Infernal [Archive] - Jolt Forums

Layarteb

14-10-2007, 22:22

The wind swept through the air peacefully but violently turned up dust a few feet behind the figure. He stood on the barren, cracked, and dried ground, staring off, to the west. The sun was setting and smoke was billowing. The temperature had gone down by forty degrees since the beginning of the day and it was barely above freezing now. He shivered slightly as he looked around. Where am I? He thought to himself as he lifted a cigarette to his mouth. He held it there for a moment, scanning the horizon as the wind kicked up again. The chilling breeze of the wind cut through his bones and turned his skin to leather. He waited a moment, cupped his hand over the cigarette and pulled out a box of matches from his vest pocket. They were wooden and he didn't have many of them left. He looked down as he opened the box and saw just four left. I need more. He pulled out one and turned around, to avoid the wind. Quickly, he struck the match against the side of the box and watched as the tip of it flared up and sizzled in the air. The smell of the match wafted up, into his nostrils and he held the cigarette tight to his lips. He put the match flame to the cigarette end and inhaled as the thin paper end of the cigarette caught fire and the tobacco inside began to burn. He had ripped off the filter long ago but kept them, just in case they proved to be useful. He had no home and no safety deposit box. All of his possessions he took with him, inside his rucksack. He had gotten it when he first walked into the wasteland and now that he was there, he had it filled to the brim. He had camped for the night in the middle of the wasteland, against a wrecked shack that had once been the tin garage of a house. The house was a skeleton now but the tin shack still stood. Its roof and sides had rusted almost clean through. He had barely slept the night. He built a fire in the small shack just before sundown and sat down against one of the corners after it was fully going. He found parts of the house still suitable to be burned and tossed them into the fire. It was all he could do to keep warm. As he had sat down against the corners of the shack, he pulled his pistol from his upper leg holster and put it on the ground next to him, the suppressor still attached. The pistol was a Layartebian military model and he had used it since he arrived in the zone, when he got the rucksack. He got it from someone but where he was going, he wouldn't need them. The figure had killed him, quickly and skillfully, with his bare hands for it was all that he had. The man died slowly and it was a fight and a half.

The figure came up behind him in the middle of the night, during a horrific thunderstorm. Lightning flashed all around as he came up behind the man. Rain danced all around him and aside from the rain and the thunderstorm, it was silent. Even through the storm, he could hear the man's heart beating. He stood there, in the wasteland, eating a loaf of bread and drinking a bottle of vodka. Half drunk from the night before, the man stood there, unbeknownst to the threat behind him. The figured crept up on him like an animal creeping up on its prey. The man was the figure's prey. He was a hunter, a villain. He kept his body low and his hands in front of him as he moved, careful not to make any noise. The water that hit him rolled off his clothes and onto the ground below. He could hear, through the rain, the heartbeat of the man and he listened to it, rhythmically. He had no weapons and no armor to protect him but the man he stalked he had a pistol and a shotgun. His back was dominated by a heavy rucksack and he wore a suit that provided ballistic protection. It was a highly effective combination of a light military bulletproof vest and of a rubberized fabric suit. Reinforced with ceramic and Kevlar plates it could protect against a few rounds of gunfire. The man he stalked had all of those and more.

With his hands out and body low he got close enough to hear the man's breaths. Stay still... He thought as he moved closer and closer, ready to strike. When he got close enough, he stopped and stood there, watching the man for a second. What are you going to do? He thought again as he lifted his body up and moved another step forward. The man coughed and took a long swig of vodka, nearly finishing the remainder of the bottle. Now or never. He thought once more as he lunged forward and upwards. He had jumped into the air and propelled himself forward, his hands out, ready to strike like a falcon coming down from the heavens. Without a sound he neared the man and when he reached him, he made sure that he was hitting him with full force. It was enough to throw the man down, into the muddy ground, shake the pistol away, and cause him to drop hold of the shotgun. The figure drove his knee into the man's back and pinned him, face down, against the ground. With a yell and a grunt, he pushed his face straight into the muddy terrain, trying to drown him but the man kicked and fought, hard. With a valiant effort, he threw the figure free and stood up, his face covered in mud. The figure bounced along the ground and skidded to a stop in the mud himself. He was quick to recover himself but not quick enough; the man was almost on top of him, a large knife in his hand. The figure was facing certain death and he threw his legs out and forward. He caught the man as he flew through the air towards him and gave him a powerful push, sending the man through the air and back to where he came from, this time skidding along the ground on his back.

He let go of the knife but quickly grabbed it again as he and figure bore down on each other. He came down with the knife next and soon they were locked in a grasp. The figure held his wrist and swung forward only to have his own fist caught. They struggled against each other, enormous amounts of strength within the two of them. Their feet dug into the muddy ground and they sank and slipped. Their boots dug down, into the ground as they locked themselves there, in the struggle. The figure broke free first, kicking his leg out and sweeping the man down, to the ground. In the struggle the man release the knife again but neither of them was able to grab it as it pierced into the muddy ground and both of them toppled over. The figure lay on top and pushed, with all of his might, against the man's chin, trying to break his neck but it wouldn't work. The man kicked and fought and managed to roll the figure over the top of him and onto his back, a wrestling move it seemed. The figure kept rolling though, long enough to get him slightly further away, far enough that he could recover his footing. The man came after him, with his hands out, forgetting the knife. They struggled again, fists raging against each other, kicking as hard as they could. The figure scored blow after blow but, inebriated, the man didn't feel them for what they were. He roared around again and pushed the man over, face first, into the mud. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked throughout the fight and the man screamed again as his head was pushed into the mud. He continued to try to drown the man but he wasn't successful again. The man flung him away and, for the second time, threw him onto the ground. The figure dashed around and grabbed the man's knife. With a powerful throw he sent it airborne and towards the man. It was a futile attempt, the knife missed. He struggled around again and sent himself flying through the air with a drop kick to the man's chest, pushing him over again, back first. He lunged on top of him again and pressed down on his head and his neck. He tried to break his neck but it wouldn't work either. The man was just too strong and he flung the figure off again and, with a grunt, picked up his knife from the ground. He lunged forward but didn't get far. The figure went low and grappled him down, grabbing his right wrist, holding the knife at bay. He pushed down, into the man's chest with his knee and man sure to push as hard as he could.

With the man on the ground again and the figure with the upper hand, he banged his hand hard, trying to loosen his grip on the knife. The man reached around with his other arm but the figure grabbed his arm and locked it around. With a powerful shift of his weight, he managed to break the man's arm at his elbow, the crack of his bones louder than the thunder in the air. The man screamed in pain but it did him no good. The figure rolled him around and threw his arm around his neck and held him on the ground. He used his legs to hold the man's legs and torso down and held the man's good arm down. His arm was around his neck and as much as the man tried to fling him off it wasn't working and slowly, he was losing air. He had him in a lateral vascular neck restraint and it was aimed at stopping blood flow to his brain by compressing both the carotid arteries and the jugular veins without closing off his airway. It was effective and in twelve seconds, the man was beginning to lose consciousness. By fourteen, he was old cold but he could regain consciousness in just ten to twenty seconds. The figure used it to his advantage and grabbed him again around the neck but this time twisted violently and with brute force. With a quick snap, he broke the man's neck around his fourth vertebrae. It didn't kill him though and he flung the man against the ground. When he regained consciousness he found that he was still alive but completely paralyzed. The figure, once again, pushed his head, into the mud below and within minutes he had drowned the man, causing him to ingest enough water and mud to fill his lungs enough that he couldn't breathe anymore. The man died shortly thereafter and the figure, muddy, bloody, and in pain, stood over the man. He took his possessions next.

That was a long time ago, before he got to this point in his life. When he put his M33A2 Pistol down, he had put it right by his leg. He wanted to grab it if he needed it and he put his shotgun across his lap. It was a powerful weapon but a slow weapon and it weighed a small ton. It had two barrels and was breech loaded. Each barrel could hold one twelve gauge round, either a slug or buckshot. When he took the shotgun it carried buckshot but, since then, he got his hands on two dozen shot rounds. He rarely used them though. The weapon weighed seven and a quarter pounds, unloaded, with a beautiful wooden buttstock and twenty-eight inch barrel. Overall it was just under forty-six inches long. He was lucky, he picked it up with a rubber recoil pad on the buttstock but it still kicked like a mule. He had almost lost it a week earlier when his vehicle when he got into a fight. His wounds were still sore from the fight and he fought six men, killing one of them in the process. He had killed him with a powerful shotgun blast to the man's chest but by then the fight was over and they got away in a four by four enclosed jeep. He heard rumors about the cannibals walking around so when he laid down for sleep, he was too cautious to fully fall asleep, lest he be caught by them, in the dead of slumber. When the sun rose, so did he and the fire continued to smolder. He hadn't left yet...

Layarteb

15-10-2007, 04:18

It was late fall and the fire was the only thing that kept him warm throughout the night. He had chosen this site to sleep because it was a site that was abandoned. There was a small shack that he built the fire and slept in and that was it. The rubble of a home that used to be stood only feet from the shack and he had scoured it for any sort of valuables but there were none. It had a skeleton of a frame remaining and the roof had punctured the wounded floor into the basement. He debated whether or not to sleep in the basement but he would have a tough time getting out of it if he had to, so he slept above ground, using the wood from the house for the fire. He had a tough time getting it started; the wind had kicked up hard on him a few times. He finally caved and emptied the gunpowder from one of his .45ACP bullets onto the kindling and used his lit cigarette to light the fire. It flared up right away and the kindling burned hot. After he got it to a point where it was sustained, he added the wood, smaller pieces at first, to get the fire going, and then the bigger pieces, for longevity. It gave off heat even the next morning, which was a good thing because it was cold.

The man wore layers upon layers of clothing. He had on six shirts, a pair of thermals underneath his clothing, two pairs of socks, a pair of jeans, and a thick, leather jacket with a hood on it. He had the jacket buttoned up to his neck and the hood around his head, trying to hide from the wind and he had gotten lucky, the wind shifted in the middle of the night and, instead of coming from the side of the shack, it came from behind it, meaning that he was safe from it. The man looked up at the gray sky above and felt a chill run up his body. It was warmer than freezing but not by much. The ground was cold and he had slept on its hardness all night long but that was something he was all too used to, especially in this world. He planned to head to a small encampment about four miles away and he wanted to get there by nightfall. He heard stories about the place and he hoped that he would be able to find some useful information there. That was why he was here, in the frozen abyss of hell, to find answers to questions he sought. He had been throughout the abyss, from its center to its outer rim. Now he was back on the outer rim, seeking that which lied within.

He stood up and looked down at the smoldering fire. It was hot enough to light a cigarette and the idea came to him after he stood up, forcing him back down, to the cold, hard ground. He pulled a cigarette from the box in his pocket and he only had eight left. He needed more. Carefully, he put the cigarette in his mouth and bent down to the fire. His face felt the heat right away and sucked in the warmth as his body craved heat. The cigarette lit itself quickly and he felt warmer right away, until the pains of hunger began to take over him. Food, he thought to himself as he picked up his rucksack from the ground and opened its flap. He felt around inside of it and finally found what he wanted. It was a packet, small enough to fit inside of the pack and not take up too much weight but it was still over a pound. With a smirk, he closed the flap and tossed the rucksack onto his back and began walking, cigarette in his mouth, shotgun around his shoulder and pistol on his thigh, knife by his side, and the packet in his hands.

The packet was a food ration, an MRE, Meal, Ready-to-Eat, as the military had called it and he got them from a trader along his journeys. He didn't have many of them left though, only about nine, which meant that he needed more and he needed to find more. Each of them gave twelve hundred calories, enough for a full meal and he stretched the one MRE to a whole day, eating a little here and there to sustain himself when he couldn't find alternative food. Sometimes he would find an animal and kill it; using the food it provided to push himself further. He lived the life of a drifter but he wanted at least some place that was warm and not exposed to the elements. This particular meal was tuna and he ate a bit of it to immediately placate the hunger pains and it did. Before long, they went away and he put the packet away, having only eaten about a quarter of it.

Four miles later, he had the camp within sight. He used a pair of binoculars to see it and he carefully scouted it out from a small hill that overlooked the settlement. There were a few hours with a dirt road in the middle. The houses were small and in poor shape. One had a hole in one of its walls, another had no roof, a third was missing most of its framing except the brickwork, and a fourth was collapsed into itself. He saw no signs of life whatsoever but waited carefully. It was nearly noon and he knew people wouldn't be sleeping. He debated whether or not to come back at night but he decided against it and to scout it out during the day. There really were no signs of life. He put the binoculars away and withdrew his shotgun from his shoulder and held it. He clicked forward the barrels and looked inside. There were two rounds loaded and he clicked the barrels shut again and unlocked the safety. Carefully crouched down, he walked towards the encampment as slowly as possible, looking down the sights of the shotgun the whole time. There were five houses on the left of the dirt road, including the one that was without a framing, and there were four on the right side of the road, including the one with the hole in the wall. He decided to check the left side first, since it was closer to him and wouldn't require him to cross the road.

When he got to the bottom of the hill, he put his back against the wall of the first house and listened. He heard nothing. Slowly, he crept along the way, keeping his head below the windows and moved around to the side entrance. There was no door and when he looked in all he saw was four walls, a floor, and a ceiling, nothing else. The house was empty, devoid of everything. He moved through it quickly. The bathtub was full of rust and anything not built into the house itself was gone. A chimney stuck into the air and its fireplace hadn't been used in months, it seemed. He passed through it and to the next house and the next. All five houses in that one stretch were devoid of anything but that which was built with the houses. When he got to the fourth house, he exited it and looked at the destroyed house in front of him. White brickwork was all that was left except for some wooden framing pieces of the roof but not much. He walked up to it and looked around. Satisfied it was empty he turned his body to cross the street when an echo filled the air.

Layarteb

15-10-2007, 05:08

Suddenly, he stopped and listened. The echo was that of a motorcycle or a dirt bike, he couldn't tell yet, it was still far enough away that its sound was just an echo, bouncing off the trees around them. He scurried quickly into the fourth house and put his back against the wall as the sound grew louder and louder and, eventually, ceased to be an echo. He maneuvered himself to look to the east, where the sound came from, and barely lifted his eyes over the windowsill to see a black dirt bike come whizzing down the dirt road, kicking up dust behind it. The rider was dressed all in black leather and wore a dark helmet. No part of the rider was visible underneath the clothing, meant to keep the rider warm in this unbearable cold. The man was careful not to breathe too hard, to avoid his own visible breaths from being seen. The rider never knew he was there and drove past the house, slowing down as he did. He moved himself around to see where he went. He drove up to the third house on the right side, next to the one with the hole in the wall and stopped.

Curiously, the man with the shotgun watched the rider drive around the back of the house and disappear. The dirt bike went silent moments later and he knew that whoever that was, he lived there, probably the only person to live in the encampment. Seeing an opportunity to get supplies, and a dirt bike, the man with the shotgun emerged from the house and scurried across the street, careful not to be caught in a line of sight of the house where the rider went. From there, he carefully crept, in a low stance, along the back wall of the second house and towards the third one. He could hear a radio now and he could barely make out what was being played or said because of its low volume and a lot of static. He guessed it didn't have an antenna. He darted to the third house and put his back against the exterior wall and looked around the back to see a pair of cellar doors that were heavily rusted metal. He probably could have stepped through them, it seemed. Slowly, he moved along to the doors and looked down at them. They were in poor shape and he decided to sidestep over them, to avoid making any noise. The dirt bike had hid the noise of them opening and closing and he didn't want to give it away that he was there now. He wanted that bike and whatever supplies the rider had on him or stored here.

The man walked around to the other side of the house and looked all around at the windows, which were boarded up to prevent anyone from seeing in or out, it seemed. There were peepholes, where wood knots should have been but he avoided those too and aimed for the front vestibule, which also had no door on it and led to the main entrance to the house. Like the windows, it too was boarded up and he realized that the only way in was through the rusty metal doors. Careful not to make any noises as he walked on the floor, he left the house and returned back to its exterior. It had a peaked roof, which meant that it had a crawlspace, at the very least, for an attic. There was a window on the rear of the house that had no glass on it and it looked out from the attic. He looked up at it and looked at the red, brick chimney on the exterior. He couldn't climb up the chimney itself, it was in surprisingly decent condition.

Instead, he looked at the window on the first floor, which was boarded up, but could provide footing for him if he was quick. Realizing that this was probably the best way into the house, he put his shotgun back around his shoulder and unclipped the strap holding his pistol in the thigh holster. If he needed it, he would draw his pistol and not his shotgun. The footing on the window gave him the necessary height to reach up and grab hold of the attic windowsill. He held it firm with his right hand and, using an amazing feat of strength, pulled himself up, walking up the chimney and holding on it with his left hand at the same time. He stood now on the top of the window from the first floor on the molding around it, molding that was tiny but enough that he could put his boot side on it and not fall, so long as he leaned against the wall. He carefully peaked into the attic and saw it was empty and pulled himself into the window moments later. He drew his pistol this time and was careful to watch his step. Parts of the attic floor had fallen away and revealed the empty house below. The radio echoed up through the basement and up to the attic although he still couldn't make much of it out, if any at all.

He looked down into the first floor and like the other houses, it was rather empty. There was, however, a weak metal frame with a thin mattress on it in the back room and a small wooden cabinet there too. He could use that to get down without jumping onto the floor. He carefully slid his legs over and held onto a beam as he lowered himself, slowly, onto the top of the cabinet. He made sure to place his feet on either end to prevent it from tipping over and he nearly did as his weight shifted from his arms to his legs for support. He stabilized himself and carefully stepped down on the floor. He pulled his pistol out and tip-toed across the floor, careful where he stepped. The floor was old and it creaked here and there as he walked and he hoped that the radio would drown out the sound. He was lucky, it did.

The house had a back room and a main living room before any of the other rooms, which only included a kitchen, a bathroom, and a foyer. The stairs to the basement were between the living room and the foyer and he could see that the door was off its hinges and lying on the ground. The man held his breath as he leaned his back against the wall and peaked around the corner and down the stairs. It was dark but he could see a flickering light, a candle definitely. He put his pistol firmly in front of him and stepped around the corner, the pistol always going where his eyes went. Throughout the whole time he kept the sight bridge perfectly flat and kept his finger just over the trigger. The stairs were just as rickety as the floor and he got to the bottom of it rather quickly. To the left was a wall and to the right there was another wall but there was also a flickering light dancing off the left wall. To the right, past the wall was an opening leading into a room, a room that had life within its four walls. Just then an echo of static bounced off the concrete walls and filled the air, followed quickly by music. Whoever was there, they had turned on the radio and though it wasn't too loud, it was loud enough that the man could afford to be less quiet and careful in his movements.

He put his back against the wall and slid towards the opening, watching carefully to make sure that nobody came out of the opening. The radio also helped to shield any noises that came out of the room and it was as silent as the grave, except for the radio. He was just inches shy of the opening when he stopped for a moment to collect his thoughts. Suddenly, a shadow bounced in front of him. The person was moving but suddenly, the shadow went away as the person either went out of the realm of the light or had stopped moving. He couldn't tell. He put his finger on the trigger and took in a deep breath. You or me pal! He thought to himself as he slid up to the edge and turned his body around, so that now his chest rubbed against the cold concrete. He slid forward a little more but stopped before his shoulder could go around the edge of the wall. He carefully tilted his body so that just the right side of his face passed in front of the opening and he used his right eye to scan the room. A woman! He thought to himself as he saw the shadow. The he was a she and he looked at her as she looked away, facing away from the door. He took a careful inventory of the room and saw a dilapidated couch, a pathetic bed, which she sat on, facing away from him, a desk, a small kitchenette area, and possibly a small, little bathroom.

A smell wafted into the air as he pulled his eye away from the doorway. She was cooking something, some sort of meat, he couldn't tell what and he had only glanced at the kitchenette set that included a stove but she wasn't cooking on it. She was cooking on a small, gas burner. He doubted there was running water there either but there was a sink as well. Lastly, in addition to all of that, he spotted a submachine gun lying on a crate next to the couch. It was a small M75A1 Submachine Gun, known elsewhere as the MP7. Adept at breaking through body armor, it had a forty-round magazine and could tear him to shreds with a quick burst. Still, he was closer to it than she was and he looked down at the cold, concrete like floor and stepped out, his pistol in front of him, the bridge lined up, and his eyes down its sights. He carefully took a step forward and into the room, careful not to let his own shadow dance in front of her. The music, hiding his footsteps, deafened her to the doom that approached as he stopped at the couch, bent down, and picked up the gun, never taking his eyes off the sights or off the back of her head, where the sights were pointed. He held the submachine gun in the other hand and took a few more steps towards her when she turned around.

Layarteb

15-10-2007, 23:29

She must have felt his presence because she had never heard it and when she turned around all she saw the barrel of a pistol and of her submachine gun, both pointed at her. She shrieked and tripped over her feet as they crisscrossed on the floor. She fell hard against the wall and slid down, seemingly lifeless. "Please don't kill me." She said as tears began to roll down her cheeks. She didn't know who he was or what he wanted but, given the situation, she imagined that he was there to kill her. She thought that her past had finally caught up to her that even here, in the abyss of the world, she had been found. "Please. Please." She begged as the tear rolled down her face. She glanced up; her knife was on the bed but out of her reach. She was defenseless. "Who are you?" She demanded though still begging not to kill him, tears still rolling to the ground. She looked around but he was silent, the silence of an assassin that she knew all too well. "Please don't kill me. I'm just here to start anew. Please. Please don't kill me." She begged and begged. A sinister smile came about his face as he stared down at her. He was far enough away that she couldn't reach him with her feet or her hands but close enough that he really didn't have to aim to shoot her.

"Why are you here? Don't you know this place is cursed?" He asked, his voice echoing in the basement, the radio seemingly silent.

"I'm just here to hide. That's all. Are you the police? Are you the Shadows?"

"No. Why did you come here? This is no place for a girl!" He berated her as she continued to sob but the comment sparked some independence and fire in her as she looked up at him, a determined look coming about her face.

"I can handle myself!"

"Apparently not." He motioned at the gun he held that should have been in her hands.

"Please. Let me go. What do you want, take it all? I just want to live." He looked forward as she cried. The pistol held firm in his hands but he hadn't pulled the trigger yet. "Please. Mister. Let me go. I don't mean you any harm. Please..." Her whole face was contorted as the pain of her tears tore through her cheeks and into her bones. "Please..." She continued to beg.

Beggars. He thought to himself. He hated when people begged for their lives and refused to accept the fate that was about to hit them. Women did it. Men did it. It didn't matter they all begged and he hated it. He wanted people to accept their fate, to make it easier for them. It didn't matter to him either way, they were going to die but begging was just pathetic. He fought and killed people before and most of them begged. Some of them didn't, those were the really good foes that he faced, the ones he respected. "I despise people who beg for their lives. Accept your fate."

"Change your mind. Please. I don't have anything to offer you. Do you want the bike? You can have it. This place? My money? My food? Have it all. I just want to live," she tried to stand but it didn't work, her legs gave out and she hit the ground, on her knees, closer to the knife and begged more.

"Nice try. Get up. And leave the knife." He back stepped and she stood up, slowly, her hand so close to the knife. "Get over here..." He said as he stepped back further. "There. Sit down on the couch. Give me a reason to shoot you. I dare you."

"I won't. Please. Just let me live." She sat down on the couch. No weapon was near her except her two hands. "Please. Let me live. I beg you. Please."

"Stop begging!" He inched back to the other side and looked at the doorway to see that there was a door, it had opened inward and it was still open. "Shut the door and lock it." He ordered her, the pistol still pointed at her the whole time. "Don't try to run. I'm a good shot."

"I won't. Please. Don't shoot me."

"Lock it."

"Please. Stop..."

"Good. Sit back down!"

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to kill you."

"Why? What did I do to you?"

"This place. This place is hell. Don't you know that? It's hell and I'm here to give people a reprieve."

"What reprieve?"

"This is a nice machine gun you have."

"Keep it. Please. Let me go."

"No. I won't."

"You aren't going to..."

"No. I'm not an animal." She sort of breathed a sigh of relief but she knew that she was about to be killed. Little else changed in her demeanor. She was still begging, crying, and her entire insides were wrenched out of position. She felt queasy and was turning pale.

Layarteb

16-10-2007, 00:24

"Oh God no!" She doubled over onto the ground, right over a drain, and turned as white as a ghost. She threw up right there, the entire contents of her stomach, which included some bread, some alcohol of some sort, possibly vodka, and a pair of candy bars that she had eaten. It stunk more of alcohol than anything else and though it drained down, into the hole, it still stunk up the whole place. He looked over to his left to see a cigarette burning on the wooden crate. It wouldn't light it on fire but it was nearly burned out and he couldn't necessarily stomach the smell that was now wafting into his nostrils. "See..." She puked again, her eyes and face red now, the color flushing back into her as she let out her stomach on the floor, the acids too. "Please...Don't kill me..." She sat up, against the couch, her knees drawn into her chest, her face red, her eyes tearing still, her eyes blood shot, and the smell wafting in her nose. "Please don't kill me." She mumbled.

He felt sorry for her a little bit; she was pathetic. She wouldn't stop begging and bargaining. Anything she could give, she would give, just to live. "I'm not going to take anything from you." He put away the pistol. He had little humanity left in him and what was left had been torn to shreds and the few shreds that still existed had suddenly shone through his tough exterior. She wasn't a killer. He began to wonder if she could even use the submachine gun that she carried or the knife that she had dropped. "Get up. I'm not going to kill you."

"But you said..."

"I changed my mind." Anger filled her body instead of relief. She had been taken to the brink of her emotions, she threw up into the floor drain, and she had never been so scared in her entire life. "Maybe you can help me."

"Help you? You sick fuck. Help you? After that?" She lunged into the air at him, violently and without a warning. He didn't wait around to find out what she would do though and countered with a quick adjustment of his feet. He reached out with his hands and grabbed her by the neck and by the torso. With a sudden movement of his arms he took all of her momentum away from her and changed its direction. She went from flying towards him towards to flying down, onto the sofa, in less than a second. She hit the couch hard and stared up at him, his right hand on her neck, holding her windpipe. She reached up to try to grab his face but he grabbed her hand too and immediately countered by grabbing her hand. With his knee he held down her other hand and though she tried to kick, she was completely pinned. "Let me go..." She said, barely able to breathe.

"You going to be calm?" Her face was changing color again as the air stopping getting to her. Her kicking ebbed and her eyes began to shift around, her inability to focus becoming evident. As she turned a shade of purple, he left go. She drew in a deep breath of air and coughed as it filled her lungs and go to her red blood cells. "Relax. I'm sorry. I made a big mistake." He said it completely nonchalantly and it annoyed her even more but she had no fight left in her. She fell onto the floor, still coughing as the air rushed into her body. "Breathe girl. You're going to pass out if you don't."

"Fuck you..." Her coughing stopped as she pulled herself to her feet again and sat down on the sofa. He was seated across from her, on a crate, his pistol away but her knife now in his hands. He used its sharp blade to clean underneath his fingernails. "Get out of here..."

