shootouts for one day, I reasoned while I watched the faillienite drop his weapon to his side and his locks spill over his face as he bent over to catch his breath. Nearby screams had broken out at the sound of the gunshot, and I was sure that guards were sure to follow the scent of fear. Pulling myself forward I pointed my chin at the assassin, "What took you so long? And by the way.. What the Hell?!"
"Your welcome," Bon Waye growled as he stood up and aimed to holster his gun, and only for the first time did I notice the man that stood behind him. Nodding over to the man who stood cloaked in a trench coat and wearing a large hat, the fallienite muttered as he still tried to catch his breath, "Had to grab Romik and get him out. I thought I told you to meet me at the market?"
"What?"
"Don't play coy," Bon Waye said as he eyed me, "You almost died again tonight because you couldn't follow very simple instructions."
"Look," I told him, "I haven't talked to you since Gabriel's blew up.. what the fuck are you prattling on about?!"
"Nevermind."
"No. No! I'm not accepting that answer, Bon Waye. I've fallen, been shot at, blown up, and caught on fire in this sick game of cat and mouse. I think it’s about fucking time for answers," I snarled at him.
Looking at me whimsically, the contract killer narrowed his azure eyes and opened his mouth to say something when the sound of many footsteps could be heard just around the corner. Looking back suddenly, Bon Waye pulled the chemist inside and moved past me before saying, "We can carry on this conversation later. Let’s move!"
"I'm not your bitch," I muttered more to myself than others as I looked down at the corpse of Kurt and then back at the guards before yelling," Wait up!"
***
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