"No. I need your help."

"Kiss my ass."

"No. Sit there and don't move or I swear I will kill you and I'll make it real slow. You know a stomach wound is the most painful wound you can get from a gunshot?"

"Oh so I'm supposed to believe you now?"

"You'd better. Just sit there. What's your name?"

"Larisa"

"Larisa. I like that name. I need your help. You're here to escape the law aren't you? Whatever you did in the past. Right?"

"Yes." She answered suspiciously.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Infernal/larisa.jpg

Layarteb

16-10-2007, 00:25

"Well I came here to find someone. To find someone that took every last bit of humanity that I have left in me. Well almost every last bit. Whatever I have left it isn't much. That much I hold onto and that much is why you're alive right now. If you help me I'll help you."

"How? You're not the law."

"No. I'm not. But if you tell me who's hunting you I might kill them."

"How will that solve my problem?"

"We'll get to that. If the people that are hunting you are dead. How can you be hunted?"

"There will be more."

"Perhaps. But we'll kill them all. You see I am here for one person. One person only. He's somewhere here."

"What'd he do?"

"Took everything away from me. Everything."

"Like what?"

"Don't worry about it. I just need your help. How long have you been here?"

"A year and a half."

"Good. I just got here a few weeks ago. Maybe longer. I don't remember anymore."

"I don't get it."

"I need your help."

"Fine. Fine. I'll help you on one condition."

"What is that?"

"You never threaten me again."

"Done. You want me to fix your problem?"

"Maybe."

"So will you help?"

"Will you agree?"

"Yes."

"Then yes."

"Alright."

"So what's your name?"

"I don't have one. Just call me 'Outlaw' for now."

Layarteb

16-10-2007, 00:26

Hours had passed and it was the dead of night when they finally found words to say to each other. Larisa still shook a little and was still in disbelief about what happened. The man was different. He was calm and sat on the couch, his pistol in his lap, still untrusting of her, and stared up, to the ceiling. It was almost as if he was asleep and, for a while, it seemed he was. She was reading on the bed, reading a book that looked as if it had survived every battle of the war. Pages were torn out and stuffed back in, the cover was nearly torn off, water stained every page, and there were a few burn marks. "What are you reading?" The man asked, startling her. She expected him to be asleep. "Is it good?"

"It's an old book. Really old. I found it a week ago in a dumpster near the middle rim, near Sanctuary." Her voice shook a little but she dared not look up from the book. "Why?"

"Curiosity."

"Are you really curious or just trying to kill the uncomfortable silence?" She folded the book shut and looked up; her piercing brown eyes tore through the thick air in the basement bunker and into his own eyes as he leveled them off at her.

"A little bit of both. You see I made a terrible mistake earlier. First off, I thought you were a man. That would have made it easier. You see all I wanted was the bike and the weapon. Maybe the place too. I hadn't decided. I was afraid you would kill me too. I don't have a home. That was stolen. You see I'm sorry. I need someone's help. You need help to. It's a barter system. We help each other."

"And what promise do I have that I'm not just being used?"

"My word. That's all I can give." He stood up from the crappy sofa. "I'm here for revenge. You could say. Somewhere in this Neatherealm of hell is a man who took everything away from me. My heart. My soul. Whatever humanity I have left is a shred of what I used to have. You saw all that I have left. I need this man in my hands. I need to take from him as he's taken from me."

"Seems Biblical."

"You could say that. It's pure revenge Larisa. I'm not here to make a living or to hide from the law. I'm here to hunt. I won't stop until I find him. You realize?"

"What did he take from you? Specifically?"

"All that a man has. Twice."

"I'm sorry."

"So why are you running?"

"I killed my boyfriend." She said as she hung her head low. It was tough to admit the truth. "I killed him."

"Why?"

"Because he abused me. He threw me against the wall. He beat me. He spit on me. He treated me like an animal." Tears, once again, rolled down her face as she remembered all of the bad times. "He trapped me with him. I couldn't get away. He locked me in a cage a few times. I couldn't get help. I was too scared. So one day, I got out. When he came home I put a steak knife through his neck. He fought still. Stabbed me and almost shot me. But I won. Sort of. I'm still scared on my shoulder from the knife. But I had to."

"I can't disagree."

"No? You shouldn't. You ever treat a woman like that?"

"No. No I haven't. To be honest, I've never saw the need to."

"Good." Her eyes, though covered with tears, shone a sort of demand towards him. If he didn't agree, her eyes said, he would have to die as well. "But I had to. You understand?"

"It's tough to take a life. Isn't it?"

"I regret it still."

"Why? If he beat you he deserved it."

"I know. I've been told. But I still killed someone."

"You will have to live with that I cannot help you there. But I can alleviate those who seek you out. Why do they? Just because you skipped bail?"

Layarteb

16-10-2007, 00:27

"He was a cop." Everything suddenly made sense. "I never made it to the jail. They pulled off on the side of the road. They were going to shoot me there but a trucker. Someone. He stopped to help. Distracted them while I ran off. I wound up here but they're looking for me. They might even be here. I don't know."

"Cops?"

"Two of them. His partners. They want their own 'justice' but the truth is they're just as bad as he is."

"I can protect you from them."

"How?"

"In my past I was a soldier. I enforced the law sometimes." She curled out at the words he uttered. Suddenly she felt alone and trapped again. "I'm not here to arrest you. I'm here because I need your help."

"You're going to kill me in my sleep. Won't you?"

"No."

"You're lying."

"If I was going to kill you I would have done it already. I've resigned that thought." He had to build her trust and with the early events that wouldn't be easy. Not in the least bit. "Listen to me." He sat down on the edge of the bed but she shot away, scared of him. "I'm sorry about earlier. I won't harm you. I promise you." He looked into her eyes but he didn't know if she was looking back at him or just staring into oblivion, clouded by her own repressed memories and fear. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes." She whispered. "I do."

"Then you can have this back." He handed her the submachine gun and, almost instantly, she brought it up and pointed it right at him. "What are you doing?" He calmly asked. He wasn't afraid to die. That would at least give him a reprieve from the hell he suffered. "If you shoot me. I can't help you. I can't get who I came for. Don't deprive me of that. Please."

"You're going to kill me."

"No. I'm not. Why would I give you the gun?"

"Because you want to 'hunt' me."

"Because it's yours. I have my own."

"Get up. Turn around. Against the wall."

"No."

"Then I'll shoot you."

"You won't."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you aren't a killer. If you were you wouldn't feel bad about killing your ex-boyfriend."

"I was lying."

"No. You weren't. Go ahead. Shoot me. I dare you."

"Don't. I will!" Anger filled her face but the flow of tears didn't stop. She was red and trying her hardest. Her arm began to shake and the submachine gun shook violently. "I will!"

"You can't do it." He stood up and turned around. "Here. You don't have to look me in the face. It's easier that way."

"Shut up!"

"No. If you're going to kill me then just do it. What are you waiting for? I could have taken the gun from you forty times already."

"Shut up!" The tension inside of her built up to astronomical levels. "I will."

"Go ahead." Those were the last words he would say as she raised the gun and pulled the trigger. Silence filled the bunker as the bolt clicked. Well I'll be... He thought to himself. She looked at the gun and threw it on the ground. It didn't go off, just clicked. He turned back around and looked at her. She was crying her eyes out on the bed. "It isn't easy. Is it?"

"No..."

"Good. I want you to learn that. I don't want you to help me to kill people. I want one person. I want to find him."

"Okay..."

"Will you help me?"

"Okay..."

"Will you try to kill me in my sleep?"

"No..."

"The gun was empty. I wouldn't be stupid to give you a loaded gun like that."

"I guess... You're going to kill me now aren't you?"

"No..."

"Then why are you here?"

"I told you. Listen to me. Listen to what I've told you. I'm here for one man. That's it." He sat back down on the sofa and lay down. "Just one man. Not you..."

"Please don't kill me..." Her eyelids were too heavy to keep open and she had, effectively, cried herself to sleep. The man smirked and shut his own eyes. The sofa was beyond uncomfortable but it beat the ground. His pistol was on his leg holster and his shotgun was beside him. He was facing the door, just in case anyone tried to sneak into the bunker during the night. And so, the man's story finally began...

Layarteb

18-10-2007, 03:59

Chapter I
False Promises & Honest Lies

"It is well that war is so terrible, or we should grow too fond of it."

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Infernal/08-chapter01.jpg

Rain danced on the roof and on the ground. It turned the dry, cracked, lifeless dirt and straw ridden fields to rivers and lakes, muddy and brown, stained and soiled with filth. It would bring life where it was already dying but, at the same time, it would kill life on its own. It was the brutal cycle of nature and it took as much as it gave whereas mankind merely took. The forbidden land was just another example of mankind's taking. Each and every day, mankind took more and more, feeding on the planet like a virus, a virus with only one cure, utter annihilation. The world nearly came to it as the corners of the Empire crumbled away and the walls of its borders shattered into pieces. Its effects far reached even the dirtiest, most remote crevices in the world. Life halted for those moments when everything seemed to come undone. After it unraveled, life would never retain the semblance of normalcy it once had. That was the brutal truth in 2011, three years after the hell bore through the crust and to the surface of the Earth.

The man dreamed as his eyes flickered underneath their closed lids. He saw the horrific images of his past. He saw what he unleashed and what had been unleashed on him. He saw his prey, the man he hunted, the man who took everything away from him, twice. He saw the people he once knew. He saw the people he once killed. Their souls haunted him now and karma caught up to him, twice. He wasn't a deep sleeper, nobody in the Neatherealm was. The sound of roaches crawling along the dimly lit floor garnered an eye and a head move. There was no clock in the basement and he didn't know what time of day or night it was. Larisa was asleep, machine gun in her hands, fearful that the man was going to kill her in the night. Likewise, he gripped his shotgun, wary that she could do the same. He was groggy but he didn't think more into it and shut his eye, back to the restless slumber and painful memories of the past. They drove him. They provided the fire within that pushed him day in and day out and drove his revenge. The fire burned within, hotter than the core of the Earth, hotter than the core of the Sun. Everything about him screamed revenge and his body yearned for it. "Revenge..." He whispered in his sleep. "Revenge..." Vengeance was his only will to life anymore. He needed revenge more than he need air, food, water, or even shelter. He hungered for it and he wouldn't stop until he had it.

He barely moved on the uncomfortable, filth-ridden sofa until a startling noise echoed into the basement, right into his ears. His eyes shot open and his body lurched off the couch, to the right, faster than light itself. His shotgun was shouldered and the sound didn't startle Larisa at all. She barely heard it. The man, on the other hand, keen to his senses, bolted up before the sound could cease its echo. It was the sound of creaking floorboards only one thing could make that sound. Someone was upstairs and walking slowly. The door to the room was closed but it had no locks on it and it was only half closed. His breathing elevated and his heart echoed in his cavernous chest. Come on...Come to me! He willed the interloper as he steadied his aim at the door.

The creaking continued but quietly. The person wasn't a professional but neither were they an amateur. The man was a professional and now he was going to end whoever was trying to get into the basement. He didn't want to startle Larisa and wake her. She could shoot him, after all he had a twelve gauge, shotgun in his hands and his face was not smiling. Then again, she could just be a hindrance if someone did get into the basement. He decided to let her lie; it was safer that way, for everyone. Then he heard footsteps now on the stairs and he knew that the interloper was getting closer. That was bad news. He would have to reinforce the locking mechanisms on the doors and set some booby traps. He didn't need to be startled like this once a night. He enjoyed his sleep as much as anyone could who didn't sleep. The interloper moved towards the door and he could see the shadow. Then, the interloper decided to see what was inside the door. That's it... He saw a pistol poke through the door but he could not make out if there was someone behind it yet. The door was opening slowly and carefully and the person was armed although with a weak weapon, a nine millimeter pistol. He almost laughed at it as he held his shotgun close to his shoulder.

With a sinister smile, he sidestepped to the right a little and leaned around the corner, leaving very little of his body exposed, the shotgun flat against his shoulder, ready to let loose. He had two rounds loaded and both of them, at the range from the corner to the door, would turn anything short of an elephant into a fine, red mist. He saw a hand land on the side of the door as it slid open further. It was barely six inches open already and the person was working really slowly. They wanted in and they weren't sure if someone was armed inside. The man was careful not to move. He stayed completely still, using the shadows of the basement to hide himself. He could see out but he couldn't easily be seen. That was how the light danced off the concrete walls. There were no voices to be heard and certainly, as the door slid further and further open, each inch seeming like an hour, he could feel the impending doom that would befall the interloper.

Layarteb

18-10-2007, 04:37

The hand stopped as the door was about a foot open. The door stopped too and now the hand vanished back into the darkness of the night. The pistol fell back and then he could see an eyeball reach around, just one eyeball. It was surreal. He could see its detail. It was a blue eye, that was well adjusted to the low-light of the night but not the eye of someone who knew what they were doing or was still an amateur. He revised his original assumption that it was somebody mediocre. This was definitely an amateur. The eye looked around but didn't see him and didn't see with any depth perception whatsoever. This basement was situated knee-deep in Hades, the abode of the devil but that didn't stop all sorts of creatures of the night from wandering around, poking their heads where they didn't belong. The man stood perfectly still, waiting to squeeze the shotgun trigger. He waited and waited and the eye eventually drew back. Whoever it was, they hadn't seen him or the shotgun that was going to be staring them in the face. Then the figure appeared. It was a lonely, shadowy figure with a pistol in one hand, the right hand.

The figure sidestepped through the hole and into the basement, the barrel of the pistol pointed at the ceiling. He didn't recognize the person, who was definitely a man nor did he recognize anything else about the situation. The shotgun sights had landed on his chest, right about his heart, and he waited. Patience was his game and he relished in the failures of his enemies. They were opportunities, he always said. The figure stopped after he had moved into the basement, sidestepped to the left, in front of the half open door. The opening was cleared and the man kept a close eye on it, should anyone else come into the basement that wasn't supposed to be there but then again he had only heard one set of footsteps upstairs. The interloper held the pistol out, straight and took three small steps forward. His eyes fixed on the shotgun but it was evident he couldn't tell what it was, not in the darkness. Three steps were all he needed and they were all he was going to get. The man squeezed the trigger a moment later, sending the 00 buckshot pellets flying at the man at over 1,400 feet per second. They didn't even have to go fourteen feet. The blast of the shotgun echoed so loudly in the basement that his and Larisa's ears instantly began ringing. As the barrels rocked upwards, smoke coming from the muzzle, Larisa jumped out of the bed, her submachine gun in her hands. "Don't shoot me! I'll shoot back!" She yelled, before she could open her eyes.

The interloper didn't stand a chance. The rounds bore into his chest, in a tight circle around his heart, removing it and half of the rest of his organs. The pellets and the force of them tore through his weak, chain mail-type armor, continued through his thick, leathery skin, through his organs, and out of his back. They blew out a hole big enough to stand in and blasted, against the back of the door, a red ooze of blood, organs, and spinal bone. His spine was severed from the shot and his heart had been nearly dislodged from his body. It hung out of the hole in his back, still beating, miraculously. The trauma made sure that it didn't matter. The next step was the concussion of the shot, which pushed the interloper backwards and slammed his mortally wounded carcass into the door, shutting it in the process. He slid down it, landing on the floor, sitting down with his back against the door and his legs out forward. His heart stopped beating by then and lay there. Blood was smeared all over the door and pooled on the ground. The splatter effect made sure that the walls, ceiling, floor, and door were decorated in reddish ooze. The man recoiled from the shot but recovered the barrel immediately and trained it to the opening of the door. He listened, as best as he could, for echoes, for voices, for foot steps, for something that would indicate that the interloper wasn't alone. Surely, the noise of the blast could be heard outside. It had echoed for over a mile away, bouncing off everything there was to bounce off of, hiding within the raindrops and thunderclaps along the way.

Layarteb

18-10-2007, 06:41

For two minutes nothing changed. Larisa recovered herself and looked forward of her to see the man's figure, staring towards the door, the shotgun against his left shoulder. It was an uncomfortable and unnatural pose, she noted but he wasn't pointed the barrel at her. She didn't lower her weapon but she did inch closer. "What happened?" She asked. Her own voice was drowned out in the ringing and it sounded as if she was underwater. He didn't hear her at all for two reasons: the blast and his attention were focused on the open door. He waited for someone else to come but nobody came. After several minutes, he lowered his weapon and turned his head, to see Larisa, standing just a few feet away, the barrel of her submachine gun pointed right at him. "I asked what happened." She said though he could still barely hear her. He tried to read her lips but he couldn't so he just gave her a head nod to come to where he was.

"I want to show you something..." He said but to her it was just lips moving. She read them and moved closer, slowly, the submachine raised the whole time. "Interlopers." He mouthed again, which she understood. She looked at the mess on the floor and at the corpse of the interloper. He was alone, a loner in the Neatherealm. Their hearing came back a few minutes later, after the ringing began to subside. "Know him?"

"Yeah." She said as her eyes were fixated on the gaping hole in the man's chest. "I know of him. He's a bad man."

"What do you mean?"

"He breaks into peoples' homes. Well if this can be called a home. Well, into their shelters. He prefers women to men and the younger the better. He's an escaped convict. The chaos of the revolution set him free. Along with the rest."

"I see. Well there was a prison not far from the epicenter."

"No. It wasn't. Not at all. He was coming for me." She said somberly. "He was coming for me..." She lowered her submachine gun, finally, tears swelling up in her eyes. It seemed that she spent her whole day crying. "He was coming for me..." She turned around and looked at the man, clear in the eyes. He was much taller than her, by at least six or seven inches but she still looked up at him. "He was coming for me..."

He couldn't help but feel bad for her and so he did, putting his arms around her as she clung to him for dear life. It's okay. He's gone now. You're safe."

"Am I?"

"You are. I promise you that I won't let anything bad happen to you."

"You won't?"

"No."

"You mean that?"

"I do. Please. Don't look it's terrible."

"It's okay. I've seen death before. Worse than that."

"Go back to bed. I'm going to get rid of the body."

"No. I can't."

"Why?"

"I can't have that blood there."

"Got a bucket and a sponge?"

"A bucket. Rags. I think."

"I'll get rid of the body. I'll collect some rainwater too. It'll be muddy probably. But it could work."

"It's all I have." He let go of her and put his shotgun on his back. Then he took a few steps towards the body and looked down at it. He smiled, opened the breech of the shotgun, and used his nails to pull out the spent, plastic shell casing. He dropped it on the floor and loaded another one. With a snap, the shotgun was ready with two rounds again. He used his foot to push the lifeless body over so that he could open the door. Carefully, he peered around the door, up and out, to the right, and to the left. Nobody was there. He stepped out, the shotgun in front of him and it went where his eyes went. He carefully stepped up the stairs and to the surface where he looked around, through the monsoon of rain coming down from the darkened heavens. Lightning flashed in the distance.

Layarteb

19-10-2007, 00:03

He took a quick look around, throughout the house. Nobody was around and so he walked back to the basement, never once lowered his weapon. When he got to the door, he put the weapon on his back and dragged the body free. The blood followed it and he pulled it up the steps, making them slippery. As he did, rain water began to come in through the roof, which was in horrific condition. The water would leak all over the place but hopefully help wash the blood free on the floor and steps, where he dragged the body. On the surface, the water from the rain had drowned the ground already and he stepped in puddles everywhere. He wasn't going to bury it, not yet at least and probably not at all but he would take it far enough away from the bunker that the smell wouldn't seep in as it rotted away. On the surface, the body became heavier, the rain getting into its clothes. That didn't stop him and he dragged it to a small, rain lake about a hundred feet away from the house entrance. He dropped it on the ground; face up, a look of unsurpassed horror on the corpses face stared up at him.

Before he disposed of it he dug through the pockets. The interloper wasn't wearing a knapsack so there was nothing to take there. In his pockets were ammunition, a map, a compass, and other odds and ends. He took all of it and looked for jewelry but there was none. With a kick and a roll, the body fell onto the lake and was immersed in brown, muddy water, which turned red as the blood continued to leak out of the corpse, draining from the gaping wound that killed him. Upon returning back to the basement, he was handed the bucket by Larisa, who was still visibly shaken. He put it underneath one of the leaks and left it there for a few minutes, while the rainwater began to fill it up and began to splash all around it. "Thank you." She said as she looked up at him once more. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. Listen let's just clean this up and go back to sleep."

"Okay." She pulled out the rags and he began wiping up the blood, using the leaking rainwater to wet them and drain them although they would be stained forever. Oil had stained them already so it wasn't as if they were new rags. It took a while to clean up the blood but when he was done he got most of it up and out. There was going to be a stain there, always but it wouldn't rot away with the corpse. He shut the door again, put a crate in front of it as a barricade, and fell back asleep within a few minutes of lying down on the sofa. Larisa, on the other hand, shook on her bed, afraid to shut her eyes again.

Dawn came and the sun peaked its head over the horizon at first, checking to see if the coast was clear. As the darkness ebbed, the light bathed the ground. The rains had stopped just a few minutes before first light and now the ground could dry out as it baked in the sunlight. The clouds had cleared the area and left a clear, blue sky above, a sky out of a children's fairytale. It was too bad that the ground was an adult's nightmare. Animals awoke and went about their instinct filled days as the people awoke in the Neatherealm just to go about their meaningless, fear-driven lives.

Larisa awoke first but was barely asleep from the night before. She stood up in the basement and looked around in the darkness. The light had burned out just as her eyes grew too heavy to stay open and the only light peeking in did so through the floor boards. Gravity won against her about twenty minutes before first light. Four hours later, she awoke, although she had never really gotten to sleep even after she shut her eyes. Her slumber was shallow and she seemingly kept one eye open. For the man, who sat still on the sofa, it was all the same, a story that he knew too well except that he almost did sleep with one eye open, all the time. As she stirred, he awoke too. They both looked at each other in the dark although neither of them knew it and both of them were wary that the other was awake. It was eerie, in a way.

Layarteb

19-10-2007, 03:39

"Why are you staring at me?" The man asked, his eyes almost perfectly adjusted, picking hers up in the darkness. Tinges of light in between the floorboards gave a slight indication that it was morning or at least day time. "I can see you." He looked at the doorway.

"I wasn't sure if you're awake."

"I am. We have work to do today."

"What work?"

"You're helping me."

"How. You don't have a vehicle?"

"We're not taking the bike. We're walking."

"Where?"

"There's a camp and a small farm a little over two miles from here. They may have some answers."

"Have you ever been there?"

"No. They're loners and they aren't too friendly."

"So why are we going there?"

"Because I want answers."

"Is it safe?"

"Nothing here is safe. But we'll be fine."

"We'd better."

"Just lock up tight."

"Yeah. I will."

"I'm putting in a lock before tonight. I don't want any more surprises." He lit a cigarette, which glowed in the darkness. The match flared up his whole face, giving it an echo in the darkness that could haunt even the most relentless killer. As he did, she lit the kerosene lamp and bathed the whole basement in a soft glow of light. "We need more kerosene."

"Yeah. We do."

"Got money?"

"A little. Why?"

"How do you think we're getting the fuel?"

"I steal it." She was proud of this little act of rebellion.

"You're a thief now?" He laughed. "From where?"

"Drifters. They're usually drunk and passed out by three in the morning. I take it then. From their bikes."

"And you don't get caught?"

"When I said drunk and passed out I meant unconscious. They couldn't hear me if I stepped on their chest."

"Good. Get ready we're leaving in a few minutes."

"In a rush?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Well on the way maybe you can tell me what the hell happened here. Nobody seems to know anything."

"Nobody knows anything because nothing, officially, happened here. This place isn't even on maps anymore."

"I found it." She added, "By accident." She looked around and picked up some extra magazines for her submachine gun. "I'm ready."

"Fine. We'll go. I'll tell you what happened. It's about an hour to the place."

"Okay. What happens when we get there?"

"Let me do the talking and if you see me worried, pull out that gun and blast away."

"Do you ever get worried?"

"No."

"Good."

"But to err on the side of caution." He dropped the cigarette on the floor and stomped it out as he left the basement ahead of Larisa. They chained the door shut behind them and carefully looked around before coming out of the house. Drifters loved to hide by exterior walls and attack people as they came out of their homes. Lucky for any drifters, none were there waiting to die. "Let's go. It's that way. To the east." He had the dead interloper's compass that he used to get his bearing and that was enough. After a few steps, he turned to her. "So what do you want to know?"

"What happened? Why is this whole place forbidden and why do you call it the Neatherealm, why does everyone call it that?"

"It's not really forbidden. Per say. And the name. I don't know. I just heard it."

"Then what's wrong with it? Why does the army seal it off from the world?"

"To keep what's within from getting out."

"What's within?"

"The worst of humanity. You see. In here. There is no rule of law, no state of government, no social contract. It's everyone for themselves. It's brutal in here. We're like animals here. We hunger. We kill. We want something. We kill and take it. You see. In here, in this area and the closer you get to the center, the worse it is. It's like descending through the nine levels of hell."

Layarteb

19-10-2007, 04:13

"What's in the center?"

"You don't know?"

"Well I mean I know, there's a city, well what's left of a city right?"

"Yes."

"So what's really there?"

"Ruins."

"Ruins?"

"Ruins. That's it. There's nothing there worth seeing. It's decimated."

"So what happened?"

"During the revolution..."

"During the revolution," he began as they crossed over the road and into more wilderness. "Well let me start out before the revolution. This city was home to almost four million people and was a major center for business, industry, and even education. Many of the advances in education came from within the limits of the city. There was one of the finest universities in the Empire and the finest for education. Then the revolution happened and its control became equally vital to both Imperial and anti-Imperial forces."

"The city in the center?"

"Yes. Well it's ruins now. It used to be a city. A big one a major one. Like I said." The wind howled through the grass in front of them, which was overgrown and infested with bugs. Their clothes would provide the best defense against ticks, fleas, and other miniscule bugs that feasted on the flesh and blood of all that walked through their domain. Animals had it the worst, especially wild dogs, which were a major threat to humans. Dogs feasted on flesh of the living and flesh of the dead. They had tasted blood and they craved more and more of it. There were always stories floating around the drifter camps about a pack of wild dogs devouring someone, alive, before they could fend them off with their weapons. Dogs were particularly ferocious and unrelenting and that made everyone wary when they traveled outside of the camps. People were encouraged to go in pairs or more for the dogs and for the other drifters out there. They were encouraged to bring arms, and whenever possible, they were encouraged to kill any dogs they saw. The dogs were a dangerous enemy though; they were silent and excellent stalkers. They could follow you for a half mile before you'd know they were there and when you did, they were in the air, their teeth out, your neck being their target.

"So who won?"

"I'm getting to that. The city was one of the first major battles fought between Imperial and anti-Imperial forces. Layarteb City was the last one. Caracas was one of the first ones but it didn't go so well for the anti-Imperialist forces. That was back in April 2007 when Layartebian authority was questioned in Venezuela with open rebellion. They lost. Brutally."

"I remember that."

"Everyone who is alive remembers that. A lot of the people I knew went there and some didn't come home."

"You were a soldier? Did you fight in Venezuela?"

"We all were at one time and yes I did."

"The conscription?"

"Yes. The conscription. But I did my duty and now I'm collecting on old debts."

"You told. So come on, what happened?"

"Alright. For the first two days it was give and take. Both sides gained massive ground against the other side. Then, on the third day, all hell broke loose with a major offensive by Imperialist forces. It continued into the sixth day and it was a massive success. Imperialist forces routed out at least half to three quarters of the anti-Imperialist forces and stood to control the whole city. Their offensive slowed on the seventh when anti-Imperialist forces staged a successful flank attack that did some major damage but not nearly enough. The eighth day brought on stalemate, which continued through the tenth day. Then, on the eleventh day, as the Imperialist forces were getting ready for their final push, all hell broke loose.

"I'm not sure which side used it or why but it was the second time a nuclear weapon was used against the Empire. The first was by anti-Imperialist forces, against Saint Georges. The missile used here was a top-secret, tactical-strike missile. They called it the Falcon. It used an eighty kiloton fusion warhead, pretty weak by most standards. Other versions had one hundred and fifty, five hundred kilotons. Big ass warheads."

"Yes I'm familiar with kiloton."

"Good. Well you know eighty is small but still massive. So it was fired from the south. They never knew who launched it but neither side won that battle. It detonated in mid-air, creating a massive fireball that took the entire city center with it and most of the surrounding areas. Casualties were in the millions and the radius of damage extends out pretty far. It detonated a little over eight hundred feet in the air making a fireball that was more than an eighth of a mile wide. Everything for two miles was gone, including big buildings, which were wiped out by the epicenter. Out to three miles, the damage was so extensive that it looked as if an F6 tornado rolled through the area and stayed for a week! Some glass windows broke as far away as ten miles although after five miles the damage was pretty weak, just the effects of a minor earthquake there. I estimate we're about eight miles from the epicenter here. Maybe a little more.

"So that's what happened."

"Wow. Pretty bad."

"You're telling me. I lost friends there too."

"Yeah. I never knew what happened. I got caught up in the revolution and sort of faded away."

"Where did you go?"

"Cuba."

"Why there?"

"It seemed the safest place."

"Until..."

Layarteb

19-10-2007, 05:10

"I was there."

"I can tell. Come on. Let's get there. It's just on the other side of these railroad tracks. You see those train cars there, all pushed around?"

"Yeah."

"The blast did that."

"Did it?"

"Yes. After it everyone feared radiation although there wasn't much of it."

"Alright."

"Just stay close. This place is pretty rowdy and I'm sure they'd find a female very well."

"I understand."

They continued through the wilderness for another few minutes, walking through a small area of thick shrubbery and trees. Thorns stuck out everywhere and it seemed as if they were walking into a death trap from the way it was set up. Above them, a few birds chirped and a few others stood silent on branches, looking down at the two people who now moved through their makeshift world. It was a few hundred feet through the small forest area and the path was barely wide enough for one person, let alone two. They had to moved through it single-file with him leading, it was safer that way. She kept close though and they feel as eerily silent as the area around them. Bugs crawled underneath their feet and a few cats stopped and looked straight at them as they moved along the dirt and rock path. "Careful." He said as he stepped over a rock that jutted out from the ground. She barely noticed and immediately caught it with her foot and lost both her footing and her balance. She tumbled forward, with a look of surprise on her face but, lucky for her, he heard her foot catch the rock, which echoed in a sort of dull fashion in the vicinity. He caught her quickly and righted her up again. "I told you to watch out." Her scream came as she was falling and stopped just as he grabbed onto her. It echoed loudly enough to scare the cats away. "Be quiet. You never know what's out here and this place is too quiet for our good."

"Sorry." She whispered. They moved forward again and crossed through the shadowy area. "Hear that?" She whispered again as the sound of cracking branches rolled through their ears. He heard it and stopped immediately, crouching down and, with his hand, telling her to do the same. He drew his pistol and turned to look at her and with a finger over his mouth he told her to be quiet. Then he told her to stay there, the entire time not uttering a word out of his mouth. He took a few more steps to the right and then vanished around the other side of a tree, leaving her alone, on the path, with whatever else was out there. Where did he go? She asked herself as she began to worry. The sound echoed only once but when it did it a second time she stopped second guessing whether she heard it or not. She had and so did he and that was why he had ordered her to the ground, as quickly as he did. Someone or something was out there, hunting them perhaps.

Layarteb

19-10-2007, 05:11

Larisa didn't have much time to think on the ground as a figure lunged towards her from the shadows. She screamed and it echoed across the vicinity again, bouncing off every rock and tree that her shrill scream touched. She tried to move out of the way but found herself paralyzed as some sort of beast-man thing came flying at her. She could see it coming right at her and she had a split second to react and think. The only thought in her head was why he left her and the only reaction she had was to be like a "deer caught in headlights." She froze and helplessly watched as time slowed down around her and impending doom lurched fourth.

It was then, out of the corner of her right eye, that she saw some respite of hope. The man appeared and with his pistol pointed forward. She couldn't see much more than him and the pistol, it was off to her peripheral vision, which wasn't that detailed. By nature she couldn't distinguish much out of her peripheral vision, just that something was there, neither color nor shape except what she saw was a gun and she did sort of see the man there as well. Peripheral vision, by nature, was good for detecting motion and the motion of him appearing with the gun was enough to trigger her vision. She was still screaming and though only tenths of a second had passed since she first saw the thing lunge at her, it seemed like minutes. She tried to focus on the man who was there to save her but she didn't see much before a bright flash of light bombarded her eyes. The loud bang echoed shortly thereafter, splitting into her eardrums, which were sort of muted anyway from her screaming. The figure that was lunging at her took a sorry turn for the side and its facial expression changed from a sort of sinister "attack" to unrelenting defeat. The figure doubled over, to her left, set off course, and slammed into the ground, head first. The body skidded a little bit and landed against a tree. She was still screaming and she didn't even know it anymore.

The man grabbed her quickly and put his hand over her mouth. "I said be quiet!" He whispered again to her, his eyes as wide as they could be with the gun still in his hand. He let go of her mouth and as she sucked in air through her nose and mouth, her heart rate highly elevated, she turned to see him go over to the body and kick it. It didn't move but he kept his pistol pointed at it the whole time. He kicked it again and rolled it over so that it was face up and she could see the devastating reason why it didn't move the first time. Half of its head was missing and the red ooze all over the bushes to her left was what came out of the figure's head. The bullet ripped through the left ear of the attacker and exited the right, taking half of the brain with it. With the eyes wide open, staring up in horror, the man put his pistol away and bent down, to look at the corpse. "He must have been following us for a while."

"Why?"

"Because this is an ambush spot. Why else would it be so confined?"

"Ambush for what? That's not a person is it?"

"Not in the sense that you and I are. This is one of the 'Hunters' I knew they had to exist.'"

"Huh?"

"You know about the Hunters. You've heard rumors about them?" She looked confusingly at him. "Yeah. I'll tell you about it later. They probably hunt in pairs so another probably isn't too far away."

"Another one?"

"Let's move it. He might be onto us. Who knows?" He carefully looked around and both of them ran the rest of the way out of the ambush zone, which had been carefully set up sometime in the past six months. "Come on." He yelled as she lagged behind a little on the way out. She kept up though and both of them slowed down when they were back out in the open. "There's another one around. I know it. We'll just have to wait."

"What if he's armed?"

"They aren't armed."

"They aren't? Who isn't armed here?"

"They are."

"Why?"

"They don't need guns. Sometimes they have knives but only for carving up their prey."

"Why?"

"Because they are cannibals."

Layarteb

20-10-2007, 03:53

"Cannibals? You mean they eat people? Yeah I have heard rumors about them but I never saw one."

"They're skilled hunters and really good if you ask me, based on this one little occurrence. From what I've heard, they sneak up and attack usually loners. They rarely go after groups. And they most likely always attack in twos to give them numerical superiority."

"I've never seen one."

"You're lucky."

"I am."

"Alright then. Come on. See those buildings over there?" He was pointing to a small farmhouse that looked as if it were falling apart, some grain silos in the distance, and an overturned van. "That's where we have to go."

"It's a farm?"

"Underground."

"Underground?"

"The farm is built on top of a Republic-era bunker that was built to house nuclear missiles. It was decommissioned in 1988."

"Why?"

"To build bigger missile bases."

"Oh. So people occupy it?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Okay." The farmhouse got closer and closer but it seemed empty from the outside. White sheets hung in the windows and blew with the breezes. Spray paint was all over the front of it as they got closer, including a saying that was written in red. They couldn't see it until they got closer but when they could read it; they really learned just where they were. "Here lie the souls of the departed." Larisa began to read. "Who died for a cause not their own. Who died for a death that they didn't choose. And who haunt this land seeking revenge upon those who defile it." She looked back at him. "What's that mean?"

"It means we're in 'God-country' that's what it means."

"God country?"

"Come on. I'll explain that after we leave. We get in through that grain silo over there. Try to watch where you walk, there's bound to be landmines here or something."

"Landmines?" She took a big gulp and slowly inched forward, behind him, stepping everywhere that he stepped.

They inched forward but he carefully stopped and avoided putting his foot down on a landmine. "That was a close one." He said as he stepped a few inches in front of it. "This isn't necessarily going to be the quickest walk we've ever done. Well. Until I can find the path," he said, jokingly. "Are you alright? Just step where I step. Okay?"

"Yeah. I'm just a little scared."

"I don't blame you." He stepped again, carefully maintaining his balance as she followed behind him. Where's the fucking path...? He thought to himself as he stepped again. "You're quiet?"

"I'm scared. I don't know…"

"Alright. Listen. This'll be a lot easier if we just talk to each other."

"Are you scared?"

"No."

"Why not?" She said in disbelief. "L-a-n-d-m-i-n-e-s." She emphasized each part of the word. "They don't scare you?"

Layarteb

20-10-2007, 03:53

"No. Landmines are just annoying obstacles."

"Annoying?" They were moving a little quicker now that he had found the edge of the path. They were still about fifty feet from where they had to go but that wasn't stopping either of them. "Annoying!"

"Yes. Annoying. We could have been there already."

"We could be blown up too." She was sweating. Just step where he steps. You'll be fine. She told herself, although it did little good. "Blown up!"

"Don't worry about it. Listen. I got a joke."

"A joke? Now?"

"It'll ease the tension."

"For who?"

"You."

"Me? I'm eased! I'm walking through a goddamn minefield!"

"Hence the reason for the joke. Now shush and listen."

"Fine. Go ahead!" They took a few more steps in rapid succession and she began to lag behind a little but quickly caught up as he balanced himself in a very awkward position, his feet crossed and his arms keeping him from falling clean over as his base of support shrunk.

"A man walks into a bar and says, 'Ouch.'" He laughed a little, realizing just how corny the joke really was.

"That? That's it? I think I've heard that four thousand times."

"Four thousand and one." She laughed a little and they took their final steps into the silo. "See. You made it." He said as he helped her into the silo and both of them look at the wall in front of them. A huge, black flag hung on the wall. "Black flag."

"What's that mean?"

"Anarchists. Really seedy people and they don't believe or respect any laws whatsoever. They're the most powerful influence here. They are part of the Mayhem Faction and they are probably more likely to be found in the Middle Rim but they have a few outposts. This is one of them."

"I bet. But I thought you said there were 'God' people around here? Aren't anarchists atheists?"

"Not really. I know it makes no sense. They just are against the whole, religion controlling life stuff. They are just a bunch of whiners really but they've got guns so let's ignore the whines. Come on. It's bound to be huge downstairs from the looks of it."

"Yeah." They both took a few steps towards a concrete staircase that led downward. They would have held onto the railing but it was jagged, rusty, and falling to pieces and neither of them wanted tetanus, especially not in this place. Medical treatment existed only if you were carrying a first-aid kit and, if you were, it was contingent on you being able to use it or someone else being generous enough to help you, which, in most situations, meant that you were completely out of luck.

Layarteb

20-10-2007, 05:23

The staircase was a winding one that led down at least eight stories. There was lighting the whole way down by way of wall lights, caged in to prevent people from taking or getting to the bulbs but some were still missing. The base had been decommissioned for over two decades but, yet, it was still very active. When they got to the bottom of the staircase, the both of them stepped up to a large, red, solid, steel door. It was banged up and looked as if it had been through a world war itself. Dents and ding were all over its surface and half of the paint was either chipped off or chipping off. "Here goes nothing." He said as he banged the bottom of his fist against the door four times. The knocks echoed throughout the area they were in and on the other side as well. They waited a few moments before any response.
"Who comes here," said a voice from a speaker that was just to the right of the door. It was barely staying on the wall. "Identify yourselves."

"Just drifters. Looking for someone." The man said as he looked up at a camera that he wasn't sure worked anymore.

"What's your loyalty?"

"None. Come on."

"One more question."

"Go ahead."

"Have you been to the center?"

"No. Nobody has. Come on you know that shit. Let us in already."

"Enter."

The door slid open with the shrilly sound of metal against metal, a sound that clearly indicated that the door track and wheels had not been oiled or greased in years. In front of him stood two men, both twice his size, one holding a sawed-off, double-barrel shotgun and the other a large wrench. "You've never been here before." The man with the wrench said in a deeply baritone voice. "There are a few rules here."

"Go ahead there…" He followed with a simple thought, Ape.

"First. There are no rules!"

"A little melodramatic, don't you think?" An anarchist base with rules was a hard concept for him or anyone with a logical frame of thought to understand so, when the oaf revealed that there were none, he relaxed his face and agreed with him. "Good. We're wasting time out here."

"Go in." Both of them eyed him and the girl as they entered. They looked at Larisa with a sort of disdain that she was walking around with him and it was easily seen as a quick glance of envy. The entrance, like everything else, was a concrete palace and they continued onward, over metal grates that covered up wiring and piping. The corridors alternated between light and dark and most of the base was occupied in some way or another but they kept walking. They were going for the main area, which was the galley of the base but had been retrofitted into a sort of lounge/bar/restaurant/gallery area. It was a tough thing to explain but it lay ahead of them, just a few more turns away.

Layarteb

21-10-2007, 01:06

"Why did they look at me like that?"

"Because they're oafs."

"Oafs?"

"Larisa," he stopped. "I don't know how much of this place you've explored or how many people you've come in contact with but out here, if people want something, they'll take it. I'm sorry to tell you and I know this is chauvinistic but this place is no place for a woman! At all! Not here. These people are beasts. They don't have consciousnesses and neither do they follow any sort of code of ethics or morality. To them, you'd be a good squeeze for a couple of minutes."

"Yeah. I gather that. I can handle myself though," she said, slightly miffed at how he spoke. "I can!"

"Alright. Let's find out." They kept walking and rounded the last corner before they entered the area, which was full of people, no fewer than sixty, at first count. There was music playing, people drinking and eating, others playing cards, others sleeping, others arguing, a few smoking on a hookah, and several reading. It was, all at once, the most chaotic and unorganized place in the world and, at the same time, the most peaceful place in the world. It was more than a paradox; it was a step into the twilight zone. Twilight Zone. He thought as he scanned the room, quickly. Then, he found who he was looking for, and he found him sitting in the corner, playing cards with two other men. Predictable asshole aren't you? There was an open chair and he smirked. "Come on." He said as both of them stepped down from the landing and waded through the people. A woman, filthy and ragged, was serving drinks to two other men and both of them were yanking on her shirt.

"Come on baby. Have a drink with me." One of them laughed. "You can sit on my lap baby." The other laughed.

"Come on. Give us a break." She hated it and, it looked like she wanted to rip their eyes out with the mugs but ignored them.

She got that routine fourteen times a day it seemed. As she turned around, her eyes came right into the man's eyes and he stopped abruptly. His eyes shifted to both of them and his facial expression never changed from total indifference but, at the same time, she saw something in him. "I hate this place," she said with smirk as she looked down at the floor and got out of the way. She was a slave to whomever owned the bar, whichever "Harvester" as they were called ran the base. Harvesters were a class of farm and bar and city owners and what not. They provided sustenance to the drifters of the Neatherealm but they were savages. They had slaves, mostly women that they used for God knows what and were quick with a trigger if they felt they were being cheated. The two of them continued along, towards the table.

The man turned his head to see her leave and continued on his path. He walked up to the chair, spun it around, and sat down.

All three men at the table stopped playing cards and looked at him. Two of them had cigarettes in their mouth and one of them exhaled a long stream of smoke into the air. "Sergeant. I've been looking for you for a while."

"How'd you find me?" The sergeant's eyes widened and his face turned to dismay. Doom awaited him.

Layarteb

21-10-2007, 01:06

"Where else would you be?" He took out his knife and stuck it into the wooden table, which was really just a wire spool. "We need to talk."

"Gentlemen. I want you to meet."

"My name is of no consequence."

"Oh. I think it is. You see. These two gentlemen were with me when you tried to put me in jail but they never got a proper introduction."

"So that's where I recognize them." He laughed and took a sniff. "Haven't bathed since have they?"

"You still think this is all a joke."

"You killed her right in front of my eyes and you had to pay!"

"It had to be done you asshole!"

"No it didn't. You could have avoided it. Now it's time."

"So what. You're with the government now? Whatever's left of it?"

"No. I'm here on my own."

"Who's she? She looks tasty."

"Knock it off. She's with me." Larisa stayed silent but looked worried as she scanned the room and realized that out of the sixty-eight people, only twenty-eight of them were women and all but three of them looked like prostitutes. "Now. You going to talk to me or what?"

"Yeah. We'll talk. All four of us. Five. Bring the girl. I like her lips."

"I'm warning you!" He pointed his finger right at him as the four of them stood up. "Lead the way." He said as the three of them turned around and walked off, towards a door in the back of the room. "Just follow me and keep your mouth shut. This is bad news." He whispered. "I'd tell you to stay here but you aren't any safer."

"Okay." He followed the three of them towards the door, lifting the knife out of the table as he stood up. When they got to the door, the Sergeant led the way with one of the men behind him, and then it was the man and Larisa, and the final man with the Sergeant.

"So. Where are we going?"

"Down a few levels."

"Goody. Is there an elevator? I hate stairs."

"Yeah. There's one. I call it the Elevator to Hell."

"Just where we'll end up. You first though."

"Not really." He smiled as they reached the end of another concrete corridor and stepped onto an industrial elevator, one that was made of metal and wide open. Holding the knife in his hand, the man positioned himself between the two bodyguards and watched as the Sergeant locked the doors to the elevator and pushed a button. With a jolt, it began to move. Then, with sudden speed, the man drove the knife to his right, directly into the bodyguard's face, slicing through his left eye and going deep, into his brain. With his left hand, he grabbed the other one, digging his fingers into the man's eyes and yanked him downward. With another fluid and quick motion, he pulled the knife out and jabbed it down, into the other bodyguard's skull, just underneath the base of it, putting the knife right through the most important part of his brain. He pulled it out quickly and wheeled around to smack the Sergeant with the back of the knife, knocking a tooth loose. Larisa stopped screaming somewhere in the middle of it as the two bodyguard's lay dead, on the floor, both of them killed instantly from the wounds they suffered. The blood didn't pool though as the floor of the elevator was metal grating. Instead, it dripped down to the bottom of the shaft, another six stories below them.

Layarteb

21-10-2007, 04:08

"Alright Sergeant. Now it's your turn." He pulled his pistol and pointed it right at him. "Get his weapons and I swear if you so much as smell her hair I'm shooting you in the balls!"

"Tough bargain."

"You bet." She got the assault rifle from his back and the knife that he had around his waist. It was a big one and she held them. "Hold them for now." She nodded, still scared from what happened. They went down, the rest of the way, in total silence. When they got to the bottom, the elevator slammed down and they stood there, the three of them. "Open the door. Move!" He escorted him down the corridor. "Who else is down here?"

"Nobody."

"Good. Where are we going?"

"Around the corner."

"Let's go then!" He led them to a small room that resembled an officer's personal quarters. There was a rickety bed against the far wall with a thin mattress. A beat-up love seat sat in the corner and there was a desk with a radio. There was also a locker set of three lockers against the wall and a few things here and there. The Sergeant opened it with a key and they entered. He was careful not to do anything. "Alright. Search it for guns. Check under the mattress. Pillows. Locker. Desk. Everywhere. I'll keep him out here." He flung the Sergeant against the concrete wall and flung him hard enough that he was nearly knocked unconscious. "Hurt? That's just the beginning shit face!"

As Larisa searched for any weapons, the man held his pistol to the Sergeant's temple, begging him to act so that he could put a bullet through his skull. Come on. Just do it. He thought to himself but resisted the urge. When Larisa emerged, she had a look on her face that he'd never forget. "What'd you find?"

"What'd I find? How about a machete, a shotgun, and some grenades?"

"Good. Is that all?"

"Yeah."

"You're lying. But we don't have time. Take them over there and toss them underneath the bed. Find any rope or wire?"

"There's some rope but I don't see wire."

"Alright. Fine. Get that chair; put it in the middle of the room. Good. Yeah. Alright pumpkin, let's go!" He threw the Sergeant into the chair and pointed the gun at him. "Here. Hold this on him." He handed it to her and she kept a safe distance back, just in case he got up and tried to fight back. Then, with the rope, he restrained the Sergeant to the chair, using knots that only tightened on them whenever he tried to struggle or get free. They would be safe. "Alright. Now let's do some questions and answers. Shall we?" He asked the Sergeant as he released the hammer back to its safety position. He put the pistol in the holster and sat down on the bed, facing the Sergeant. "So Sergeant. I want some answers."

"What about? You didn't have to go through all of this did you?"

"Yes."

"Is this still about the woman?"

Layarteb

21-10-2007, 04:29

"It is. A little."

"She had to go."

"No. She didn't. What you did was wrong."

"And like you never did anything wrong. You're a hypocrite to sit there and lecture me on right and wrong. You killed for the bloodlust too."

"I had reasons. You did it for whatever." They were screaming at the top of their lungs at each other and Larisa was having trouble keeping up as their faces turned red.

"Stop! Enough!" She yelled, loud enough to silence both of them. "My head fucking hurts listening to you two idiots!"

"You want to know what he did?"

"Why?"

"I think you should know. Before you want to stop us."

"Fine. What did he do?"

He began to explain as the Sergeant showed absolutely no signs of remorse. "Sergeant Williams here has an obsession with kids. A strange one."

"What do you mean?"

"You see he and I were in a special task force during the revolution. Fighting for the government. Sort of. So we come into a town we knew to be crawling with anti-Imperial forces."

"Yeah?"

"We're going house to house, looking for guns and weapons. We come across these two women, scared shitless, obviously not soldiers or even guerillas. Well. Sergeant Williams here has a sick obsession with kids. One of them was pregnant. So he cuts her stomach open. Sick twisted fuck that he is. Smiling the whole time. Then he shoots both of them clear in the head."

"The kid would have died anyway."

"That's not the point. You held that baby up there, for her to see. So now you're going to cooperate with me or suffer the same fate. Do you want me to feed you your own kidneys?"

"You're just as sick as I am. You've killed kids too."

"Never like that."

"No? You shot them in cold blood. In front of their parents. A few times."

"That's not the point." He slammed his hand down on the bed and then punched him square in the face. "You know why I'm here?"

"No. Revenge for that kid?"

"No. I'm looking for him?"

"Who's him?"

"You know exactly who I'm talking about. You're one of his personal bodyguards."

"I don't know what you're talking about. This is nonsense."

"Is it now?" He punched him hard again in the chest. "Where is he?"

Layarteb

21-10-2007, 04:40

"Where is who?"

"The man. The mystery man."

"What is that some sort of joke?" He laughed.

"No joke. You are one of his bodyguards."

"I am?"

"Stop playing dumb. Your kidneys are looking tasty right now and I bet you're hungry."

"Oh fuck off. Enough of this bullshit. What do you want?"

"Where is he?"

"What makes you think he's here?"

"He's here. He fled the Emperor when the plot became evident. He's here. Him and his unholy creation. He's here! He wouldn't be anywhere else."

"And you think I know where he is?"

"I do."

"You really must be joking." He laughed. "First you come in here. Kill my friends. Then you disrespect me. Lecture me on something you, yourself, did in retrospect. Now you want my help?"

"I want nothing. Either you give it to me or I begin to cut you apart, piece by piece."

"I'm scared."

"I would be." Larisa said from her quiet corner. "He scares me."

"A mouse would scare you little lady." He scoffed at her as he received another wrap against his face. "My point." She jumped back when he swung towards Sergeant Williams.

"Go wait outside."

Layarteb

21-10-2007, 05:16

"Why?"

"Go wait outside."

"No."

"You can't see this. Go wait outside. Michael here has a date with pain."

"No! I said I'm staying!"

"You're staying? Fine." He stood up and walked over to her, looked her right in the eyes. "You're staying?" He whispered. "You can handle this?"

"Yes." She looked at him unflinching. "I can."

"Fine." He walked back over to the captive and pulled out his knife. "Where do I start first?" He looked around with his knife in his hand. "Ah. How about the ear?" He reached over and grabbed Sergeant Williams' head. He brought the knife down and tore into the top of his ear. The Sergeant screamed loud enough to echo throughout the basement area of the missile base and soon enough his right ear had been cut off and the burning feeling of it ripped through his head and his veins and blood began to pour out of the wound. "Here? Want it?" He held the severed ear up and tossed it at him, it landed in his lap. "What next?"

"Fuck you!"

"Where is he?"

"How would I know? Why would I protect him? I'm no bodyguard for him!"

"The same reason you protected him before. The same reason you got in here yourself. Because he's the only reason you're still alive. Now where is he?"

"Still this foolish quest. What'd he tell you? This man? He took everything from him. Twice."

"Something like that."

"It's his own fault!"

"Enough! Where the fuck is he?"

"I don't know."

"Fine. How about a finger? Maybe two? What about a chunk of your hand?" He put the knife to his hand and made a slice right through the center of his palm, a deep enough slice that dark, red blood came out immediately. He looked up at him. "Hurt enough yet?"

"Fuck off!" He yelled again as the knife cut deep, into his hand again, this time severing his pinky finger. He sliced it down to the bone and kept sawing through, cutting the bone clean through and then tossed it across the room too. "Fuck you!" He yelled as sweat poured out of his forehead and pain overcame his body.

He slapped him a couple of times in the face. "Come on. Where is he? I know he's here. I know you know. It took me a year and a half to know but I know. I was coming for you and now I found you. So where is he? Come on. Before I have to cut more pieces of you off and force them down your throat."

"Why?" He gasped for air in between pulses of pain that tore through his bones, ligaments, and tendons. "Why are you looking for him so bad? Why can't you leave the past in the past? Why are you dredging it up? Only to torture yourself? What do you want? Some misguided quest for revenge? He'll take you down with him. How do you think he ended up here? He's running. Just like me. Just like you. Just like everyone." The man backhanded him against his jaw, cracking it loose and knocking out a tooth. Sergeant Williams spat out a chunk of blood against the wall and looked up through a bloody mouth and a bleeding ear. "He'll take you down with him." He gasped once more as he lowered his head, a bruise developing on his right cheek.

"What's he talking about?"

"Nonsense. That's what he's talking about. Now. Tell me where the fuck he is!"

"Fine. You want to go to your death. Go ahead. It'll be a slow death. I guarantee it. You want him? He's here. He's here in the past. Where you are. He's here embellishing in the death around us. You see this land? It's barren."

"Where the fuck is he! I've had enough of this shit!"

"He's in the center. In the ruins. Where else would he be?"

"Nothing lives in the center!"

"Yes it does." He chuckled. "The ruins are just on the surface. You have to go down. Down in the depths of hell."

"How?"

"I don't know. I only know that's where he is. Somewhere underneath."

"How?"

"Like you said. I'm here at his behest. Who do you think presides over this? You thought it was anarchy? It is. It truly is. But there's still some over watch. Who do you think that is?"

"Him."

"Yes. Him."

Layarteb

21-10-2007, 05:26

"Fine. The ruins. Underneath."

"Well. It isn't that simple."

"No. I imagine not. What's there?"

"A small army."

"Who?"

"Remnants of special forces, black forces. The guards of the Emperor. Some Falcon squad. They're all there. Protecting him. They call themselves the Inferi. I never was a part of them, I swear."

"Why?"

"They rebelled against the Emperor too. Now they're all banished there. This is their country now."

"Not for long. They're all going down. All of them!"

"If you think so. You'll fail. I promise you."

"Then I'll fail. But you won't live to see it. We're done here."

"Yes. We are." Sergeant Williams smiled once more at Larisa and looked right into her eyes. "Her soul is tainted."

"You don't have one to know…"

"No. I know." He interrupted him. "Her soul isn't black like yours. Yours is black. Me. I have none. That's fine for me. I'd rather not have one than have a blackened one. At least I know what awaits me. You. You've got nothing ahead but your own misery. That's what you have."

"Shut up!" Larisa yelled. "Just shut him up!"

"She's tainted her soul is. Listen sweetie. He'll take you with him. He's not going to heaven. He isn't going to hell. He isn't going anywhere."

"What is this shit?"

"He's pagan. He believes in a middle world."

"Is he serious?"

"Yes I am." He smiled once more. "You drop him. If you want to live. He's taking you with him. Trust me. Why do you think I'm here? He tried to put me in jail for crimes that he did just as much as I did. Now he's here."

"Shut up!" The man grabbed a plastic bag that was lying on the floor and quickly threw it over his head and tightened up on the bag. He gasped for air as he sucked in only carbon dioxide, which he exhaled. Oxygen within the tightened bag quickly ran out and he began to change colors as his brain became oxygen starved. The man held the bag tight, real tight, watching Sergeant Williams suffocate to death until a few moments before it looked as if he was going to pass out, which was when he ripped the bag clean off his head. The sergeant gasped for air as his lungs, starved of oxygen, suddenly became flooded with fresh air, rich with oxygen. "Hurt?"

"Fuck…you…" He said between gasps. He was barely conscious anymore. He lost a lot of blood between his ear, his face, and his hand but he was still alive. His body ached and hurt and his insides ached from the pain and torture that he had experienced.

Layarteb

21-10-2007, 05:27

"You didn't think that was it? No. That's too soon. You have to pay for what you did."

"What I did. What you did too."

"What you think…" He laughed and tossed the bag aside, then looked around the room for something else to use. He saw a guitar and picked it up. "Nice guitar." He held it up in the air and ripped off the thinnest string on the guitar and held it up. "No. Too thin." He tossed it on the ground and ripped off the next one, which was still thin but thicker. He dropped the acoustic guitar, picked up a pair of gloves on the floor, put them on, and wrapped the two string ends around his glove-protected hands and still had a lot of string left. "What you did to that kid!" He threw the string around his neck and wrapped it twice around and then yanked, hard. He didn't know his own strength and as he tightened up on the metal string, it cut right into his neck, tearing through the skin without effort. He kicked over the chair so that Sergeant Williams was looking right at the ground, choking to death as the wire cut through his neck. He tightened up further, the wire pressure hurting his own hands as he yanked hard. He leaned down and yanked upwards. The sound of cutting flesh echoed in the room and his screams were muffled now as the wire had sliced through his voice box, the only sound being a gurgling sound. The man began to gurgle on his own blood, which drained both on the floor and into his own lungs and stomach as the wire cut deeper into his throat. Then there was a grotesque crunching sound as the wire began to cut through his spinal column. Larisa couldn't look anymore and she had gone into the hallway midway through the procedure. The blood poured out and as the Sergeant's head came off, he let it fall to the floor and looked down at the headless corpse as he let go of the wire. "That's what you get!" Unfazed, he stood upright and looked at his gloves. The wire had not cut through but it left and indentation and as he pulled them off he could see two red marks across his palms. He dropped them and the guitar string next to the body. He had pulled that hard on the wire as he killed the Sergeant. In the hall, Larisa was crying and looking pale. "I told you to wait outside."

"Couldn't you have just shot him?" She said.

"No."

"Why? Because of the baby? Because of the woman?"

"Yes."

"You killed kids too."

"Not like that."

"What have you done that's so bad?"

"Lots."

"And yet you lectured him?"

"I'm already dead," he came close to her and lowered his voice significantly. "I'm already dead!"

Layarteb

21-10-2007, 20:16

Chapter II
Untold Secrets & Silver Bullets

"Lying is done with words and also with silence."

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Infernal/09-chapter02.jpg

"Come on. Let's hide those bodies." He walked around the corner and to the elevator and looked down at the two dead bodies. He wanted to get both of them hidden as soon as possible so he had only one choice. He bent down and picked up the one whom he stabbed first and slung him over his shoulder. He stood up with a grunt as the limp body was nothing but dead weight. Then he looked at Larisa and motioned for her to come over there.

"You're not going to make me drag a body?"

"No. Give me his arm so I don't have to bend down again."

"He's dead…"

"Yeah? Come on. He won't bite you," he laughed. "Just do it fast." She did and he took his arm and realized all of the weight he was carrying. "Alright." He began to walk forward and he wasn't going to be moving too fast either. He dragged the one body as he carried the other and slowly walked down the corridor, leaving a trail of blood behind him. The corridor was pretty dark and there was dirt everywhere, which could work to some sort of advantage. As he neared the corner, an idea hit him, "See if you can find a broom or shovel or something." She nodded and began looking around. He approached the door now and let go of the other body's arm while he opened the door. Inside, he dropped the body onto the bed and then he returned to the door with another grunt and dragged the other body inside. He left them there, where they sat in the room and turned around. Blood and fire rose in his eyes as he looked at Larisa. "Go ahead. Say it."

"Say what?" Tears rolled down her cheeks and her body nearly curled up on her as she collapsed the floor in a ball. The shock wore off and now it hit her, what he had done; what she had seen; what she helped him hide. "What do you want me to say?" She cried. "What?" She stared up at him, her knees drawn to her chest, here hands holding her ankles, her face buried.

"I'm sorry you saw that."

"No you're not. You're a monster."

"So I am." He looked down at her, towering over her like the monster that he was. "So I am."

"That's all you have to say? Look what you did to them? Three of them. You don't even care."

"No. You're right. I don't."

"Why?"

"Because they were evil men."

"You aren't?"

"I am. I am an evil man. Larisa. Here. Stand up." He offered her his hand but she didn't take it and neither did she stand. A voice echoed from a distant corridor. "Stand up!" He whispered as he heard the voice. "Keep your voice down." It was too late, whoever it was, they were coming closer and there were two of them. "Dammit!" He looked down at her. "Get up now!" She looked up at him and took his hand, fearing for her life herself. "Now just play along." He put her up against the wall and pretended to have been making out with her as the two figures came around the corridor. "Shit. Come on guys. Can't I get some privacy?" He yelled, annoyed. They laughed.

"Sure thing man. When you're done. Let me get her."

"Fat chance! Keep walking." He held Larisa in place, who wanted nothing more than to dart across the room and punch him for saying that but she couldn't move under the strength of the man. The two guys walked to the lift and ascended, unaware of the blood that had been carefully but haphazardly covered with dirt and dust. "Try that again and I'll kill you myself. Let's get the fuck out of here now!"

"Fine! Fine!" She said as she wiped the tears and led him away, towards the lift herself. They had to wait for it to come back down and they waited in silence. She was too annoyed to speak and he was trying to plan his next move. With a thump and a loud rattle, the lift landed back in front of them after a few minutes. It made more noise than a rickety old truck as they stepped onto it and he pushed the "UP" button. When they got to the surface, they left the establishment as quickly as they had come. "Where are we going?" She asked when they got back outside. The rain was coming again and the sky was agitated with gray clouds. "Where are we going?" He didn't answer the first time.

"To the center."

"Why? Why are we going to the center?"

"To find him. To end this."

"Who are you trying to find?"

"You know who."

"No. All I know is he wronged you twice. That's it. Tell me or else I'm not coming with you."

"You aren't coming with me. You're going back to your basement and living the rest of your life there."

"Huh?" She thought, for sure, that he would ask her to come along.

"It's too dangerous for you. Come on. You don't really want to come. Not after that speech."

"So what if I do?"

"It's too dangerous." They began walking as the winds kicked up, "Make sure you don't step on a mine." For a moment there she forgot there were mines and she quickly jumped behind him, scared and shaking.

"Mines. I forgot."

"Don't. You aren't coming with me."

"I want to come."

"A moment ago you wouldn't come unless I told you."

"I want to go."

"You want or you're curious?"

"Both. I don't have any friends here. Isn't that obvious?"

"It is. So you think I'm your friend?"

"No. In fact a part of me detests you." He stepped on a footprint that he made before, careful not to wander from the path that he took the previous time. "But I want to see the center."

"It's ruins. I told you. I'll send you a postcard."

"Fat chance." She laughed. "I'm coming. You don't have a choice. Besides you need my help."

"How? All you've done is given me headache."

"Another gun? And I know a way."

"You know a way? How if you've never been there girlie?."

"So what, that doesn't mean I don't know a way and I do."

"How?"

"Curiosity."

"You just wandered that way once? By mistake?" They exited the path and turned back towards her basement abode. "You really think I'd believe that?"

"It's true but it wasn't a mistake."

"Then what was it?"

"A mission."

"A mission?" He stopped and turned around. "For what? Tiger-lilies?"

"No." She stared him down. "To find something."

"What? The Garden of Eden?"

"Enough of this condescending shit! And I'll tell you."

"Fine. Tell me." The sky above crackled and lightning flashed. "I'm waiting?"

Layarteb

22-10-2007, 00:49

"Let's walk."

"No. If we get rained on we get rained on but I want to know."

"Alright. Fine. Remember I told you I killed my boyfriend? That he was a cop?"

"Yes. Is that untrue?"

"No. It's true. There's more though. You know the trucker? The one who saved me. I guessed he was my guardian angel. I remembered something on his truck that I saw. It was some sort of photograph. I remember seeing it because the trucker got me here. I didn't get here myself. You see," the sky cracked again. Thunder shook the ground and the rain drops began. "You see, he stopped. He had a weapon too and he shot both of them before I could run. Then he picked me up from the ground and looked at me. He said something about 'Jesus' loving me or something to that effect, I was too scared to remember.

"So he put me inside his truck and asked me what I did, why two cops were going to shoot me on the road. So I told him. He told me that though I committed a sin, 'Jesus would forgive me' and that I would be safe. He also told me that someone told him to stop, someone I don't know, maybe a vision or something. He could have been on drugs for all I know but he stopped right. He took me in his truck and we left. He told me he knew where I would be safe since the cops, the police, all those, wanted to kill me now. I wouldn't be safe anywhere. Well. Inside his truck was a photograph of a place near the center. It was a cabin or something.

"He took me to his house and told me about it when I asked him. He said it was a cabin in the center, well near the center, of this unholy place. It was right next to a bunker that was protected or something." The downpour began and both of them were soaking wet within seconds. "He told me that the cabin was a safe place. The safest place I could ever be and that it was here. He told me how to get there and I tried once. The time that I got near the center but I got stopped along the way. Some of those cannibal vampire people? They tried to kill me but again, someone helped me. Since then I've been too afraid to go that way. But with you I can be safe. You can bring me there and you can show me where the cabin is and I could be safe forever."

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

The man nodded to her and they kept walking, walking towards some sort of oblivion that the two of them were hell-bent on achieving. They walked in silence until they got back to the basement, where the man carefully checked everything out before they both entered. He held his pistol in the air as he moved through the small, quiet, and dark basement and when he was satisfied that it was empty, he called up to her and both of them retreated into it as the rain battered the outside on them. Despite having ponchos, they were sufficiently waterlogged from their hair to their toes. Every inch of them was soaking wet when they entered the basement. "You got a change of clothes?" She asked him as she reached down into a makeshift cabinet underneath her bed. "I don't have many myself but I have enough that I can go a few days and change when I need to each day or when it rains. I have to clean my clothes the old fashioned way but I don't mind." He nodded at her. "You don't do you? All you have is on your back isn't it?" She asked. He didn't verbally answer her but from his expression she knew that the answer was "yes." She looked back at him. "Turn around or go over there and don't look." She said as she put her eyes back on the cabinet below her, her hair dripping wet. He nodded again and, honestly, walked back towards the door and sat down on the couch. Though he couldn't see her he could see her shadow off the wall and she looked as beautiful as ever but that wasn't why he was there. He was there because he needed help, as much as he refused to admit it even to himself. There was quiet for a little bit while she changed although halfway through pulling up her pants she yelled out to him, "You aren't peaking are you?"

"No. I'm not." He answered with a smirk as he watched her shadow dance on the wall in front of him. "I'm not." He answered her back, because he said it too low for her to hear him.

"Good. Because if you are…" She was smiling herself. A part of her wanted him to be peaking but another part was glad he wasn't. "Alright. I'm dressed." She sat down on the bed, wearing a t-shirt and a ripped pair of jeans. "Here." She threw him a pair of pants and a shirt. He caught them, "They look like they'll fit you. I picked them up off a Harvester about a month ago. I was hoping they would fit me at least but the idiot gave me the wrong clothes and I didn't pay attention to them."

"Thanks." He walked over into the shadows himself and changed, the pants fitting him. Unlike when Larissa changed, he couldn't be seen since there was no light by the door, where he changed, his pistol on the floor, well within reach. Moments later he too emerged around the other side. "I'm hungry. You got anything to eat? All I have is a can of beans."

"I got a can opener."

"We need a fire."

"Yeah." She moved over to another cabinet underneath the bed and pulled out a burner, "Or a hot plate." She put it down on the ground and poured in some kerosene from a bottle in the same cabinet. Immediately, the plate heated up, glowing red with heat as he placed the can on top, slicing open the top of it to ensure that it didn't explode from the pressure. "I have food but we'll use that for now. What do you eat?"

Layarteb

22-10-2007, 04:16

"I usually just kill an animal or rob someone." He sat down on the couch, watching the beans, careful to notice if it boiled over. It was a big enough can for the two of them, not necessarily a meal at all but it would suffice. "What do you do?"

"Trade."

"What?"

"Stuff I find."

"Like what?"

"Don't worry," she picked up a book she had been reading. "You ever read this book?"

"What book is it?"

"It's called Brave New World written by Aldous Huxley." He stood up to stir the can. "Spoon?" He had stuck his finger in and she looked at him with a bit disappointment.

"Yeah." She handed him a silver spoon she had found months prior. "What's it about?"

"A dystopian society."

"Sounds familiar."

"Humanity is sort of weird. People don't give birth; they're made in a factory. Then they're conditioned from birth and segregated into certain classes based on their making process. Sex is all over the place. There's no marriages or anything. People are weird too."

"Sounds like a good place," he said with a snicker as he sat back down on the couch. "Maybe ten minutes more."

"It's real hedonistic. Lots of drugs too. Something called," she couldn't remember the world.

"Soma."

"Soma. Hey you read it?"

"Cover to cover. Three times." He added after a pause.

"I love this book."

"It's one of my favorites."

"It's the only one I have."

"That's a pity."

"It is. There's a place where you can get them but I don't go there."

"Why's that?"

"Because it's not a good place for a woman to go."

"What's it called?"

"Sanctuary."

"Yet it isn't a safe place?"

Layarteb

22-10-2007, 23:31

"Well. All the gangs and all the factions have it as neutral ground but the place is the biggest drug factory in the world. There's a library there, well what used to be one. It's not exactly a safe place though."

"Is it now? You've been there?"

"Once but I can't go back there. It's too dangerous for me."

"Hurt someone there?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"What if we went there? I don't think I'll have much of a problem."

"I don't feel comfortable there."

"You want more books? I want more supplies."

"There are other places."

"Where? In the outer rim? I've been to a few of them. They got shit. The good stuff is in the middle. The drug money. It buys good things."

"What do we have to trade?"

"Books are worthless here. For the supplies, I'll figure something out. Someone always hates someone else in this place just enough to want to kill them but not actually enough to do it."

"So you're going to murder someone to get me a book and some other things you need?"

"More or less…"

"That is horrible. I'm not going…"

"To what? Let me do it?"

"Yes."

"Why? You said it yourself, the place is loaded with gangs and factions and drugs."

"I did. I know. But…"

"But what? You really think I care? I've needed to go there anyway. I've been eyeing the place since I got here. I was told I could find someone I've been looking for and you know what, I'm going to find them!"

"Who now and what are you going to do to him?"

"Her."

"Fine her? Are you going to kill her like you did the sergeant today?"

"That depends."

"On what? Whether or not she killed some kid?"

"No. On whether or not she knows where someone else is!"

"All these people. You're just going to kill all of them until you reach this 'mystery man' aren't you?"

"If I have to."

"Listen to yourself. What kind of a person are you that would just go around killing anyone who got in their way? You know what. You belong here.
In this wretched existence."

"I told you not to come with me but you want to. Or have you changed your mind. Again."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah. See you don't even know what the fuck you want to do. Do you want to sit around here, waiting for someone to break in and do what they want with you? Do you want to go around taking piddles here and there for an oversized shirt? Do you want to just sit here and think about that cabin?"

Layarteb

24-10-2007, 04:31

"No. I want to find it!"

"Fine then. Then go find it."

"I can't by myself."

"Why? You seem well enough to do anything else by yourself. Don't you?"

"You're an asshole."

"So that's it. I'm a thrill for you aren't I?"

"Not in the least bit."

"Then why are you so inclined to go with me."

"Because someone has to protect you."

He couldn't contain the laughter and his voice boomed from the basement. "Protect me? You'd do that well."

"For some reason, which I can't explain you're protecting me. Somehow you are here to protect me, aren't you?"

"Are you going to get religious on me? I have no room for that bullshit."

"No. I'm not. It isn't bullshit. Guardian angels exist. That trucker on the road and, whether you like it or not, you."

"Me? You think I'm a guardian angel? Yours to top it all off?"

"Yes I do." She had a convincing smirk on her face. "Listen. Whether you want to admit it or not. You need me. Somehow. I don't know how fully yet but you need my help and I need your help. So look at that, the barter system. You're going to help me reach that cabin or that bunker, whichever it is. You're going to get me there and you're going to do it safely. I'm going to help you with whatever help you need. You see how it works?" He didn't answer her at first as he pondered the concept. He didn't want to admit it but she was right. "What's the matter, you don't want to admit I'm right?" She was in his head, somehow. "Listen. I know you're a fucked up individual. Apparently there's more rips and tears in your conscience that nothing fazes you anymore except maybe a few things. I saw the way you looked at those two men in the anarchist place when they were hassling that waitress."

"She's a slave."

"Whichever. You looked at them with contempt."

"So what if I did. They're filth. That whole place is filth!"

"No. No. You're lying."

"Do you really think that I give a rats ass about anyone here?"

"You do me."

"You're useful to me. That's it."

"So you do need me."

"I'm beginning to rethink my need for your help. I got this far by myself, a few more miles is all I have to go."

"So then go ahead. But you need me."

"Fine. Fine. Yes. I need your fucking help," he conceded as much. "What do you want some sort of medal?"

"No. I want the truth. Why are you hunting this man?"

"Because he ruined my life. Twice. Now it's my turn to take it away from him."

"Why won't you tell me more? Why is this so vague?"

"Because the less you know, the better you are."

"Why? Why?" She yelled as she packed around the basement room. "Why won't you fucking tell me?"

"It's none of your business."

"Well you seemingly got me fucking involved so I think it is my business."

"You know why I won't tell you?"

"No. Tell me."

"I am. I won't tell you because you've still got some good left in you. The sergeant said it right, I don't have a clean soul. It's as black as night. It's a lot worse for us. You know why? This doesn't just happen. You don't just go, 'Yeah, that's an idea,' and you're done. It consumes you, it takes over you. It controls you and I can't rest or get any solace until I do it. Until I finish this. Until I make that bastard piece of garbage pay for what he did to me."

"What did he do to you?"

"All you'll know is that. That's all I am going to tell you right now. Now stop fucking asking!"

"Then you're going to help me?"

He waited a moment, then two, and took a deep breath. "You got matches?"

"Answer my question," she insisted as he put a cigarette in his mouth. He had gotten more from the sergeant after sifting through his quarters.

"Do you have matches?" He calmly asked as he looked up at her, though he never moved his head. His eyes were pointed down as he put the cigarette in his mouth and he only lifted them towards her.

"Here." She threw him a small box of matches that were on the kitchenette counter and stared him down. "Now answer my question," she said again.

He caught the matches with his hand, though he never really moved his body. He tilted his head again and looked up at her, the cigarette holding between his lips. He pulled out a match stick from the small box and tilted the box over and looked down at its side as he struck the match. The flare of flame flashed across the room as he lifted the match to his cigarette and lit it. "You know it's a funny thing."

"Quit stalling and answer my question. Now!"

"I'm getting to it." He took a puff of the cigarette and let out a thick stream of smoke. "Fine." He looked back at her and took in another puff of the cigarette. "I'll help you."

"Good."

"We're leaving in the morning. Hopefully, the rain will clear away by then. We'll go to Sanctuary. Get some supplies and come back here. Then we're out of here."

"Fine."

Layarteb

25-10-2007, 01:21

The rains pounded on the house throughout the better part of the evening and into the night. Outside, the darkness was exacerbated by the clouds above and the lack of lights, both artificial and natural. It was a scene straight out of a horror movie. Lightning streaked across the sky and down to the ground with brilliant flashes that lit up the deep, dark, gray and black clouds above and towards the ground. By morning, several trees would be found steaming, charred from lightning strikes. The house was lonely in the small area, despite having a few others around it. As the muddy rivers and lakes filled up, the last few stragglers ran for cover, and the hell fury of nature intensified, the man and Larisa, in the basement were preparing for sleep.

There wasn't much preparation to do though. They took their respective places, the cot for Larisa and the couch for the man. Both of them had blankets, torn and tattered but enough to give them some degree of warmth in the chilly night. It was cold and damp in the basement to begin with but the rain just made it worse. With the rainwater leaking throughout most of the house, pooling up in corners without open floorboards or leaking into the basement through the floorboards, there wasn't much warmth to be had. There was no adequate place to start and keep a fire burning in the small basement room and they had no electricity for a space heater. They could only bundle up and they did, as best they could. Lucky for both of them, none of the water happened to be dripping on either of their beds. Slumber took a hold of Larisa quietly as she succumbed to the weakness. Her eyelids grew heavy, her body calm and still, and her whole world dissipated from the horrors of the Neatherealm to the sweet innocence of her dreams. They weren't nightmares, not like the man had. He would drift from the most horrific place on Earth to the most horrific place on a whole different plane of existence. He couldn't escape from it. Whether he slept or whether he was awake, it was a nightmare that consumed him, infected and infested him, and tore him apart, piece by piece.

As they both slept, a stranger approached. He skulked through the raindrops earlier and climbed into a tree not more than a few dozen feet from the house. He sat on a thick and large branch for over two hours, waiting, watching, surveying. Perched up, forty feet in the air, he looked down, down at the house. Through it, he couldn't see much except for the flicker of light here or there through the floorboards. His vision was superb, even in the horrific downpour. His hearing was just as good and he focused, with his eyes, on the house but, focused, with his ears, on his surroundings. He was a natural hunter it seemed, a predator among predators. He waited with a patience that no animal had and a sense of peace and calm that nothing had, not even the most tranquil of animals. Yet, raging within him was a hunger that yearned to be fed, a hunger that called to him, that guided him, that told him just what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. It was a hunger that few shared within the Neatherealm but a hunger that many feared.

The hunter jumped down from the tree and landed like an animal, both feet hitting the ground first. His knees were bent and used his momentum to push himself forward. He bent his head and his right shoulder downward, all in one fluid motion, and pushed off with both of his feet. From there, he rolled forward with great velocity but, in the end of the maneuver, snapped to a stand and stopped, standing there like a popped up sprinkler head. His body yearned for the hunger and he crouched down to an attack formation as the cold raindrops danced off his skin. He looked up to the sky and, for a moment, it looked as if he was going to howl at a full moon but he didn't, he only wanted to see where the lightning flashed. The frequency of each flash had not decreased but neither had it increased and he took his first steps towards the house, careful not to make too much noise. He was only a few steps away from where he landed when the next bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a crackling of thunder. It illuminated his pale and otherwise demon-like looking face. His clothes were drenched and tattered and, by any standing, whoever was wearing them would be frozen solid but yet the demon walked freely. His head was bald and his eyes were as black as the night. His teeth, curled underneath his lips, were sharp, razor sharp, almost unnaturally sharp, perhaps filed down, who knew. His clothes were dirty and he smelled awful but he moved with a grace that only an animal could move when stalking its own prey.

The demon continued his path forward and slid against the exterior wall of the house, crouching down further and passed underneath the first boarded up window. Then he passed the second, the whole time listening to the noises within, there being none. Then he came to the back, where both Larisa and the man entered. Careful for booby traps, the demon watched each and every step and carefully slid up to the opening and crawled into the house, never once making enough noise to scare a fly, had there been one. He never righted himself though and instead crawled along the floor like a bug. His hands did most of the movement for him as he crawled towards the basement door, slithering almost. He sniffed along the way, smelling for some sort of warning indicator and he looked down, through the various floor boards. He had not yet passed over the basement room and he wouldn't, he approached from the opposite side, just like the man had.

The demon came to the basement opening and carefully crawled down the steps as well, watching the door the whole time. It was closed and the man had used a piece of pipe against the door to hold it shut but it was only temporary for now. He couldn't get anything else and he felt a crate would impede them more than it would help them, especially if something went wrong. When the demon slid up to the door, he did so completely unnoticed. The man had never heard a thing nor had the demon ever given anything away. Inside the quiet basement, where the raindrops fell above and the thunder roared overhead, it was quiet as could be but it wasn't as safe as it could be though. The demon, through some sort of extrasensory perception, understood this, intimately, and put his ear against the door. He just listened for now, listening to the air inside, hoping for vibrations that would give him some indication that his prey was still awake.

Meticulous and never easily satisfied, the demon waited there for a minute, then two, then three. Ten minutes later, his own instincts told him that it was safe but he wasn't entirely convinced yet. He slithered down to the keyhole but realized he couldn't peer through it, a disappointment he didn't express except within his own warped mind. Ready to do his own misdeeds, the demon put his hand on the knob and slowly turned it and, as luck would have it, the knob turned. There is no lock. He thought to himself as his eyes glistened with the hunger yearning inside of him. He was no amateur either, unlike the interloper the first night the man stayed there, the previous night. This was a pure villain and one who knew what he wanted, what he was doing, and how to get all of it.

He felt, through his skin, as the knob could turn no further. He did it carefully, without pushing or moving the door in or out, only the actual latch. It was fully retracted now and the demon, once again, put his ear to the door, careful not to put his weight on it or take his hand off the knob. His movements were careful but precise and that was how any real animal moved except he was, for all intents and purposes, a human being. Perhaps he wasn't? You sleep. He thought now as he smirked, the first sign of emotion he had made since he jumped from the tree ten minutes earlier. He wasn't in a rush, his prey wasn't going anywhere without him knowing it or him seeing them or even them running into him.

Satisfied again, the demon pushed the door only a few millimeters open, his ear still on the door. He heard something move as he stopped abruptly and wiped the smirk off his face. Clever. He thought as he stopped his movements. Nobody stirred though and after thirty more seconds of silence and stillness, he took his ear from the door and positioned himself closer to the knob. Carefully, he pushed in again, slowly, very slowly, not disturbing the metal pipe inside too much. The noise from the rain and the thunder made it so the slight noise the pipe made as it slid across the floor wouldn't be heard. Had it fallen over, that would have definitely awoken the man, who cradled his pistol at his thigh, ready to squeeze the trigger at the door. His movements continued and seconds later, the door was open enough for him to reach his hand in, which saw much like his own eyes did. The sound had alerted him to the true position of the pipe and his hand did the rest of the work. It reached around like that of Nosferatu. His fingers were long and boney, his nails sharp and pointy, his flesh was pale and cold but he was no vampire. He was something worse, something more demon-like, something more feared.

Without his breathing getting too excited, he placed his hand firmly on the pipe and waited. He waited carefully, listening with his ears for stirring. He didn't need to put his ear to the door anymore; he had it open enough to listen from within, to listen to the sounds of his would-be victims. Then, overhead, a flash of lightning, bright enough to light the sky for an eternity did, followed by a powerful and thunderous applause from above. It was his moment and he used it to his advantage and ripped the pipe free and held it in the air. Carefully, he pulled it through the opening and placed it by his side, against the wall. Those within stirred at the sound of the thunder but neither opened their eyes. The demon replaced the serious look on his face with the evil smirk from before, a smirk that told horrific tales of mayhem and slaughter that only the crazies would dream up and only the truly insane be brave enough to tell but this wasn't the real world, this was the abode of the devil.

He now placed both hands firmly on the door and pushed it open, slowly, very slowly. It didn't creak nor did it shutter. Nothing else was in its way to prevent it from opening fully and he opened it enough to where he could slide himself through. Snake-like maneuvers did the rest for him as he sidestepped through the hole and was now in the basement room. He didn't stay in the one position for too long though. He crouched back down, to attack position, controlled his own breathing, and carefully moved forward. His primary target was the man, the main threat to his yearning and he had to neutralize him first. He didn't know about the pistol but the shotgun he could see. It could be easily within his grasp but that wasn't his style. He wasn't one of the ones that used firearms. He didn't need them; he was more skilled than those who used them were. Perhaps he was even more skilled than the man on the sofa, who lied there still, in a shallow sleep but not shallow enough.

Layarteb

25-10-2007, 05:00

The demon came to the man's side and righted himself but did so carefully and with a look in his eyes of victory. He reached down to his side and removed a sharp and finely crafted knife that was long enough and sharp enough to cut through bone, easily. Hold it with both hands, he drew the knife up and zeroed his eyes on the man's stomach, the most important target that would neutralize him but keep him alive just long enough to do his own bidding. The scene was set, the lightning flashed, the thunder boomed, and the rain pelted. Within the basement room no one stirred and the demon hovered over the man, ready to kill him. He drew a breath in and swung down with the knife but, at that moment, everything changed. The man awoke.

He awoke with precise, care, and a sort of ironic timing. Did he mean for it to be this way or was it just by coincidence that the knife was a mere foot from his stomach. He reached up with his left hand like a rocket and grabbed a hold of the demon's wrist, stopping the knife in midair but when the demon let his right hand free and brought it towards his neck, the man had to fight back with his other hand. That meant he had to drop the pistol and he did, letting it fall on the floor as he reached up with his right hand and grabbed the demon's wrist. Both of them were strong but he did not expect the level of strength from the demon as he tried to push the knife lower and lower, towards his chest. The man grunted as he fought back, holding the demon steady and then, with a strange but significant turn of events, felt a surge of power through his body. He quickly and powerful twisted the demon's left hand towards the left but kept going, twisting further and further turning it a full one hundred and eighty degrees but yet he kept going, forcing the demon's elbow into an unnatural position.

The demon tried to counter and tried to put his knee into the man's chest but the man was able to swing himself around enough to swing his own leg into the demon, connecting his steel-toed boot with the demon's skull. The kick wasn't very powerful but it was fast, fast enough to momentarily stun the demon enough for the man to twist his arm enough to free the knife and right himself. The demon let out a squeal of pain as his wrist nearly broke, a squeal loud enough to startle Larisa from her sleep and cause her to look up with wide eyes. "Oh my God!" She yelled but the man wasn't distracted by her. Neither was the demon. Weaponless, they stared at each other, both in fighting stances when the demon let out a growl that was akin to a female lion and it echoed off the walls, reverberating through the basement room. "Kill him!" Larisa yelled as she fell out of bed, the submachine gun in her hands, pointed forward. She couldn't shoot though, the man was in her way and they were too close together to ensure that she could safely kill the intruder and not the man. She hesitated and didn't take the shot and that was good.

The demon shot forward and swung at the man but missed, the man countering with his knee to the demon's ribs. He hit him hard and used the advantage he gained to drive his elbow into the back of the demon's skull. He drove it hard and it hurt his own elbow when he connected but he knew he had done some damage as he reset his footing. The demon, though hurt, showed no signs of weakness. He shot forward again, this time successfully and raked his sharp nails against the man's shirt, ripping it and some of the skin underneath. The man jumped back and tried to grab the demon's hand but failed in the process. Red blood trickled from his wound and the demon smirked again but this time he didn't strike back at first. He merely brought his bloody fingernails to his mouth and took a lick of some of them. Instantly, within his body the yearning tripled and his stomach growled for more. The taste alone did it nothing more.

The man didn't wait to find out and lunged at him, grappling him to the ground where he head butted the demon straight in the forehead. That hurt him as well but it kept the demon stunned long enough for him to drive a hard punch into the demon's chest. The demon threw him off though and he crashed into the door, forcing it shut. It was just a day earlier that another person had been in the same position, except that person was dead. Larisa saw a shot and went to shoot but the man yelled towards her, "No!" He had every reason to stop her. At their range, the bullets would tear through the demon's chest and continue forward, tearing through him just the same. She hesitated again and he stood up and blocked an incoming swing with his forearm. He countered and drove another punch into the demon's ribs, and then kept going. Punch after punch after punch, eight of them in a row before the demon could free himself and back off enough to get out of the reach of the man. The man reset his own footing and charged the demon, swinging for a punch. The demon ducked it but missed a well placed kick to his knee, which sent him clean over, onto the ground. The demon moved fast though, resetting himself and getting out of the way of a stomp that could have crushed his own neck. He tried to grab the man's leg but failed and an attempt to trip the man failed as well. The demon was losing the fight and he knew it but he couldn't escape his only way to escape was the door and it was shut and between him and it stood the man.

The demon shot to his feet and kicked the man square in the chest, pushing him back, towards the door but not too far. He was now on the offensive and he pushed the advantage and charged himself but didn't win this charge. The man saw him coming a mile away, almost predicting the maneuver, and sidestepped to his left, allowing him to literally push the demon forward, causing him to lose his foot and slide against the door. The man shot forward though and dove onto the demon as he landed, driving his knee hard into the demon's back, right between his shoulder blades and his spine. The demon fought to free himself but couldn't and the man reached down and grabbed the demon's head. An attempt to bit the man failed and he quickly, with a sheer volume of force, ripped the demon's head to the right, snapping several of the vertebrae in his neck and his spinal cord in the process. Unsatisfied though, he grabbed the neck of the demon and as he did, many of the muscle resistance stopped. The demon was dead but for good measure he ripped his head the other way and broke more vertebrae.

Victorious, the man stood up and turned around to look at Larisa, who stood against the wall, shaking, with the submachine gun in her hand. "Put it down. He's dead." The man said and she complied, though the shaking didn't stop. "That's the other Hunter. I told you they worked in pairs. He must have followed us and was going to kill us in our sleep," he bent down and picked up the pistol and holstered it. "You alright?" He asked but she shook her head.

Layarteb

25-10-2007, 05:00

"Why do they keep getting in?"

"I don't know how the hell you survived this long without any."

"It's you. Since you came. Twice." Anger rose inside of her. "Why is it that this shit comes with you?"

"These two? I don't. I can't explain them. They're not part of my oblivion."

"Then what are they?"

"Opportunity."

"What?"

"The first guy. You said he was known for mistreating women?"

"He was."

"Maybe you were just next on his and he didn't bargain for me at all. This one now? Well we killed his buddy out there. This was revenge. It doesn't have to do with me."

"You're saying that neither of these two were coming solely for you?"

"No."

"Then why is it that he was attacking you first?"

"I'm the bigger threat. These Hunters, they're like animals. Animals always attack the weakest of the herd. That's why they went after you first and I stopped them. Unlike animals though, they still have reason and he knew, logically, that he wasn't going to be able to get to you until he killed me first. That's it. It's simple."

"It doesn't seem that way."

"Listen. You're just a little paranoid. That's all?"

"A little paranoid!" She yelled. "Twice I had someone break into and try to kill me! Twice! Not once but twice! Until you came that was zero! Zero!"

"They weren't here for me."

"I don't believe you."

"Listen. I explained it to you already and I'm going to do it again. I'm going to get rid of the body and go to fucking sleep. You think you could stay here and guard the door?"

"Fine!" She huffed as she sat down on the bed, leaning against the wall, cradling her submachine gun. Another night without sleep, she thought to herself as he picked up the body of the Hunter. He threw it over his shoulder and the Hunter's head flopped out, a black and blue bruise on his neck big enough and bright enough for her to see. She was amazed at the force the man exerted over the Hunter and snapped his neck so easily but she was scared too. The fight had rattled her and she expected to be safe but that was just a lie.

The man had walked to the top, carefully looking out for another other intruders. His pistol was in his hand the whole time and the rain pelted hard against the roof. He dreaded having to get soaked since he didn't have any dry clothes anymore. Thinking twice, he dropped the Hunter on the floor of the house and carefully sifted through his pockets but, as usual, the only thing he had on him was the knife. He dropped it and walked out with the body back over his shoulder. He hastily ran towards the location of the other one and dropped it down, with a muddy splash that he avoided, luckily. Within any sort of delay, he ran back towards the house, entered it, picked up the knife, and went back down to the basement. "It's me. Don't shoot!" He yelled at the bottom of the stairs before he opened the door. "You hear me?" He yelled when she didn't answer.

"Uh huh." She said, half asleep. Even though she acknowledged it, when he opened the door she raised the submachine gun and carefully watched him come in before she lowered it.

"Where's the pipe?"

"I don't know." Larisa answered as she put herself back under the warm blankets, him drenched.

"Fuck it." He said with frustration as he put the crate against the door. "This'll have to do until I get a two by four or something. You okay?"

"Fine." She lied but she didn't want to talk nor did she want to look at him, she was too angry that he had, indirectly, brought two people into her house to kill her.

She didn't sleep a wink that night, just as the previous night had done to her. He only slept shallower than normal, his pistol back in his hand, the door barricaded by something that couldn't easily disappear.

Midway through the night, the storm calmed down. The lightning stopped, the thunders went silent, and the rain ceased its role as falling arrows. The winds remained though and as the storm blew out, to the north, the winds picked up their own intensity. When dawn arose, the skies were clear blue with white, puffy clouds here and there but a strong breeze of thirty miles per hour, enough to make the temperature, which wasn't warm to begin with, feel even colder. It was a perfect fall day anywhere else in the world except in the Neatherealm, where it was just another day of untold mysteries and unfathomable fears.

Layarteb

02-11-2007, 03:04

Chapter III
What You See

"Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is."

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Infernal/10-chapter03.jpg

Sanctuary was just a few hundred meters away, closing in on them more than they were closing in on it. There was something scary about the town, as it loomed over the horizon. From their distance, all seemed peaceful but who were they kidding. Up close it was a lawless town that had but one operating principle, which was that any of the gang wars or factional fighting didn't occur within its boundaries. Sanctuary was meant to be a sanctuary but not in the conventional sense. It was meant to be a sanctuary where factions and gangs could trade, where they could have neutral ground, and where those entering the middle rim could stop. It was nothing more than that and it was one of the most violent cities on the map. It was a city fueled by the drug trade and by extortion. If one would try to count the instances of drug abuse, rape, murder, and kidnapping over the course of a single month, they would go mad with the figures. Women dared not tread into Sanctuary without an escort and even then it didn't guarantee them. The prostitutes hid behind the safety of their pimps but, sometimes, it didn't save them. Pimps were notorious in Sanctuary for being ruthless. If a prostitute wasn't earning, he'd have her killed, simple as that, no second chances, no bargaining, no escape. However, the pimps would never do it themselves, they would pay someone to do the job and, because the stigma of the pimps was well known, the killers would always act as customers, sometimes killing the prostitutes after they did their business. Other times, they would kill them before. Keeping the tradition alive, many of them would kill the prostitutes but continue until they were done.

It wasn't a place to bring the kids, so to speak. The populace of Sanctuary consisted of a few classes that existed nowhere else. There were the prostitutes and the pimps and nothing happened to the pimps without the say so of the Harvesters and nothing happened to the prostitutes without the say of the pimps. Of all, the classes, the pimps were the most protected simply because of the services their girls provided. The Harvesters were universally untouchable throughout the Neatherealm and they ran the city. Then there were the various factions who passed through, sometimes to negotiate deals, sometimes to pick a fight, sometimes just to pass through. Rhyme and reason did not exist within Sanctuary. Then there was a third group, the Wanderers. These were nomadic people who simply came to the Neatherealm, by choice, to live a life without rules. Many of them found their way into Sanctuary and were mostly well off, many of them being the drug barons that kept the city running. Trading was one thing within the Neatherealm but it worked only so much. Drugs told the rest of the story and Sanctuary was where they originated.

The drug barons in Sanctuary were the smallest of the classes, consisting of maybe a dozen or so people, all in competition with each other. It was an ugly competition that brought about horrific consequences to those who betrayed and even worse ones to those who intentionally snitched to the others. Normally, the barons got along fine, a professional working relationship. They divvied up Sanctuary to "operating zones" that they could have a monopoly over but too often were those zones intruded upon by competing barons. That was when people got killed. A first offense saw nothing less than a severe beating to the drug dealer. A second offense saw the death of that drug dealer, their severed heads usually sent back to the baron they worked for and always with a note that read, "Stay away," or something else to that effect. A third offense brought about a full on war between the two parties and one party always lost. What they lost was always their lives but also their zones, giving one baron an even bigger zone to work with and more profit. It would unnerve the rest and so Sanctuary saw, amongst the drug barons, a sort of balance of power arrangement. Whoever was the most powerful was the enemy and the others often formed weak, superficial, and fragile alliances to overcome the influences of their enemy.

It was a culture experiment more than anything else but it was a shame that the culture was lacking in the equation. The rest of the equation included just about any drug that could be synthetically made or home grown. The menu of Sanctuary included marijuana, acid, angel dust (one of the more popular ones), crack, coke, ecstasy, heroin (another popular favorite), meth (another favorite), mushrooms, OxyContin, opium (the most popular of all the drugs), Vicodin, and various cocktails of the above. They were all available cheaply too and that made them even more appealing. Alcohol and cigarettes were abundant just as well but not like the "menu" as it was affectionately called.

In a nutshell, that was Sanctuary, a place that not even the worst towns in Wild West legends could touch. Lawless wasn't the word to describe Sanctuary and the name was, itself, a total contradiction. The name itself, Sanctuary, means a safe haven, a place of refuge. The city itself was not a safe haven nor was it a place of refuge. Anyone seeking to hide out in Sanctuary would be better off hiding out in a federal police station. At least there, they would come out alive. By herself, Larisa would never dream of going to Sanctuary. She would go in and never come out, if she even lived a few minutes within its boundaries. She could either being forcibly taken over by a pimp, who would spare her an untimely death but it would guarantee an eternity of horrific servitude, being raped, beaten, abused, and misused on a daily basis, until she either escaped or died. Should she escape, she would be a wanted girl throughout the whole of the Neatherealm. The reward for returning runaway prostitutes was large and, unfortunately, for the prostitute, they would be killed shortly thereafter. If she managed to escape the vice grips of prostitution, she would surely being kidnapped and abused by a faction member or a drug addict or even a drug baron. There was just too much for her to fall into while she was there, which could guarantee her nothing. Without the mysterious man, who saw over her, she wouldn't dare tread close enough to see the city through a pair of military issue binoculars.

It was irony now that she stood alone, looking out at the vast abyss in front of her, at the city, which was protected by large walls that extended for miles into the blue unknown. The man was a few paces ahead of her, surveying everything himself, his shotgun in his hands, ready to be used if he had to do so. "I lied," she yelled out to him, an unbearable feeling of guilt coming over her body as she looked down at her feet. He heard her but ignored her at first. "You hear me?"

"I heard you. What are you talking about?"

"I lied."

"About what?" He turned around and walked towards her, careful to survey the surroundings. His hunter's prowess was at its height and he didn't feel comfortable or safe at all. "What are you talking about?"

"Why I can't come back here." She picked her head up and looked at him, a breeze brushing her hair from her face. She looked sweet and innocent and more beautiful than any girl he had ever known but something wasn't right about what she was saying.

"Alright fine you better tell me now before we get in there."

Tears welled up in her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. "I came here once. It's where I got the bike. I stole it."

"You stole it?"

"Yeah."

"How?" He laughed, impressed at her thievery skills. She wasn't laughing though, the tears becoming too great for her to see even. She wiped them and looked back at him.

"I came here stupidly. I thought someone could help me, take me to that place I told you about, the one the trucker told me to go to. That place."

"Yeah?" Her words were slow through her sobs.

"Some guy. He tricked me. Told me would help me but that he had to get some things first so like an idiot I followed him. He tried to rape me. But I. I didn't. I stopped him."

"Okay," he was realizing the gravity of the situation.

"That bike is his. I knocked him out with a glass jar thing on his table. It made my eyes water in there and sting. I think it was a meth lab."

"Okay," the man looked at her still.

"So. He's there. If he sees me. He might…"

"Is he someone important?"

"I don't know."

"So we should be extra careful?"

"Please," she grabbed him and hugged him. "Please keep me safe."

He didn't know what else to do so he put his hand on the back of her head and held her closely to him while she sobbed. He wasn't trying to be insensitive to her but he didn't like the idea of sitting in an open field, within a clear field of view for anyone within a half mile so he tried to hurry her up but she wouldn't let go of him, a sort of death grip that not even the pimps could break if they tried.

"Come on," he said after a few minutes. "We gotta go. They can seeus here."

"Okay," she sniffled her last tears away and wiped her face off, trying to make it appear as if she had never been crying in the first place. They advanced towards the city and towards the most horrific place on Earth, a place erroneously named, "Sanctuary."

Layarteb

05-11-2007, 05:23

There was just one way into Sanctuary from the outer rim and one way out into the middle rim. They were still in the outer rim and Sanctuary was the only "safe" gateway into the middle rim, if there could ever be a safe gateway into such a hell hole, let alone one that ran through Sanctuary. It was anything but safe and it was guarded by a gate strong enough and reinforced enough that it would take nothing short of an armored personnel carrier to break through it. That was by design. The gate was flanked to its right by a tower that shot up, into the air, at least fifty feet into the air, which gave them a line of sight to the horizon of almost eight and three quarter miles, far enough to see anything dangerous approach and with enough time and warning to alert the city. The man had noticed the tower early on but noticed that it was empty throughout the entire time that they approached Sanctuary and only appeared to be occupied as they neared the gate.

As he approached the gate, the man looked up at the tower and the man standing in it, who looked back down at them. His sunglasses were dark and made sure that his eyes were invisible, especially from such a distance as he held his weapon, a long-range rifle. He didn't point it down at either of them but he made sure to watch them as they came up to the gate. "What do you want?" A voice bellowed out from behind the wooden gate.

"I'm looking for someone." The man yelled back, stopping in his tracks. He noticed now that the man in the tower was pointing his rifle at him now.

"What's your alliance?"

"I have none."

"You are a loner?"

"I am a loner."

"Who do you come to seek?"

"A man with information."

"What is his name?"

"I know it not." He felt uneasy about the level of questioning to enter the city. There must have been an incident he thought.

"You carry weapons?"

"I do."

"And your woman?"

"Yes."

"You're business with this man you seek?"

"Information."

"You're business. I will not repeat myself."

"He knows of another man I am looking for."

"Do you bring trouble to Sanctuary?"

"I do not." He dared not make a move, the man above was watching him and he had his crosshairs on his head, most likely.

"Enter." The voice boomed and there was a loud grinding sound from behind the gate that lasted a good thirty seconds before one of the large doors swung inward, albeit very slowly. The gate itself was huge, big enough to fit a tractor trailer into it with plenty of room on either side but as it swung inward, creaking and rumbling as it did, it revealed a small posse of three men, two of whom were armed and were there to prove a point. These two men were like walls themselves, tall, muscular, and they had hardened looks on their faces, looks that would tell a tale of some devastation their eyes saw. Perhaps they too were soldiers during the civil war. All men served two years in the military and many of them had been drafted back in by either side when the civil war broke out so it was feasible they saw the untold horrors of that war.

They flanked a man half their size who was obviously the gatekeeper. How such a small man got his voice to boom so greatly was a mystery to the man and Larisa but he stood between the two men and looked at the man and Larisa. "We have one rule here in Sanctuary, a rule that cannot be broken. The punishment for the violation of this law will bring about a death and an ordeal so horrific that not even the gods of the underworld will ask for your souls. Is that understood?"

"It is." The man responded, thinking to himself about the irony of such a rule in a place so brutalized by chaos.

"The rule is as such. We care not your allegiance here in Sanctuary, unless you ally yourself with the forces of the government or those of fortune seeking to end the Neatherealm."

"I am neither."

"Good. Then you shall be allowed to pass through. You do so at your own risk but you must be aware of our single rule. Factional fighting exists throughout the entirety of the Neatherealm but it does not exist here. Leave your grievances at the door. Any grievances that you may experience while you are here, in Sanctuary will remain within. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," the man repeated as his interest in the gatekeeper's speech waned.

"You are on your own here unless you see fit to ally with those within but that is not my or our concern. As administrators of Sanctuary, our goal is to maintain the integrity of our walls. Do not encroach upon our sovereignty and do not violate our law. Is that understood?"

"It is."

"Then you may pass. Make your stay within our walls but do not dare to usurp our authority." He moved aside and the two giants lifted their shotguns from their waists to a vertical position. It was safe to enter and the man and Larisa did so, moving past them as quickly as possible. Behind them, they could both feel and hear the massive gate closing, which meant that there was no quick exit for them. Surely, there had to be an exit quicker than the single entrance but, to find it, would require an unholy allegiance with, most likely, a drug baron. Their best plan of escape was to avoid any situation whereby they might need one. Alone, the man could easily take on a dozen or more men and successfully win but, with the additional criteria of having to protect Larisa, he didn't need to take the chance of her being hurt. He promised her he would protect her and he never broke one of those. By killing Sergeant Williams he fulfilled a promise that he had made years earlier.

The entrance into the city was a short road, not even the length of a football field but it was the most cluttered road either of them had ever seen. Lining the left and right curbs of the street was garbage, piling high; some of it discarded furniture, some of it completely unrecognizable. Both of them shuddered at the smell coming off the garbage, which was buzzing with flies, despite the coldness in the air, which sent a chill up either of their spines. The chilling breeze that blew through the air blew through just as they had stepped onto the street, a sort of ominous sign that they should not proceed but, low and behold, they did. Both of them walked in the middle of the road, towards the end of it, which wasn't far at all from them. They both kept their noses down and their eyes forward, towards a sign that lay ahead of them, in the distance, at the end of the street. Their senses were thrown into overdrive from the various things going on around them. The most prominent and powerful manipulator of their senses was the terrible smell from the garbage, which made their noses cry for help. The next was their eyes, which were overloaded by the horrific sight of the garbage, only exacerbated by the smell, as well as the less than horrific surroundings around them. Their ears were thrown into a sort of complication though. Around them there was nothing but a deafening silence. The sounds of the city were too far off in the distance to be heard around all of the structures and the buzzing of the flies was too low for them to be heard. Only the winds could be heard but even those were barely audible. Their skin danced and prickled with the feeling of cold as the winds blew around them. It had dawned on them, early on, that the city was very windy. It was a weird effect that was being had. All of the buildings trapped the wind and created their own currents. Somewhere, within the city, there was a simple pressure differential, driving the winds through at a near constant velocity. It was odd but not at all out of place. Lastly, their sense of taste was tainted by both their eyes and their noses. They smelled the garbage, saw the garbage, and their brains put the taste in their mouths. They had to get through there as fast as they could as the sense of vomit rose up in them, a sixth but truly unwelcome sense.

"I've been here before," the man muttered to himself as they neared the end of the horrific street. "I have."

"What? The garbage?"

"No. No. That's just to deter people I guess. I don't even know what that is or why. I don't need to understand that but I have a feeling that I've been here before. God I wish I had a map."

"Sorry, all out of those. Well, where do we go?" She brushed his comments aside as both of them stopped at the end of the street and read the sign in front of them. "Alright, so we got the bar, that one's on top. What else. Armory. Trader. A couple of other useless things. What do you think?"

"The bar."

"What are you a drunk?"

"No but the man I'm looking for is. He'll be at the bar."

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me. I am sure." She looked up at the sign rather than look at him, with a puzzled look on her face. She turned to ask a question but was cut off, "It's blood." He turned to the right and began walking. She didn't immediately follow. She was transfixed by the writing on the plywood sheet, which was a deep, red and brown color. In that instance, her world faded away. "You coming?"

"Huh?" She turned back to see him at least ten feet away from her. "Yeah. Wait up." She said, taking a final look at the board and then hurrying after him. "Why is?"

"Why is it in blood? I don't know. Another mystery about this God-awful place. It's probably whatever punishment that guy at the gate said." The people at the gate had taken no notice to Larisa or the man with her as they returned to watching the gate and the lands in front of them, for any intruders.

"I swear I've been here before. See that building over there?" He pointed to a five-story, red, brick building that in shambles. The roof was half on the ground, half on the building. Windows were missing and torn and tattered white sheets hung from the fourth and fifth floor windows. The brickwork had been chipped in hundreds of places and, from their distance, it was tough to tell what they were but the man had the strangest feeling that they were bullet holes. Next to the third floor window, there was a gaping hole in the wall, a hole that had been made by some sort of projectile or explosive.

"Here? Sanctuary? I thought you said," she was cut off again.

"No. I mean before the war. During the war I mean. I've been here. Just when and where. If I knew what this place had been called before the end of the war I would know exactly. I remember everywhere I've been, sadly."

"Haunted or something?"

"What my memories? Yeah."

"You said you weren't a good soldier."

"No. No I wasn't." At that moment, Larisa took a sidestep and nearly toppled over onto the ground as she grabbed her eyes and bent over in pain. "What's wrong?" He said first but he was in a similar position and situation just moments later. "God that burns!"

"Yeah. What is it?" Tears rolled down her face as her eyes reddened and her nose reddened. "What the hell is that?" The caustic odor in the air had penetrated right into their eyes and lungs and caused searing pain. "Help me!"

He grabbed her as best as he could and pulled her away, to the other side of the street, past a manhole cover as his eyes watered and blurred. He was making his way towards a building or at least something that looked like a building in his blurry vision and without much thinking he barreled into what appeared to be a door, pushing it in and knocking him onto the ground. Lucky for him it was actually a door and a relatively weak one at that, as he would learn when his vision cleared. Larisa followed him by just a footstep as they both lay on the floor of a building, quiet except for the sounds of pain they uttered, holding their eyes and their chests.

Layarteb

06-11-2007, 04:53

The ground was cold, too cold, and it radiated its coldness into and up their bodies, all the way to their heads. Normally, it wouldn't have been a welcomed feeling but the cold seemingly gave them respite from the burning in their throats and their eyes. The man grunted a sigh of relief as his vision began to focus again. When his eyes began working again, he wiped away the foggy tears and looked down at the floor. It was made of commercial tile, he'd recognize it anywhere and it was filthy. He didn't care though, his eyes were working again. He took in a deep breath and let it out quickly, placing both of his palms on the floor in front of him and lifting his head. It was a sight he had not expected to see and it was the sight of a double-barreled shotgun, just a foot away from his face. Shit. He thought to himself as he looked up in silence at a man standing over him, the shotgun barrels in line with his eyes. Just behind the figure were a burning fire and two other men, sitting around the fire, blank expressions on their faces.

"What do you want?" The man asked, his voice being raspy and harsh. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, the ashes falling down, in front of the man.

"Sorry, a mistake."

"A mistake? You broke in my door on a mistake." The door was fine, it hadn't been locked and there wasn't any damage done to it aside from the dent it left in the wall when the knob hit. "A mistake?"

"Yeah a mistake. Listen, I couldn't see. Something out there," the man lowered the shotgun barrels.

"The odor?" He asked, with a much more understanding tone, a tone that almost seemed too friendly.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Stand up," he lowered his hand. "Who's she?"

"Someone with me."

"Is she alright?" The man turned and looked at Larisa who was getting to her feet as well.

"I'm fine. Where are we?"

"Shut the door. Don't let the odor in." The man said as he turned around and sat down next to the other two men. "Cold?"

"Freezing." The man said as he approached the fire and sat down on a milk crate. Larisa followed him and did the same, the warmth of the fire warming their bodies instantly. "Who are you?" The man asked again, Larisa by his side.

"My name is Alex. These are my brothers Fred and Tyler. They'd answer you right now but they're stoned." Both of them stared into an oblivion in front of them that was unending. Their facial expressions were blank and their skin was clammy. They looked more stoned than they probably were but, then again, who knew what they took. "You smelled the meth lab underground. It seeps up through the manhole. You must have stepped right on it."

"Yeah. We did. I think. Why are you here?"

"Why?"

"Yeah why? Are you a faction or a loner?"

"My brothers and I are loners. We stick together and we trust only each other. We came here to live free. It's not the free we wanted though and, I hate to say it, but we'll never leave this place."

"Why?"

"My brothers are drug addicts."

"You aren't?"

"Not drugs. Whiskey. That's my poison. You don't got any do you?"

"No. Sorry," the man answered as he gave Larisa a friendly smile.

"Shame. Yeah. We're stuck here. We can't live like this outside."

"Like this?" The man looked around at the shithole. There was garbage and debris all over, a ruined sofa and bed, no light, no amenities, not even a sink. The room looked like a room occupied by drug dealers. Half of everything was destroyed and the other half wasn't worth its weigh in excrement. "This place is, a shithole man."

"But it's our shithole." He took some offense to the description but didn't think too deeply into it. "You see, Sanctuary is our sanctuary. Sure my brothers are stoned all the time and I'm drunk most of the time. God I hate being sober actually. You sure you don't have any whiskey?"

"No. I don't." He gave Larisa a look and both of them read each other's minds. It's time to go. Both of them thought at once. "Listen. I don't mean to be rude. I guess you don't have guests too often. Do you know a man here by the name of Trilogy?"

"Trilogy? No. Sounds like a dumb name. Is he a dealer or a pimp?"

"I don't know. I'm looking for him though and he's here, I just don't know where."

"What do you know about him?"

"He likes his drink too."

"Try the bar. I'm going there soon, when these two snap out of it. Maybe I'll run into you there."

"I'll be sure to buy you a drink for the fire."

"You do that," both of them stood up but the man stayed there as he looked at his two brothers. Only here could I live so free. He thought to himself as he looked up, "Just shut the door."

"You got it. Sorry about barging in."

"Happens twice a week." He said with a smile and he had only two teeth, both of which were disintegrating in his mouth. Larisa and the man left immediately and shut the door behind them. They stayed away from the manhole in the center of the street and made mental notes to avoid any other ones in the future.

"What the hell was that?" Larisa asked after they had gotten clear of the building. They continued down the street and their noses were horribly offended by the atrocious and vile odors of Sanctuary, most of which involved the stench of drugs and the dead. "Huh?" The man didn't answer her too quickly as he stared up at the building in front of them, the same building that he recognized when they began walking down the street, which was coming to an end. Soon it would bank to the left and draw them deeper into Sanctuary and a sign in front of them told them that, in order to reach the bar, they had better turn to the left.

"What?" He said, unaware that Larisa had been talking to him.

"Zoning off again?"

"It's that building. It is so damn familiar. Stop."

"Why? I hate this place already, I want to get the fuck out of here and you want to stop and sightsee? No. Come on. Let's get to the damn bar and get the hell out of here."

"What. You don't want any books?"

"Books," she sighed. "Listen, this place is the pits I want to get the hell out of here; I'll steal a book rather than get it from this place."

"You've been here though. What's so different now?"

"I hated it when I came the first time," she was frustrated that he wouldn't look at her. Instead, he stared up at the building, in a trance, responding to her questions with a sense of total absence as the building before him became all that he could see.

"What the hell is going on?" He heard a voice yell from behind him as the sky flashed before him. The ground shook all around him as the whistling of mortars filled the sky. He was huddled against an abandoned car in the middle of the street, surrounded by fifteen other men, all of whom were wearing the same combat fatigues as him and holding the assault rifles, machine guns, or other rifles. Bullets whizzed through the air like swarms of gnats and pinged and panged off everything they hit, sometimes sparking, other times just chipping off a piece of whatever they struck. "Come on!" The voice yelled again.

Layarteb

08-11-2007, 05:14

"We have to get to cover," the man yelled as he squeezed his rifle trigger four times, in two rapid groups, adjusting his aim as he squeezed the third and fourth times. All four bullets soared down the street and into a pair of men coming towards them, guns blazing, screaming as they charged. "That building. Let's go!" He yelled, pointing to an intact, red, brick building just a few meters away from them. They covered each other as the sky tore apart with bullets and shrapnel. The man was the last to enter the building as he cleared the way, shooting two more men with guns. The building was strong, reinforced, and they had the benefit of two, large, steel doors between them and their enemies. "Quick. Barricade that door and take up defensive positions. Air support is coming and we have to get the hell out of here. You, go see if we can use the roof for a helicopter landing point!" He barked the orders and the men snapped to, scurrying about the dark building. While they did, he looked down at the radio man, who was frantically trying to get in touch with the aircraft that were inbound. "Can't get through?"

"No!" The radioman yelled. "If we can't tell them where we are, we're fucked!" He yelled over the whine of yet another mortar round, this one crashing just outside of the door. "They're getting close."

"Don't worry they won't get in, stand up." As the radioman did, he noticed why the radio wasn't working anymore. "Drop the radio, it's useless," he said with disappointment and disgust.

"What?" He unslung the radio and noticed the large hole in the side of it, smoking still trickling out, rising upwards. "Goddamnit!" He threw the radio on the ground and checked his back with his hands. "Fwew. Not hit," he said with relief.

"Well be glad it wasn't you," the man picked up the radio and removed the encoder card, placing it inside of his vest. It was a small card and, without it, the radio was utterly useless, with or without a bullet hole in it. The encoder card could also give the enemy access to the encrypted channels that the governmental forces were using, something that they wanted badly but had yet to accomplish, thanks to a lot of careful maneuvers, like that one.

"What are we doing now? Air support has no clue where we are."

"No. No they don't. We got any strobes left?"

"It's the middle of the day," the radioman said with a sort of ridiculous look on his face as the building shook from another hit, this one landing on the second floor, sending dust everywhere. "Dammit, they got us zeroed!"

"Alright. Corporal."

"Yes sir," the sniper responded with his rifle in his hands.

"Find the goddamn spotter and shoot him. All the rounds are coming from the west so do something about it," he ordered.

"You got it sir." He took off running, up the steps, another man behind him, who was the spotter. He would carry a pair of powerful binoculars with him and, together, the two man team could neutralize any small target within range of their rifle.

"Now. Back to the matter. How the hell are they going to know?" The radioman continued, looking around the empty first floor of the building as the men took up their defensive positions, defending the structure from attack. "Well," he asked again. He was adding a tone that wasn't proper for addressing an officer but he had just cause, the man was, sort of, standing around, thinking to himself.

"Alright. You stay here dammit. How much longer?"

"They'll be over the area in two minutes."

"What's the tasking?"

"Four ship formation of Sabers, carrying incendiary and fragmentation bombs. A couple of missiles."

"Okay. Our two-ways still work. They'll know we're out of contact so you keep the time, I'm going to the roof!"

"What are you crazy?"

"Unless we want a bomb in our building we need to do something. Now defend this fucking structure and that's an order. I'll handle the rest." He took off running up the stairs and as he passed by the fourth floor, he yelled out, "Get the fucker yet?"

"Working on it sir."

"Work faster. I'm going to the roof, cover me!"

"Yes sir."

"Hey, you there? Where are you? Hey, you there dammit?" Larisa yelled, shaking the man as he walked here and there, talking to himself and the air around him, in a trance that Larisa couldn't shake him out of, his eyes glazed over, seeing visions of the past, whereas his body was stuck in the present. "Wake up!" She yelled as she slapped him hard across the face, hard enough that it echoed on the quiet street and caused her own hand to sting. His face was rough and course, his beard stubble like sandpaper against her soft hands. His cheek turned red instantly and not from the cold as he shook his head, blinked his eyes, and looked down at her. She was holding her hand as it turned red.

"What? What happened?" He asked, dazed and confused.

"What happened? Where the hell were you? You were walking around, talking to yourself. Yelling orders, talking about bombs and planes and mortars."

"I was?"

"Yes." She said with a look of "duh" on her face. "What's the matter you don't remember it? It just happened."

"No. I don't. I'm sorry."

"You can't be serious, it just happened and yet you don't know what the hell was going on? You were like in a trance or something."

"I remembered where I know that building from, where I remember this place from."

"Yeah the war. I know I just heard you telling someone about a radio and the roof," her tone eased as he sat down on the curb and put his head in his hands. She sat down next to him and looked around, the coldness of the ground running up her spine, into her brain. She felt the chill and shivered, him unaware she did. "That building and I. My team and I were here. Back during the war."

"What was this place?"

"A rebel stronghold. We were sent in to do reconnaissance, you know watch enemy movements because the main army was going to come ahead and assault."

"What happened?"

"I don't remember for sure. You see my unit was an advance unit. We would go in ahead of the main army and do reconnaissance, scout out target positions, ambush spots, all the pleasantries that the regular grunts can't do."

"Like a Special Forces team?"

"Like that yes but not exactly. Well, anyway, we were sent in here a few days before the main assault force was coming, which had over two thousand men. Satellites and what not showed that the city was teeming with rebels and it was. We were just a few hours away from the main armored force when we were discovered, I don't know how though. The man we're going to see, he was with us that day, that is why this place is so familiar. He knows what happened and who gave us up."

"Gave you up?"

"Yes. Someone had alerted the enemy to our position and it was foul play, I know that for sure now."

"How?"

"Well I learned it a long time ago, after we pulled out. We got out you know but I lost a man there in that building."

"When?"

"See that gaping hole up there?"

"Yes."

"The air support had come, dropped in some bombs, really pushed the enemy back but they had a tank and they managed to get it into position over there, not far from that manhole cover actually and they put a round right into the building. The sniper died instantly and the spotter barely survived the flight back to the field hospital."
"You guys get the tank?"

"Pieces of it landed miles away," he said with a smile. "Come on. Let's go." They stood up, the building behind them, looming like a cemetery relic that had been long since overdue for some sort of "good-bye" and the man gave it, in his own way.

Layarteb

09-11-2007, 06:01

They continued down the street until they came to the center of Sanctuary, which wasn't too far from the walls. It wasn't a terribly big town, a few square miles, at the most, and, the center was hard to miss. It was the cleanest part of the town but that wasn't saying it was clean at all. By cleanest, it was lacking the debris and wreckage and garbage that lined the rest of Sanctuary. It was, otherwise, filthy. Hookers stood around and drug dealers did much of the same. Lights flashed on and off for building signs and most of the center had been populated by the people of Sanctuary. Hundreds of them walked around, throughout what was almost like a flea market, in the center of the town. People traded here and there, others looked for a good time, and some drank and smoked together. It was a like a regular city except devoid of any sense of decency or morality. Filth, the man thought to himself as he stepped over a drunken, puking man on the side of the curb, lying in his own vomit.

"Be careful," he told Larisa as he looked around at the disaster.

"This is the scariest place I've ever seen." They walked into the crowds and headed where most of them were going, the bar, which was just at the end of a short walk, except they had to barrel through people to get there. All around them, the cacophony of voices peddled drugs, women, guns, odds and ends, and just about everything else that was worth nothing in the Neatherealm. Both of them kept their mouths shut, avoided eye contact, and kept walking, through the crowds, slowly, avoiding everyone that they could avoid. They tired to hide back the wincing as the stench was simply abhorrent. It was a mixture of just about every smell one's body could produce, along with alcohol, drugs, garbage, and who knew what else.

"Hey man, you want to buy," was all that the man heard every few seconds. It was always being said by some low-life scum, trying to sell him drugs or something that looked like it came off a dead person. He made sure to hold his rifle tight to his body, lest he lose it to a pickpocket and there were dozens of those in the crowds. Larisa did much of the same, avoiding contact all together, huddling next to the man like a frightened child. "Hey how much for the bitch," came the next series of words, along with whistles and cat-calls, anything else to get the attention of the crowd that a "free" woman walked amongst them. Some of the hookers saw it as an insult to them, others envious. The pimps only saw another cash crop and the vile vermin saw her as nothing more than a toy they wanted to play with, despite the presence of the man.

Larisa fought back the tears as she and the man moved through the mess, eventually reaching the bar. It was a disgusting place, just like the rest of Sanctuary. Unlike the one they had gone to at the anarchist base, this one was rowdy. People were drinking hard, laughing hard, playing cards hard, and yelling all over the place. An old jukebox played music that nobody could hear and women walked around serving drinks, being grabbed left and right, wherever the people pleased. The barkeep didn't see to mind or care and only yelled back at the women if they were too slow. The smell of a grill wafted into the air, combing with the other stenches and suddenly the man did not want to even sit down in the place. I might get rabies or something, he thought to himself with a smile, as he contemplated sitting down at the bar. "You okay?" He whispered to Larisa, who was transfixed by the scene in the bar. Her mind was elsewhere when he asked and she didn't answer right away, not until he put his hand on her arm, which caused a sort of bad reaction. She had been thinking about something awful and it showed when she yanked her arm away and thrust out her hand as if there was a knife in it, landing where the blade would be right on the man's side. "Easy there," he said, checking to see if anyone noticed but no one did, they were too busy drinking.

"Sorry, was somewhere else." She said as she looked down at her hand, hoping to see a knife in it but only disappointing herself. "It was just a dream or something."

"Yeah. Stay with me alright? There's enough pimps around that saw you walking through they'll want to get their hands on you."

"Yeah. Don't let that happen."

"I won't. Come on," he walked up to the bar and motioned for the barkeep to come towards him, which he begrudgingly did. He was a fat man, sweaty and disgusting, covered in soot, dirt, alcohol, perhaps a little vomit, and who knew what else. He had his own culture sample on his apron and he seemed to be sweating just walking from one side of the bar to the other.

"What'll ya have?" He asked in a thick, southern accent. He was evidently not from around there. "Better me something good for making me come down here," he snorted.

"Easy there. You got scotch?"

"What does this look like?" He said with disdain. "Your choices are vodka, whiskey, or beer."

"Whiskey."

"Fine. Eight." The man pulled out a ten shingrot bill from his pocket and handed it to him. "How much for the girl?" The barkeep asked as he handed him his change. "I could use a girl like her, she looks innocent."

"Not for sale."

"C'mon we can reach a deal. Every man has his price and I bet she's worth every penny of it," he licked his lips. Anger rose up in the man and Larisa tried to not show her own loathing hatred for the man. "What'd ya say?"

"Not for sale."

"Fine. Be like that, no sweat off my sack. Anything else asshole?"

"A man named Trilogy. Where is he?"

"Now you want information," the barkeep smirked. "So you disrespect my offer and demand information instead. What do you think a glass of whiskey is enough for that? You're mistaken."

"What's the price then?"

"The girl."

"What are you kidding me," the man laughed. "She's worth a lot more than where someone is. Hell, I could buy your whole bar for what she's worth," the man exaggerated and Larisa didn't know if he was being serious or merely playing the barkeep for a fool.

"I doubt she's worth that much." He was skeptical.

The man motioned for him to come closer, a decision he regretted immediately. The fat, balding pig put his head closer to the man's, his sweat stinking worse than a dead body in the sun and his breath was just as atrocious. He could practically see the plaque seeping out of his mouth. "She's pure," the man whispered. Larisa never heard him.

"Really," the barkeep said with pleasure. It was a sickening, creepiness that would have pegged him as a child molester in his previous life. "Maybe we can make a deal."

"Not for her. She isn't for sale. Where's Trilogy?"

"I don't know anyone named Trilogy. But you know what I do know?"

"What? Your pissing me off?"

"Hardly," the barkeep snorted again. "I know a guy named Silver who owes me some money."

"How much?"

"More than he can repay."

"Perhaps I could collect your debt, in exchange for Trilogy's location."

"Perhaps. The debt isn't about money anymore."

"I can be equally persuasive."

"Good. Why don't you come around here," the barkeep motioned to the opening in the bar at the end of it and nodded his approval.

"Come on," the man said to Larisa as he set off for the opening.

"Lucy, watch things," the barkeep said to a slave waitress as he turned around and headed off towards a back room. Larisa and the man followed, the barkeep's stench following him as he waddled away.

Layarteb

10-11-2007, 21:11

Fat pig. The man thought to himself as he followed, holding his breath as the plethora of odors the barkeep gave out penetrated the air and his nose. He wished, at that moment, for the caustic scent of the manhole cover. They followed him away from the noisy, distorted bar, past Lucy, an elderly woman who looked as if she had been a prostitute herself, even before the war, and into a back hallway that was in shambles. Lights flickered here and there, when they actually worked, and the hallway led to a small kitchen, where they cooked the rat meat and other foods that the bar served. At the end though, there was a large, wooden door, something good looking in a world of bad and the man noticed that right away, expecting to wake up or something to that effect.

"Come in, sit down." The barkeep slid a key into the door and opened it up, squeezing himself through, revealing a quite lavish room that served as everything in one. There was a couch, a bed, a desk, a television, a radio, a bathroom, a small kitchen area, and even a table and chairs to sit and dine. The barkeep assumed his place behind the large desk, on a chair that cried out in agony when he sat down on it. He motioned for the man and Larisa to sit as well and they did, in two torn-up and beat up arm chairs in front of the desk. Whomever the barkeep worked for, furniture of this nature, even as disgusting and decrepit as it was, was a luxury, a luxury nobody could afford except the pimps, some of the harvesters, and the faction leaders. Whoever he was, he was well connected. "This man, Silver he calls himself. I don't know why. He came into debt with me about a month ago and hasn't repaid. You see he has a bit of a gambling problem," the barkeep began. "He can't win! He owes me a hundred thousand, no small change. I fear I can't collect my debt in money anymore. He's a low-life that took me for a ride and I want my revenge."

"I imagine you do. I can provide you with that service," Larisa shot him a look, disgusted at what he was proposing to do for the filthy swine in front of her.

"I want him dead and I want his head, literally." The barkeep said with a smirk. "You do that and we'll talk about your man Trilogy."

"Deal. Where can I find this rat?"

"Not far away at all. Just across the street, in the third pimp house."

"Third from what?"

"That's the name, Third Pimp House. I don't get it, you know these foreign folk. They like to be artistic even with their filth." It was irony to equate filth with anything else, considering how horrific the barkeep's establishment was. "You can find him in there, just ask for him, they'll know who he is and where to find him. I'll tell the pimp before you go over there." He picked up a secured radio, something that was definitely more than a desk ornament in the Neatherealm. "I'll use this. Don't worry, he hasn't many friends. You'll be fine. Just make sure you don't hurt the girl."

"Not in my thought."

"Good. She can stay with me, as insurance."

"Not going to happen. She comes with me and you haven't a say in the matter," the barkeep eyed Larisa like a juicy steak and licked his lips again.

"My debt is more important than virgins. Hurry up." The man and Larisa stood, an evil, hate filled look in her eyes as they departed and exited the office and the hallway. They weren't a few feet into the hallway when Larisa punched the man, hard, right against his arm.

"Virgin? You told him I was a fucking virgin? No wonder he was licking his lips and shit. That's just fucking gross you filthy animal!"

"I had to do something to get him to cave now shut the hell up and go with it dammit." He said back as he stared into her eyes, burning a fury of his own through hers. "Now quit this liberal woman nonsense and just shut up, this isn't the nice world, this is hell and, in hell, it's a man's fucking world. You sit there and be seen and not heard and I don't give a damn what you say about it or how you feel about it because if you want to walk out of those gates you're going to do what I say, how I say it, and deviate one bit and I'll be sure to lose you to a pimp, understood?" She didn't answer him right away, too angry to speak. "Do you understand?" He emphasized.

"Yes. I understand. Master." She said with sarcasm. They exited the hallway, left the bar, and walked out of the front door, passing through a crowd of drunkards as they did. In the whole crowd there wasn't a single sober person and they all stunk horrifically. When they got outside, the scene had not changed. It was still a flea market of decadence and Larisa shivered as a cold breeze caught her. "There, it's over there," she said, pointing to a building across the street with a sign at the top of its exterior wall that saying "Third Pimp House, see clerk within."

"Good. Let's do this and be out of here."

"Where do you want me to go?"

"With me."

"So wait," she grabbed his arm. "You want me to come with you while you kill someone and take off their head? What do you think, I like watching that nonsense?"

"No. You're going to stay out in the hall and that's that."

"Fine!" She didn't like it but she knew the alternative and if she stayed at the bar, alone, without the man, she would never see him or freedom again. It was a scenario that she didn't want to be true but was, nonetheless, very true. The man set off through the hordes of people, straight for the whore house in front of him. He sidestepped around people and moved through openings that he had to sideslip through, the whole time keeping his eyes on the building in front of him. Larisa was right behind him and went through every hole he made as he pushed his way through the people. Most of the people didn't notice he was moving through them and those that did were too stoned or drunk to care or even do anything except fall over as he offset their balance. He didn't get more than halfway across the street when he felt a tug on his arm. He thought it was Larisa at first but when he felt the strength of the tug he knew it wasn't. He stopped and turned around to see a man standing in front of him, a pistol by his side, a toothpick in his mouth, sunglasses covering his eyes, and a clean suit. He was definitely the pimp that the barkeep called.

"I thought pimps wore flashy colors," the man said as he looked at the pimp's rather dull suit.

"This is good enough," he began, the street accent heavy on his mouth. "The barkeep called me and told me what's going on. I'm fine wit it, I don't like the dirt bag anyway but harm my girl and I'll harm you," he said as he looked over the top of his glasses, adjusting the toothpick in his mouth.

"Fine by me," the man said as he looked at Larisa out of the corner of his eye. The pimp noticed her and gave a smirk to her as well.

"She with you?"

"Yeah."

"She for sale?"

"No."

"Pity. Go do your business and get out of there," he said as he turned around and walked off, into the crowds.

The man and Larisa resumed their motion through the crowds, towards the whore house, finally reaching the steps after pushing through another two dozen people. Girls sat on the steps, calling out to guys, whistling at them, saying things like "Hey baby," "Come here and show me a good time," or "You want me? You can have me." They were all hideous and used goods, torn and ugly. They eyed the man and Larisa, her with disdain, him with dollar signs in their eyes. "Hey baby, you looking for a good time? Drop the bitch. I can show you fun." One of them said as he nodded and kept walking, ignoring her. He stepped into the building after sidestepping through them, Larisa next to him when he entered the door. "Your loss," the prostitute called from the steps as she lit a cigarette.

The inside of the whore house was something like a hotel. There was a main desk, comfy chairs all around, all of them occupied by girls. Men were coming and going through the rooms and up and down the stairs and some of them were just getting started while others were leaving. It was an overall hellish establishment. The man walked right up to the desk and eyed the unusually good looking girl behind it. She couldn't have been more than eighteen years old and she looked like she turned tricks herself although, in contrast to the rest of the women, she still looked like she had some decency left within her. "I'm looking for Silver," the man said and her eyes widened as she pulled the lollipop out of her mouth.

"Room 208." She said but without a smile on her face and without any sort of expression whatsoever. "Up the stairs," her voice trembled, "right. No left. Left. Third door."

"Easy girl," the man said with a comforting tone. He turned around and looked at Larisa and nodded for her to follow him as he walked up the stairs. The girl at the front desk watched him; her eyes fixed on him as he walked to the staircase and ascended the stairs. She followed him up he was out of her vision and even then she still looked towards the stairs. The stairs were old, wooden, and rickety, creaking as he ascended them, towards the second floor. There was a small balcony with two prostitutes on them, looking around, eyeing him and the girl as they ascended. They all looked at Larisa with hatred, mainly because she was free and they were slaves. She followed closely, eyeing the women back with the same level of disdain and loathing that she received herself. The man was oblivious to them as he walked up to the door and stood there, quietly. He motioned for Larisa to wait for him as he put his ear up to the door. It wasn't a particularly thick door, thin enough that he could hear quite well, although he wished he had never done so. The sounds from the room were all too commonplace for an establishment such as the one they entered.

Layarteb

11-11-2007, 02:28

The man reached down to his side and pulled out his pistol. He held it in his right hand, barrel pointed to the ceiling, and ejected the magazine into his left hand. Then he inspected the rounds, counted a full clip, and tilted the pistol down, slid in the magazine, and tilted the pistol over, the magazine sliding and locking into place in one motion. He held it back up again with the barrel pointed to the ceiling, and pulled the slid back just enough to see if a round was loaded. There was and so he cocked back the hammer and, with a swift kick to the door, just to the left of the door knob, battered in the door.

The shriek let out from the prostitute was enough to cause the man to double over in pain but he didn't. Instead, he pointed the pistol right at the man lying on the bed, who had tried to scamper away but couldn't. Instead, he was lying right underneath the prostitute and she was reaching for the covers to hide herself from the intruder. Throughout the house, women screamed and shrieked when they saw what had happened. The man looked at the prostitute and motioned with his head for her to leave, "Take off." She didn't wait around to find out and ran off, stark naked, her clothes left behind. Larisa tried not to look as she ran off, down the hall, towards some place unknown. "Your name Silver?"

"So what if it is. You know you got a real problem on your hands man, I was in the middle of the something!"

"She was faking it." He didn't let the man get in another word. He was a skinny, punk-like character with a Mohawk who was still wearing his leather vest and his cowboy boots but little else. He didn't have time to reach for his own gun before a pair of bullets ripped right into his chest, killing him instantly, leaving a pool of blood in the bed. The gunshots echoed loud enough to be heard even outside but nobody skipped a beat except for the prostitutes in the house and those on the steps outside. At the front desk, the girl jumped nearly out of the chair at the sound of the gunshots and knew that it was done. Outside, the pimp, standing next to the building only smiled as he heard the two, piercing shots, which left a ringing in the man's ears. Larisa nearly fell off the balcony when the shots echoed out of the open door. "Asshole," he said, putting away his pistol, looking around the room. He saw little of use and closed the door behind him as he took off his overcoat. He rested it on the chair and picked up a small duffle bag on the side of the room, unzipping it and spilling its contents of skimpy lingerie on the floor. He threw it on the bed next to the dead man and went about searching around the room for something adequate to saw off the dead man's head. He couldn't find anything and, instead, would have to use his own knife. He didn't want to but he had no other choice and time was running out as the sun began to set on the horizon. He reached down and grabbed the man's Mohawk, lifting his head into the air as he thrust his knife down, into his neck, sawing his way around the bone. His knife was certainly sharp enough for the task but it wouldn't slice through without effort and it took strength and a lot of circular motion around instead of just a single direction of cut. When he finally pulled the head free, he threw it in the duffle bag, the blood having already stained the bed and the floor. He would leave the headless body there as he zipped up the duffle bag, wiped the blood from his knife blade on the bed sheets, put it back away, and put on his overcoat. Good enough, he said to himself as he opened the door and stepped out, adjusting his color. "Come on," he said to Larisa as he walked towards the steps. Everyone was afraid now and the girls that had remained were trembling in fear.

He walked up to the girl at the front desk and smiled to her. "What's your name?" She couldn't answer him. "It's okay, what's your name?" The pimp had already left the steps and was in the middle of the crowd.

She gave a half-hearted smile and opened her mouth but no words came out of it at first. "Jessie."

"I like that name. Listen Jessie, it's messy in there. Don't go in there. Alright?"

"Ok." She said with a nod as he left the whore house and set off for the bar, across the street, Larisa in tow. The pimp, again, stopped him halfway across the crowd.

"You left my girl alone. I thank you for that and I can see you're a respectable man."

"Thank you," he said to the pimp, holding the duffle bag tight. "I left the body for you though."

"The barkeep is responsible for paying me for that. You've done well."

The pimp disappeared again and the man continued towards the bar, entering it without much resistance from the crowds. As the night came, they would thin, take refuge under roofs, drink away, and get stoned. The man walked into the main entrance bar and took the sharp left, down the dusty and dirty stairs, to the basement, where the bar was. The noise echoed even up to the main level and the street and, when he got to the bottom of the steps, he took a right turn and stepped into the bar. He didn't have much time to waste and went right up to the barkeep. "We should talk," he said and the barkeep couldn't suppress the smile on his own face as he saw the duffle bag.

"You've done my deed?"

"I have. Let's talk," the barkeep motioned for him to come back and, again, he did, Larisa following, quiet as usual.

He followed the disgusting barkeep to the office again and plopped the duffle bag on the office desk, only to have the barkeep yank it away and bring it over to the sink. "I don't want a mess in here." He said as he opened the bag and looked at the head, the horrific look of terror staring up at him, both eyes nearly rolled fully back, and an open mouth. "Yes you have done well," he said as he zipped the bag back up and left it in the sink, waddling back over to the desk.

"So where's Trilogy?"

"Easy now," the barkeep said as he sat down in the chair, it again screaming in agony under the weight.

"Renege on our deal and I promise you, you won't be happy."

"I'll uphold my word but I want to talk more about this girl of yours."

"What is more to talk about, she's not on the table. She isn't for sale."

"Why not?" He asked as he leaned back and began to pick his fingernails, which were overgrown and filled with crud. "She seems like excess baggage to you and she hardly speaks, what good can she be to you?"

"Insurance."

"Insurance," Larisa shot him a look as the barkeep repeated his words.

"She's going to make sure I get what I want. After that, she's no use to me."

"No use you say?" His eyes widened as he bought the lies. "Perhaps then we can make a deal?"

"Perhaps. Until then, she isn't for sale."

"Just make sure she isn't tainted when you bring her back," the barkeep said with assertion as he let go of the letter opener he was using to pick his nails clean.

"Where's Trilogy?"

"He's not here. Right now. He sometimes comes in but I know where to find him. Outside you'll see these crowds, no? When you left, take a right and head off to the distance to a yellow building, it used to be a school, you'll see the sign still on it. When you get there, go inside and you'll find him in the basement, if he isn't outside."

"How will I know it's him?"

"Well, the name is his legacy. He has a tattoo on his forehead that says, 'Trilogy,' easily recognizable. If he isn't here by now, he's there."

"Good. Thank you, pleasure doing business with you." He got up with Larisa and left the office, the hallway, and the bar and returned back to the surface, where the crowds had thinned significantly. The sun was practically gone and the air temperature was just above freezing with the wind blowing but still cold otherwise. "Alright, we're going to find him, get what I need, and get out of here."

"Good, I hate this place."

"We'll get you a book or two though. There has to be some in the school." He winked as he pulled his overcoat around his body and walked off, towards the right, as the barkeep said. He didn't know, exactly, how far he would have to travel but he imagined that he wouldn't have to go too far. He did, sort of, remember the school being there from when he had been in the town during the war but he didn't remember the specifics anymore.

Layarteb

11-11-2007, 08:23

Sanctuary was the type of place where no one would notice anyone else if they didn't already know them. People kept to themselves and went about their business. So it was no surprise when Larisa and the man started walking down the darkened, narrowing, and dirty street, away from the center square, that no one noticed them. They were alone on the street, traversing its filth by themselves, walking close to each other to make sure that, should anything occur, they wouldn't be caught off guard or too far away from each other to help. It was that type of street, a dirty, filthy, and darkened abyss where anything could happen, regardless of who you were.

The man almost felt, on the hairs of his body, the presence of eyes, watching him and Larisa, as they moved through the street, towards the elementary school. There were buildings on either side of them, some tall, some just a story or two, all of them connected, seemingly, with few alleys. The few alleys that did exist were completely dark and very narrow, too narrow for two people to walk down them, side-by-side. They were the perfect ambush spots, which was why they steered far enough away from the alleys that they could see anyone coming, with enough time to react. If they walked too close to the sidewalk or even on it, they ran the risk of being ambushed with just tenths of a second worth of warning. Further out, into the street, they had additional time. However, there was a drawback to walking in the middle of the street, one that they had to cope with to avoid even further problems. The corrosive, caustic odors of the underground seeped up through every manhole cover and sewer grate and they did not want a repeat of what happened earlier. They were lucky that time, barging in on a relatively calm group of people, obviously not factional members. Factional members were highly territorial and would shoot any intruder quicker than they would have a conversation with them.

They had to, sort of, zigzag their way across the street, avoiding getting too close to the alleyways, too close to the manhole covers, and too close to the curbs. There was, in effect, no way to totally avoid everything and within a full block, their eyes were watering from the corrosive odors that penetrated the air. Still, as they did, the man had the faintest idea that someone was watching them and he wasn't entirely sure who it was, where they were, or why. Sanctuary was a confusing town so the why could have been anything. The who was important. He needed to know if they were watching him or if they were watching Larisa. She had been eyed by every man and woman since they had entered Sanctuary as a piece of meat that could be abused or controlled and he didn't appreciate it one bit, although neither did she. The where was also equally important since he would need to know to counterattack them, should they choose to make a move.

The first block went painfully as they accidentally came too close to a sewer grate on the side of the street. Their eyes were watery by the end of the block. The block was eerily quiet and that wasn't a good sign. Both of them could feel it, on their skin, the sensation crawling up their bodies. Who's out there? The man thought to himself as they entered the second block. Had the barkeep set them up? He couldn't know for sure, not unless something did happen and he didn't entirely trust the barkeep more than he could throw him. Given the barkeep's weight, he couldn't throw him more than a few inches, if even that far. They passed now to the second block, keeping their pace as he adjusted his hood to allow him to see better but still stay warm underneath its protective layers of fabric. Where are you? He willed the silence again as he looked around, left to right, scanning the street in front of him for any movement or any sign of life. He knew that, within the confines of the buildings around them, that there were people. Whether or not they were looking out, into the street, he couldn't tell. It was too dark and unless their eyes glowed, he would never see them. Occasionally, he could see a flicker here and there of a fire but it was always in the distance and always at an odd angle. That was the best way to stay warm in Sanctuary since there wasn't any electricity.

Midway down the second block, the man paused and grabbed Larisa by the arm. He put his finger to his mouth to tell her to keep quiet and he listened, his ears picking up the sounds around him. He thought that he had heard a crunching sound, something entirely unnatural although barely audible. It came from his left side and he waited and listened, listening for whatever was out there, looking to the left as he did, his right hand on his pistol, ready to draw it and fight an unseen enemy, should it be necessary. Yet, he stood there for two minutes, not moving, barely breathing, silent as the dead, and never saw or heard either a figure or the sound. You're good. Too good. But I'm going to get you. He thought to himself as he resumed walking. "What was it?" Larisa asked.

"Nothing, I thought I heard something. It was nothing, just my mind playing tricks on me." He said, loud enough for anyone listening to hear him, which was done on purpose. He wanted whoever was out there to think he wasn't under the impression that they were being followed, so he or she would lower their guard.

Yes. You are. The man and Larisa walked away, towards the end of the street as a pair of eyes set in behind them, at least a dozen or so paces. The figure licked his lips as he squinted, zooming in, sort of, on both Larisa and the man. I'm coming for you both, he thought as he inched closer, using the shadows and alleyways to hide as he got closer and closer to them. You are my dinner, he thought with an internal, sinister laugh as he darted to another alleyway. He was skilled and adept, careful not to step on anything that would give him away. He made the mistake of accidentally stepping on a broken glass bottle, its crunching sound echoing into the night. He had shot into an alleyway and laid down, on the ground, carefully inching up to the edge of the alleyway, just enough to put his eyes out and look. His brain rearranged the image so that he would see it more clearly. He had a sort of night vision about his eyes, something gained from the years and years of living only when the sun went down. Whenever the sun was up, he was hiding, hiding in the darkened niches of Sanctuary. He belonged to the Hunter class of people inhabiting the Neatherealm. However, unlike most of them, he wasn't a cannibal although he was just as vile. He preyed on people in Sanctuary, mostly Loners who had come there just to find life elsewhere. Most of his victims were males, simply because the number of females in Sanctuary only included the prostitutes and they weren't his flavor. Instead, he liked to prey on the weak, those that couldn't resist. When he first eyed Larisa, he eyed her as a delicacy. She wasn't a prostitute and he could tell this because she was way too clean. However, this man with her, he couldn't pinpoint him yet. He saw the weapons, the shotgun and the pistol but he didn't know what to make of him. He didn't know yet if he was skilled or not. When the man stopped and turned around looking after the sound of crunching glass echoed into the air, the Hunter knew, all too well, that it wouldn't be an easy kill. Still though, the sound was loud and anyone listening could hear it, especially in the silence of the street.

He waited now, in the alleyway, waiting for his prey to get a little further away from him before he would come back out of the shadows and move towards the couple, stalking them like an animal on the prowl. Tasty. He thought to himself as he eyed Larisa once more, her slender body ahead of him, her walk hypnotizing him. Yes. You're a woman. Not a filthy whore. He thought to himself as he moved closer and closer, staying low, using dumpsters, debris, and alleyways to hide as he inched closer and closer to them. With his breath held, the Hunter was a silent machine, walking closer and closer towards his fulfillment for the evening.

He wouldn't eat either of them, he wasn't a cannibal. However, he was a fiend of nature. He had few women under his belt, in so far as his victims were concerned. Those that he did kill he liked to torture, to keep them alive just long enough for him to do what he pleased with them. Then, he would kill them but death wouldn't give them reprieve from his atrociously wayward mind. The man he would just kill, rather than keep around. Women were a delicacy to him and he wanted to enjoy this one. The man was just an obstacle in his way and he wouldn't be deprived of his pleasure.

Larisa kept close to the man as they walked down the street, past the next block, entering the fourth one. "How much further is it?"

"Who knows? I think the barkeep just sent us on a wild goose chase. Someone is following us but don't make a sound and don't give it away. I want him to come closer, so I can kill him," he whispered to Larisa.

Now what did you say, the Hunter thought to himself as he saw the man lean down to whisper something to Larisa. He couldn't hear or make out what was said. Perhaps they're intimate, he thought to himself. Either way, he wasn't going to be deprived of his pleasure.

"What do you mean?" Larisa whispered back, her nerves beginning to take off within her body. Her heart began to beat faster and her body temperature instantly rose a few degrees.

"Someone is following us. Maybe the barkeep set us up? I don't know what's going on except be ready to hit the ground if I said so, alright?"

"Alright."

No. Don't whisper. Come on. Tell me what you tell her. He thought to himself. He was just a few feet away from them, hiding in the shadows of another alleyway, having used the darkness of them to move this close without being noticed. He knew the area well, too well. He could use the back alleyways now to get ahead of the two of them, to allow him to get to their side, to come out and attack. He would attack from the left, striking the man first, getting him out of the way while he chased down and mutilated the girl. That was his desire, the girl. The man was just an obstacle to him. Please. Will it to me. He said to himself as he took off on a sprint, down the alleyway, behind the buildings, moving to get ahead of the two of them as they neared the end of the fourth block.

"Hear that?"

"No. What do you hear?" Larisa asked, baffled that he heard something she didn't.

"Someone's moving. Over there," he pointed to the building ahead and to the left of them. "Yeah. Someone is moving through an alleyway or something behind there."

"Are they?"

"Yes."

"So what are you going to do?" They continued to whisper.

"I'm going to kill him. Here. Get a little bit further away, over there a little to the right."

"Why? What if there are two of them and they're trying to distract you?"

Clever girl, the man thought. "No. That isn't the case I don't see that happening."

"What do you mean you 'don't see that happening' you don't see shit."

"Shut up and just do what I say," he pulled his knife from his belt and walked forward. He couldn't see too far in front of him because of the darkness but he suspected that there would be another alleyway ahead of them. Whoever was on their tail would definitely jump out and he knew that he was the primary target, he was the one that could defend her and he doubted anyone was after him, specifically. Sanctuary wasn't the place to ignore free women roaming through its streets. Yes. You're after her aren't you? The man thought to himself.

That's it. Just a little bit more. Cautious aren't you. I can hear your footsteps. Oh not long now. The hunter thought as he assumed his attacking position. He crouched down in the alleyway, hiding in its darkness, his eyes seeing ahead of him in brightness that wasn't natural. His vision had honed itself sharply over the years of nocturnal living. He couldn't remember the last time that he saw daylight and he didn't think it was that close in the past either but rather far, far, far away. He didn't care, he was about to have a pleasure that few could say they had in the Neatherealm. His mouth was already salivating with the thoughts of torture, rape, and necrophilia. That's it. Just a little bit more. He thought again as he could hear the footsteps. He wished for some light though, light enough to see the shadows.

Larisa was walking now in the middle of the street, far enough into it that the Hunter would have to dart out pretty far to get to her. The man, on the other hand, was on the sidewalk, next to the buildings, skulking in, his knife in his hand, ready to strike. He was, in essence, using Larisa as bait and she was just a step ahead of him. Anyone coming out, after her, would run out and practically run into him, meaning that they would be startled and he would be ready. It was a plan he had hatched momentarily before they had gotten to this point.

Oh. I hear you. The Hunter thought now as he could hear Larisa's soft footsteps getting closer and closer. His mind clouded over with images of what he would do to her and how he would do what he wanted to do. Yes. He thought maliciously as his eyes widened. There you are but where? He thought as he saw Larisa cross in front of him, far enough into the street that he couldn't simply dart out after her. He was confused though. The man had been at her side and now, he wasn't there. How did…

Layarteb

11-11-2007, 08:24

"Get out here," the man yelled as he reached in with his hand, grabbing someone. He felt before he saw and his grip locked in on a shirt or some article of clothing as he pulled forward. The knife was raised, in the air, ready to come down and strike and he ripped the figure towards him, tackling him to the ground as he did. What the fuck? He thought to himself as he saw the Hunter on the ground, dazed and confused but poised to fight back. He dove down, avoiding an attempt by the Hunter to kick out his legs. He would fight back and the man knew it, he expected it from this fiend.

"She's mine," the Hunter said with a snarly voice as Larisa stood, petrified at what was transfixing in front of her. Both the man and the Hunter were fighting on the ground, punching and kicking each other. The man still held his knife firm, locked in his hands by a powerful grip that couldn't be broken. The fight continued as both men struggled on the ground each one trying to get the upper hand until, finally, it was broken when the man managed to get a strike in with his blade. He caught, through a skillfully executed move, the Hunter's shoulder blade, slicing a clean gash through it and out to his left arm. The Hunter roared in pain, which gave the man enough time to fling him off, with enough force to throw him into the building. The man stood and dove forward now, tomahawking into the man with even more power. He drove up with the hilt of the knife, aiming right for the chin of the Hunter, pushing his whole head back, into the brick wall behind him. The blow was enough to distort the Hunter's vision. Everything went suddenly blurry as the man stood in front of him. The Grim Reaper. The Hunter thought to himself as the man landed a kick into his chest. He knew he had lost the fight. He had picked the wrong man to attack and the wrong women to stalk. Pleasure not tonight, he looked up at the man. "Have mercy upon me." He said with a low voice, enough for the man to hear him.

"Who are you?" The man halted a powerful kick that would have driven the Hunter's head into the brick one last time. It would be a fatal blow but he saw fit to hold off on it, for now. "What do you want?"

"Her." He said, pointing to Larisa, who stood, paralyzed, in the middle of the street, holding herself tight. "She is what I want."

"Why?"

"Pleasure," he said with a smile, blood dripping from his mouth. "Pleasure."

"Pleasure? You're another sicko. Too bad." The man decided against mercy and continued the blow. It drove his head so hard against the brick wall that his skull fractured. The swelling was instant but death was slow, very slow. He remained unable to move, his head bleeding in torrents as the man crouched down in front of him. "You picked the wrong person to fuck with." He said as he put his knife away and smirked. "You hunt for pleasure. I hunt for bloodlust." He said as the Hunter smiled. It would be the last smile he ever had. Paralyzed and unable to move, the Hunter merely sat there, bleeding away, dying as the man turned around and walked over to Larisa.

"Is he dead?"

"Soon. Soon. Come on."

"Soon? Wait, he's not dead yet?" She looked back as he began to walk away, his arm around her lower back, urging her to move forward. Instead, she was looking at the Hunter, lying still against the wall, blood dripping out of the back of his head, slowly dying. "He could come after us if he isn't dead?"

"No. Don't worry. He won't be moving." He smiled but she didn't see him. He was pleased with what he had done to the Hunter. "He definitely won't be moving."

"Why? You said he isn't dead."

"He's got some neck problems," he had hit him so hard he cracked several of his vertebrae. The wall helped too and the immense power he used in all of his blows put the Hunter in a paralyzed state as he bled to death, his brain swelling inside of his fractured skull. It was a miracle he was even still alive but he wouldn't be for too long. "Come on, I see the yellow building ahead of us."

"Where?" That immediately diverted her attention away from the dying Hunter and to the front, where they were walking. "That?" She pointed to an ominous yellow building about four blocks in front of them, at the end of the street.

"Yes. That one. That's the one. I remember it now, that's it. We'll find Trilogy in there."

"And what'll he tell us?"

"He's going to tell me where to find that son of a bitch that I'm here to kill."

"And is Trilogy like the Sergeant? Are you going to cut his head off too?"

"No. I don't intend to."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Come on. Let's hurry, it's cold here and I don't doubt this speck of dirt is a drug addict. This whole place smells like the worst opium in the world."

"It sure smells awful. I can't even breathe."

"Me either." They continued to walk towards the yellow building that was in front of them. It was about four floor highs and it was shaped rather rectangularly. It had a flag pole atop its roof but there wasn't any flag affixed to it. At one time it had held the flag of the Empire, flying high, blowing gallantly in the wind but not anymore. Instead, its windows were boarded up, its exterior covered in spray paint, and its steps lined with trash. "Just a little bit further," he said as they neared the building.

"Looks like a pure hellhole doesn't it?" Larisa remarked as they stopped in front of the building, her eyes surveying it from bottom to top. "A real hellhole." The windows were boarded up, spray paint was all over its exterior, garbage and debris covered the steps, and the doors were barricaded shut with thick, metal chains. It would take a bulldozer to go through the front door but neither of them had that option. Instead, they were going in through a different way, a way that presented itself rather well. "Where are you going?"

"If I remember correctly, there's a way in underneath the steps, right, yeah, here it is." He said as he found a beat-up, metal door. The steps themselves were ten feet high but, at the bottom of them, against the side of the building, was an entrance. "Yeah. Here we go," he kicked the door in hard, denting its aluminum composition, bending the bolts that locked it into place but, otherwise, kicked the door freely in, allowing him to enter. It didn't make much of a sound, primarily because the door never got a chance to hit anything. "We're in," he commented as he looked into the darkened corridor.

Layarteb

13-11-2007, 03:20

Chapter IV
Corrosive Desires

"Revenge is an inhuman word."

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Infernal/11-chapter04.jpg

The corridor the entrance put them into was small and narrow. Just two feet wide and six and a half feet tall, it was more an accessway than a main entrance. "How did you remember this?" Larisa asked as they stepped into the darkness.

"Shut the door behind you" he said as both of them were fully engulfed in the darkness of the accessway. "Got a flashlight?" He asked, realizing that there was no light around them.

"Actually," she said with a smirk though he couldn't see. "I do." She fumbled around in her backpack for a moment as they stopped. "Here," she handed over a small flashlight, powered by batteries that were fully charged.

"Wouldn't think have been helpful in the street earlier?" He said as he flicked it on and shone the light right on her.

"Sorry, didn't think about it," she said. He shrugged his face and turned around, looking forward now into the concrete accessway. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, everything was concrete except for a series of black pipes on the right wall. They led from somewhere to somewhere else, traveling the length of the wall as far as he could see, bending to the right around a curve. He followed them as he turned the curb. "What's that smell?" A horrific odor pumped up, through the accessway, something reminiscent of a sewer.

"Sewage I guess, that's at least what it smells like." They continued onward, through the concrete accessway, around another turn, this one leading them directly underneath the actual building. It took a few steps down after about three steps and then continued straight for a good length of time. The pipes on the right continued to guide their way. It was surprisingly warm in there but that wouldn't make it any less discomforting than it was. "Wow this goes on forever," the man commented as they made another turn and saw another long, straight run, which ended in the distance with yet another turn. "I think we're just going in circles or something," he joked as they made the next turn. Thus far there had been no ways out of the accessway, which just went on and on and on, turning her and there, snaking underneath the school and the exterior yard until, finally, they came to a ladder. The accessway kept going, further out, in the yard itself. "Finally," the man remarked with a sigh of relief as he looked at the black, metal ladder. It went up, through the ceiling and through a concrete shaft, no more than two and a half feet in diameter, just wide enough for a person to fit, very uncomfortably through it. Rising a good twenty feet in the air, he looked up at the shaft and shined the light towards the top of it, which revealed a metal grating. "That's the way." He said as he turned off the flashlight and put it in his mouth. "Come on," he mumbled as he took hold of the ladder and began to ascend it.

The ladder was in surprisingly decent condition for such a decrepit and worn down town. It didn't budge as he ascended its rungs, inching further and further into the shaft, towards the rusty and obviously disgusting metal grating at the top of the shaft. When he finally did reach the top, he stopped and mumbled down to Larisa, "Hold up." She couldn't understand him but she stopped anyway, thinking that he was close to the top. She was a good three feet underneath him and couldn't see much as there was very little, if any, light coming down through the grating and past his body.

"Okay," she whispered, figuring it was the best answer to give. He didn't hear her as he took the flashlight out of his mouth, listening with his right ear, his left hand holding him on the ladder. He couldn't hear anything and after two minutes, he decided that it was no use sitting there all night, waiting to hear something. He flicked the flashlight on and inspected the grating, trying to see if it was being held on with bolts or screws, which would have made their entire journey useless. The quick inspection revealed nothing and he smiled as he turned the flashlight off, sticking it back in his mouth. With his free, right hand, he pushed the grate upwards, looking down as rust and dirt flaked off the grating.

"Watch out," he mumbled again but Larisa didn't understand him and never averted his gaze. Rust flakes fell down, tangling themselves in her hair and dancing on her face like raindrops. She looked down just in time as a piece of rust nearly landed in her eye. The grate hadn't been moved in years and it seemed as if half of it came off in the flake shower. He tried to be gentle but it was too heavy and he didn't have the proper footing to be as gentle as he wanted. He did, however, manage to push the grate into the air and slide it along the floor, giving them an exit out of the shaft. He pulled the flashlight back out of his mouth and whispered down to Larisa, "Okay?"

"Fine." She said, still not looking up at him, fearing more flakes.

"Okay," he stuck the top of his head out of the shaft and gave a real quick scan around the room. It was the boiler room and it was empty. Still, he wasn't fully satisfied and the cautious side of him shone the flashlight into every corner and crevice of the room. Finally, he didn't see anyone and he ventured upwards, climbing out of the shaft and putting his feet on the concrete floor. "Come on," he whispered down to her as he reached down with his left hand, to help her out of the shaft. The room was dark and very warm. "Boilers on," he commented to himself, aloud as he hoisted her out of the shaft. "Here, help me with the grate, watch out." He said, handing her the flashlight as he picked it up now, with both hands, and put it back over the shaft, covering it up so that nobody would think anyone came into the school unwanted and unannounced. "Alright," he said putting it back and taking the flashlight from her.

"Why is the boiler on?"

"I don't know. People really must live here."

"But how many?"

"Don't know. I don't hear any voices, do you?"

"No." Larisa said, "I hope it isn't a faction den."

"A what?"

"There are these places I've heard about here, in Sanctuary, where the factions hide out, like safe houses and stuff. They call them dens. I hope this isn't one of them."

"Well, I wouldn't put it past that sleazeball of a barkeep to not put us into one for shits and giggles."

"What if it is one?"

"Stay close to me and remember how to get back here." He eyed the door, "See this" He said, walking over to and putting his hand on a large, metal beam that could lay across the door. "Get into her and put this down. Then get down in that sewer and run!"

"Okay." She said as he walked back over to the boiler. "What's powering it?"

"I don't know but I have a feeling that this room is frequented. That beam isn't down, meaning that there is access from the outside and see those bottles?"

"Yeah."

"They've got stuff in them." He walked over towards them but backed away real quick. "Damn they aren't full of liquor."

"What are they full of?"

"Someone's piss. Come on. Let's get the hell out of here."

"Alright, right behind you." He walked back over to the door and turned off the flashlight, putting it away, in his pocket. He put his hand on the door handle and gave it a slow turn to the right, unlocking the door. The lock and lever mechanism was in need of oiling as it grinded underneath his hand, squeaking a little as he turned it. The door unlocked and he slowly pulled it inwards, the way it opened but only enough that he could look out without sticking his whole body out of the door.

"Quiet," he whispered as he opened it further, looking both ways down the corridor. "We're in the basement. I don't see anyone so come on." He said as he exited the room, waiting for her to follow, closing the door behind him. "Alright, just stay calm." He said as he pulled out his pistol and released the safety. He pulled out the flashlight again and held it in his left hand as he placed his right hand solely on the grip of the pistol. He flicked it on again and began to walk down the hallway, slowly, the sights of the pistol bridged perfectly. They would bounce around as he walked but he aimed to keep them entirely in line and he didn't necessarily look down the sights of the pistol as he walked either. He kept his eyes pointed in the direction of the pistol and with just a minor shift of the focal point of his eyes, he could bridge the sights perfectly and fire but he kept both of his eyes open and lined up in front of him.

Layarteb

15-11-2007, 06:49

Steam rose all around them as they walked through the hallway of the basement, away from the boiler room. Behind them, the boiler kicked on and began to pump more steam throughout the piping systems of the building. Had the man or Larisa felt one of the pipes in the sewer corridor, they would have known that the boiler was on as they were warm. That contributed to the warmth of the underground corridor. They approached the end of the hallway rather quickly and though they had been walking cautiously and slowly the whole time, they were in front of yet another door sooner than they had imagined. Now, the two of them were staring at another door, up a flight of four steps. "Alright, wait here." He said as he climbed up the steps and put his ear to the door. He listened for one minute, then two minutes and heard nothing to indicate that whatever was on the other side of the door contained active life. "Alright, quiet." He whispered as he put the flashlight back in his pocket and put his left hand on the door handle.

Like the boiler room door, when he turned the handle, it ground the gears inside and yet out a shrill of grinding metal and sliding metal. Inside of its mechanism, rust trickled and flaked off, falling all around, contributing to the resistance that he felt as he twisted the handle to the right. Regardless of the condition of the door handle, the door opened and pulled inwards. Careful to raise the pistol again, the man slowly opened the door and though he was trying to minimalize the amount of sound that it echoed, there was no way to make it completely silent. The door hinges were just as rusted and just as worn out and the door creaked and cried as he opened it inward, towards himself. He opened it just enough that he could get his head through without opening the door too much. Because the door opened his way, someone would have to pull against him to slam the door shut and he would have ample time to withdraw his head, if necessary.

Carefully, the man peaked in just enough to see that he was opening the door to a stairwell. Immediately, on the bottom of it, he couldn't see anyone or anything but garbage and debris. Satisfied that it was safe to enter, he pulled out the flashlight and resumed the way he was holding both the flashlight and the pistol. He pulled the door open more, enough now to fit his whole body through, and he stepped upwards and forwards, planting his right foot on the bottom of the stairwell. He stepped in with the rest of his body next and slowly walking forward, the flashlight off, his pistol and his eyes pointing upwards. He tried his best not to give off any sound as he stepped forward but there was no avoiding it. Underneath his shoes crunched broken glass, crinkled paper, and who knew what else. The stairwell smelled horribly of human waste and he tried his best not to breathe any of it in as he looked upwards, towards the top of the stairwell, which extended several floors upwards, probably to the roof of the building.

His eyes stung from the smell but his ears caught sound, a sound that he had not heard when he put his ear to the door earlier. It was a dull sound, well off in the distance but a sound that meant one thing, that there was life within the building. The sound was the echo of music, far off in the distance and barely audible. He couldn't tell what kind of music it was or even how far away it was or on what floor but it echoed into the stairwell in trickles. If there were words he wouldn't know, all he could hear was the muffled beat of whatever was playing. People are here, he thought to himself as he looked up at the stairwell again, blinking to avoid the stinging smell. He realized though, soon enough that the stairwell was empty and that sitting around, down there, would do them no good. "Alright, come on, and just shut the door." He said as he took his first steps up the staircase, which ascended eight steps, made a ninety degree turn to the left, ascended eight more steps, made another left turn, and continued, repeating the pattern the whole way up, towards the roof. Larisa did as he said, quietly and without asking any questions. Soon, she joined up with the man who was already eight steps up the stairwell and continuing, the music getting louder as he ascended.

"This is no stairway to heaven," Larisa joked, trying to ease the tension that she felt, climbing up the stairs, towards an unknown that neither of them wanted to be trouble.

"No, no it isn't." He remarked as he came to a door at the first level, after ascending sixteen steps. "There's a door here. I guess this is the basement. We were in the subbasement or something." He said, looking at the large, painted, white "B" on the door. Though the paint was wearing off and the door itself was covered in filth, the "B" was still plainly visible. Next to the door handle, on the right of the door, was a thin, rectangular window pane, glass with reinforced mess in the middle of it. It was tough to see through it though; garbage, filth, mud, dirt, and who knew what else covered the other side of it. It looked as if a bunch of monkeys in the zoo had a field day with the door on the other side but he couldn't really tell the full extent of the filth.

He put his eye to the only part that he could see through and he wasn't rewarded with any sort of indication of what was going on in the basement, where the music was coming from, and where there was life. "See anything?" Larisa asked. The man had slid against the wall and peaked only through the hole with his eye, the rest of his body remaining against the cold, concrete wall, Larisa just inches behind him.

"No. Just shadows. There's some fires in there though, I can see the shadows dancing around like flames. Maybe some of them are dancing, I can't tell. The window is filthy and it doesn't offer much of a view."

"Oh," she said with disappointment, hoping that whatever was on the other side was friendly. "Maybe we should skip it and just keep going. It's kind of cold and nasty down here."

"I know. We have to go in though, sorry." He said as he turned back to look at her. "You want to stay in here or hide back downstairs?"

"No. No." Her eyes widened. "Don't leave me alone, even if it's in there, I don't want to be alone here."

"Scared?" He asked. She was shivering from a combination of the cold and her nerves, which were on wits end, shaking her whole body as she thought about the inevitability that they would have to enter the basement level. "Look at you, you're shaking."

"I'm cold," she lied. She was cold just not cold enough to be shaking. "It's really cold here." He knelt down on the ground and pulled around his backpack. He opened the top of it and stuck his hand into its unusual warmth and sifted around for a few moments before he withdraw his hand, a pair of gloves in it.

"Here, take these. You're hands are looking blue," he said as he handed her the pair of gloves. They had come off a dead person but he wouldn't tell her that, she would get weird if he did.

"Thanks," she said, sliding them on her purplish hands. Her body was tired and over exhausted. "Alright, let's just hurry up; I can't stand around waiting here." She continued to lie. In truth, she wanted to go back to the boiler room, climb back down in the underground corridors, and get the hell out of there and Sanctuary. She figured though that the quicker they got through, the quicker they could leave. She had resolved herself to the fact that he probably wouldn't be convinced to just abandon his quest in Sanctuary so, rather than convince him to give up, she pushed him to hurry up, to get her out of their faster.

"Okay," he said as he put his hand on the handle of this door. It was cold and the metal was just as putrid looking as the rest of the door handles he had touched, thus far. He gave it a quick tug towards him and, surprisingly, the door opened rather smoothly and not as loudly as the others did. "Good, this one is quiet," he said as he heard and felt the latching mechanism of the door come free. "Stay here for now, okay?" She nodded but she didn't want to agree with him.

"Hurry up." She said as she continued to shiver. The man pulled the door open, which was towards him, just enough to peak through from his position against the wall of the stairwell. A powerful odor flooded out of the basement as well as a gust of heat as the warmer, higher pressure air rushed towards the colder, lower pressure air. He could see in better than before but still not as well as he wanted. He could see the shadows and the dancing flames against the walls but nothing else. The music was now clear and it was music that he despised, hardcore rap. He heard voices too. Someone was singing along, although badly, and a few others were talking amongst themselves. He couldn't see too well but he would actually be entered an "L" shaped area. He was standing at the bottom of the "L" and he would have to travel forward to take the left, into the rest of the "L."

He took a few steps in and motioned, with his hand, for Larisa to follow him. He kept his pistol and his flashlight out, in front of him, as he slowly and carefully walked forward, towards the left turn that was just twenty feet ahead of him. He kept closer to the left wall, which would allow him to remain hidden unless someone literally came around the corner. Because of the lack of lighting, he would cast no shadows but, instead, he could watch the shadows dancing off the far wall and the flickering flames that danced with the people. Filth on the doors, filth on the radio. He commented in his head as he approached the edge of the wall. Quickly and skillfully, he turned his body around and leaned to his right, sticking one eye around the edge. He could now look into the room and he saw five people, two of them sitting around a fire in the middle of the room, one half asleep on a beat up couch, one doing some sort of dance, and another sitting in the corner, facing away, doing something, he couldn't tell what though.

He could see plenty of guns and he knew that he wasn't going to annoy them but, at the same time, he knew that he had to find out where Trilogy was and, if these people could tell him, he would ask them. He decided to try to play it smoothly and he put his pistol in his holster and his flashlight away. "What are you doing?" Larisa whispered, the fright in her voice hitting his ears instantly.

Layarteb

17-11-2007, 05:07

"Just go along with this, alright? You can slap me later if you want." He grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him. "Hey guys," he said, startling all of them, even the one half-asleep on the couch. Most of them went to reach for their guns but, upon seeing the girl, they decided that this may not have been an attempt to rob or kill them. "Hey guys, I'm looking for 'Trilogy,' I got a present for him."

"Who are you?" The street accent echoed as the man who was dancing began to speak. "You with her?"

"No. I'm just dropping her off to him."

"Mmm mmm, she looks tasty." The man remarked as he looked her up and down. "She for sale?"

"No. She's one of Marcel's girls. Be careful. You know how he is," he made up the name but he figured that they wouldn't know each and every pimp in Sanctuary and he guessed right.

"Marcel huh? That's the guy over on the south end right?"

"Yeah," so far just the man who was dancing was talking. Now, he looked around at the rest of them.

"Yeah. I heard about him. Alright it's cool yo. So you're looking for Tril?"

"Yeah. Where can I find him?"

"He's upstairs on the second floor. Put in a good word aight?" He said as he motioned for them to lower their guns. Two had drawn and remained draw, their weapons pointing at the man. One of them happened to be the man half-asleep on the couch. "Yo, how much does she cost?"

"You gotta ask Marcel. I'm just a delivery agent."

"Aight. Good luck and damn tell Tril he's a lucky bitch."

"You got it," he smiled as he began to turn around. "Oh wait, one thing." He turned back around and looked at them with a sort of piercing glare. "What territory is this? I might have some people that, you know, aren't pleased with me." He laughed, jokingly.

"We're Dragons man," he said as he pulled up his left sleeve, revealing a rather large but well done tattoo of a dragon breathing fire.

"Aight I'm cool." He said back as he left the basement room and turned the corner, back for the stairs. "Who are the Dragons?" He asked Larisa as he returned back to the stairwell, pushing her the whole time, playing the role that he had written for himself.

Larisa wanted to slap him but, instead, she didn't. "Biker gang. Drug dealers mostly. I bet you they got this whole school as a big factory for drugs." They ascended the stairs, now towards the second floor. There's probably a ton of them here. Let's go. C'mon I hate it here."

"No. I'm sorry, we're this close. Let's just go talk to Trilogy and we can be out of here."

"Alright. Alright but hurry up, I'm really scared."

"Don't worry," he put his arm around her and they walked up to the door for the second floor. Just as Larisa expected, it was a giant drug factory. The smell of meth filled the air and they both winced from the sharp, caustic stench that they had smelled, all too well earlier, when they had stepped on the manhole cover. "God, maybe we should get out of here," he said as he put his shirt over his nose. He wished for a gas mask as they quickly moved through the main area and into a long hallway, with lockers and classrooms. There was activity in nearly every room and people standing around everywhere, most of them with masks on their faces, protecting them from the toxic chemicals and gasses that were in the air. The man stopped at the first door and peaked in, finding it nearly empty, he ducked into it, quickly, and looked around for something to put over his face, to avoid breathing anything in the air. He found a pair of fresh face masks that he ripped out of their plastic box. He threw one on right away and handed the other one to Larisa, who was almost crying from the odors. There were few windows open, unfortunately, and the floor was a den of toxicity.

Both of them ventured down the hallway, to the first people they saw and the man stopped. "Hey I'm looking for Trilogy. Where can I find him?" He asked a pair of men standing around, both of them nearly twice his size in both height and width. They were definitely bikers, he could tell, and they were definitely unhappy to see him there.

"Yeah and who might you be and how'd you get in here?" One of them said as he stepped towards the man, ready to pound him into the floor.

"Chill, chill. I'm here from Marcel. You see I got a present her for Trilogy. Her. She's fine ain't she but listen, I don't get paid if I'm dead and you know what happens when the pimps lose a girl."

"How do I know that's the truth?"

"C'mon. Look at her. You know there's no free women in Sanctuary."

"Alright. I tell you what. Because I don't want to get on Marcel's bad side here's what we're going to do. You two are coming with us, I smell a rat and I shoot both of you."

"It's cool." The man turned around and nodded to the other one, who fell in behind Larisa and the man and they began walking, towards the end of the hallway, where they simply turned to the right and continued walking, further down that hallway, towards a large office at the end of it. They walked mostly in silence except for when they made the turn.

"Where'd you get the masks?"

"Took them from one of the rooms. Sorry but I can't have my girl puking." The biker never responded and took them towards the office where he stopped. "Wait here."

"Alright."

"Yo, Tril." The biker said as he walked into the office, his friend standing watch over Larisa and her "escort." He didn't hear the rest of it but the biker returned a moment later and looked at the two of them. "Go in." He said as he assumed some sort of guard duty outside of the office. The man didn't ask questions but instead just walked into the office and shut the door behind him. It was the principle's office and it was pretty vast but a shit hole compared to what it was when the school was occupied.

"Come on in here," he heard a voice say from the far office as he and Larisa walked down another small hallway. "So Marcel sent you," the voice said as Larisa and the man neared the door. "He told," suddenly, he looked up and saw the man standing in front of him. He recognized him right away and so did the man. Both of them, in the instant of a half of a second, drew their pistols and pointed them at each other. Larisa shrieked and fell to the floor, out of the way. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you died?"

Layarteb

17-11-2007, 05:13

"Not a fat chance. I figured it was you but I didn't know it for sure, not until I came to this dive. What the fuck do you have going on here?"

"None of your business. What are you here to arrest me? You think that's going ot happen? I got a fucking army in this building!"

"Nah. I'm not here for that. Lower the pistol."

"Bullshit! That's just a trick. You lower yours asshole."

"Why so you can shoot me?"

"Fuck you!" Trilogy responded. He was a scrawny looking guy, filthy with the tattoo on his forehead. In the ashtray on the desk burned a cigarette that he had been smoking and he had a wad of cash next to him. He intended to either count it or give it to someone. The office was large, large enough for a few dozen people but, with all the filth and clutter, who knew how many people it could really hold, comfortably. "Come on dickhead why are you here?"

"I'm looking for someone. You. And I found him!"

"You know one yell and you're dead." Larisa was crying on the floor, unable to take the tension. "You know that right?"

"What you think those two could stop me? I'll break their necks before your heart takes another beat. Lower the gun, I'm not here for you. I want someone else!"

"Who?"

"You know who," he began to lower his pistol and Trilogy began to do the same, sensing the sincerity in his voice. "I'm not with the government anymore. I'm a freelancer."

"Yeah, I don't believe it. Who's she?"

"A pain in my fucking ass, get up and stop crying, everything's alright." He said as he holstered his pistol and took a seat. "You know this is a funny predicament."

"What is?"

"Me turning to you for help."

"You can say that again. Cigarette?"

"Please." He took the cigarette being offered by Trilogy and the match and inhaled as Larisa wiped her tears away and sat down in another chair. "This is Larisa. Larisa. Meet Mark."

"Pleasure."

"What are you two friends?" She said sarcastically, annoyed that the exchange did the full one eighty that it did, playing with her emotions.

"We served together in the war but this piece of shit betrayed me," the man said as he pointed to Mark with the cigarette in his hand. "You see this fucker gave me out to command and told them that I was fighting against the government."

"You were," he said.

"No. I was with the government. You know who was fucking us over?"

"Who? Please tell me."

"Williams."

"Williams? That prick?"

"Yes. Williams. I found him here too. You can probably buy his head off the black market."

"You're shitting me?" Trilogy took a puff of his cigarette and let out a steady stream of smoke.

"No. I'm not. How do you think I knew you were here?"

"Well. What do you want then?"

"I want him."

"Why? Haven't you let it go by now?"

"No. I haven't. I want him and I want his head and I want it now."

"Alright. Easy there. Listen. You know he's here but you can't get near him. He's in the center."

"I know he is. I want to know how to get him and I want help."

"Help? You have to be kidding me."

"No. I'm not. I want him dead and I don't care what I have to do to achieve that."

"C'mon listen to yourself."

"What? Do I sound irrational to you? You know what he fucking did to me? Twice!"

"Yeah, yeah I know. Listen, you think you can get to him? You're wrong."

"Why? Why are you telling me this? Why did Williams say the same fucking thing?"

"Why? You really don't know do you? How long have you been here?"

"Obviously not long enough." He said as he leaned back with disgust, frustrated at the resistance Trilogy was giving him. "Why don't you tell me?"

"I have to. I may hate your ass but I think I should warn you first. If what you say is true and you did not betray us then I owe you an apology. For now, let this tidbit be a peace offering, alright?"

"Deal. Speak. I'm getting bored."

"The man you seek is basically," Trilogy began. In the distance, ironically, thunder cracked and lightning flashed, lighting up the blackened sky. Rain was on its way as the thick clouds overhead became full. The winds had kicked up in the past ten minutes and the atmosphere was definitely something akin to a horror movie, except real and not created on a sound stage. In the distance, the wind howled and the possibility of a tornado suddenly became very, very, very real. It was just going to be one of those nights.

Layarteb

18-11-2007, 06:35

Fifteen miles away, buried deep underneath the carnage and wreckage of the city, a civilization boomed. It was a small one, consisting one of a single man, worshipped like a deity. He sat in a bunker, buried deep underneath the city, unaffected by the nuclear strike that had occurred above. Protected by a fanatical bodyguard, known only as the Inferi, named after the Roman gods of the underworld, he was, essentially, the man in charge of the Neatherealm. He was protected and he lived where no one could tread and no one could go. Whatever happened in the Neatherealm happened because he willed it as such. His elite body guard unit consisted of maybe, at most, thirty people, all of them horrific human beings. They were even more horrific than the Hunters, who were cannibals, in essence. They were worse than the worst that Sanctuary could offer and it wasn't because of some twisted gene in their body that caused some chemical imbalance. They did it for pleasure, for fun, because that was all they knew how to do. They had been cast out of the armies during the war and the resided here, protecting their "administrator" as he was affectionately known. Word got to him quicker than diseases came to the prostitutes and it was no surprise, that as the man and Larisa sat down for the story in Trilogy's abode, the administrator received a knock on his door.

"Come on," his snake-like voice echoed as he looked up from his desk. "What are you bringing for me?" He asked the messenger, who stood before him, trembling in front of one of the Inferi guards. The guard loomed over him like the angel of death, ready to take his life if he was given the order. "Well, can you speak?" He repeated, bored with the silence.

"Yes. I'm s-s-s-sorry," the words trembled out of his mouth. "I have news t-t-t-hat someone i-i-i-s here. He's looking f-f-f-f-or you."

"Really? Is that so?"

"Ye-s-s-s."

"Where is this creature that so humbly hunts me?" His voice chilled the messenger, who shivered and shook, nearly hunched over from his own cowardice.

"San-n-n-ctuary."

"Really. Perhaps he shouldn't leave Sanctuary." The messenger stayed silent, too afraid to talk. "Very well. You have done well. You may return." The administrator dared not mention the fee for useful information and the messenger dared not bring it up, mostly out of fear. As the messenger left, the administrator picked up a phone on his desk. "I need to speak with Apollyon. Could you please find him for me?"

Back in Sanctuary, Trilogy began to explain about the Inferi. "He's protected by some elite guard. You know what I mean by elite too. They're called the Inferi, I don't know why really, but they're fanatical to him. He's like a god to these people here and they are like his body guards. Nobody messes with them and lives to tell about it, if you can even get that far. You think you can get to him? This isn't some rebel leader hiding in a building with a radio, spotting mortar rounds. This is a full-blown scenario."

"You don't think I know that? Come on man. I know this man."

"Nobody knows him."

"That's bullshit. His act. This nonsense. I know him. I know all about him," the man said as he stood up, frustrated that he wasn't getting the level of cooperation he wanted. "I know how he betrayed us all, left us to die, to the slaughter. You think I've killed innocents, taken away their lives? He's done worse. He's put full countries on the auction block, sold them down river, slaughtered millions. All of this blood, that's on his hands. For Christ's sake, I practically fought with the guy!"

"You fought nothing. You fought only what he wanted. You still don't get it. You didn't back then and you still don't."

"What don't I get?" He began pacing the room. "I don't buy this mumbo-jumbo that he's untouchable. The Emperor was untouchable too once and look where that got him? He was betrayed those surrounding him. Now look at it. Where is he now?"

"True. But this man is not the Emperor."

"Exactly!" He slammed his hands on the table and pointed to his head. "Exactly. This man is nothing but a man. He isn't a god and he isn't some brilliant leader. He's nothing, nothing at all. I know him. I know how he thinks, where he thinks, how he operates. I know it all you see. He brought my life to ashes. Twice. Now it's time I repay the favor."

"You'll fail."

"Oh come the fuck on!" He said with more disgust as he straightened up and turned around. "He's just a man. Man."

"You still believe that?"

"You don't?"

"No. I don't. Listen to me. I've been here. You haven't."

"Like I had a choice in the matter."

"You had the choice. You've had many choices but where were you to exercise them? Lost huh? In some oblivion?"

"No, tracking this son of a bitch down!"

"Well now you've found him and you can't even do anything about it. You've wasted your time, your life. You could have moved on, started a new life for yourself but instead you wind up here. Of all places, here. You know what this place is good for? Nothing! It's a black hole in the middle of a torn, ravaged, and splintered land. There's no light in here and there's no good. It sucks in all the evil in the world, sucks it right in and deposits it here, there, everywhere inside of its borders. You think this is some place where you can get your revenge? You're a fool! This isn't the place to get your revenge, this is the place where you cease to become a human."

"What does it make you?" Larisa, quietly but cutely asked, curious as to what Trilogy was saying.

"You become an animal."

"Come on, ask him. Ask him what he sees when he sees his own reflection?"

The man turned around, having been facing away from Trilogy the whole time. "You want to know what I see?"

"Yes. Tell me," Trilogy implored, Larisa actually curious herself.

"When I see my reflection it suddenly changes, violently, it changes. There's no turning back, this transformation it's real and it's powerful and I can't reverse it. You know why? Why? Because this place, this evil, this man, he's woken up the demon inside of me."

"Go on," Trilogy asked him as he realized he was getting exactly what he wanted.

"All the good within me has died and now just decays within me."

Layarteb

19-11-2007, 03:51

"That's it! Bingo! You see that is what this place is," Trilogy said, adding his hand gestures to the mix, leaning back in his chair, and pointing to Larisa. "Take notice. You came here for whatever reason of your own. You see him? He's been here a short time. That's what this place is going to turn you into. You see this place, it can't turn him. He's already turned."

"You're right," the man was silent as Larisa joined the conversation. "What's the deal? I don't get it. What did he do that was so wrong?"

"This man has blood on his hands that you and I cannot fathom. The devil lives on Earth you see. It's the man he seeks, the man he wants to kill, the man who wronged him. You see the devil used him for his own good, sometimes through proxies, sometimes outright. He's commanded him to burn villages, kill babies, yes babies, murder the innocent, poison the unsuspecting. He's the hand of the devil, immune from the hand of God. Now he has to live with that. It's his curse."

"You can say that again," the man repeated as he turned back around and sat down. "You have to help me."

"How? What is it going to solve?"

"I need peace. Some sort of peace. In all the bad that I've done I need to do something good. One last thing of good."

"Good? No good can save your blackened soul."

"What have you found God?" He asked sarcastically.

"No but I have found a side of myself that you ought to do well to find."

"What side is that? You're making drugs here, no doubt selling them outside of the Neatherealm."

"That is true. I never said I was a saint. I'm not here to preach the good word. I'm here to preach common sense. If you think that, by killing him, by torturing him, by exacting your revenge through him, that everything will be better? It won't be. What then will you do with your life? You've built it around him, around your desire, at first, to serve him, your master, the devil, the most horrific demon ever born. Now without that what will you have? Peace? Serenity? What do you plan on doing? Escaping? Going away, to the Caribbean, dying on some desert island fucking a native girl?"

"No."

"Then what are you going to do after you solve your little quest here?"

"Join those that I've lost."

"Now there's a solution. Build up your whole life just to kill yourself? What do you really plan on solving?"

"He has to be stopped. He'll do it again."

"His influence is limited just to these surroundings. He isn't escaping."

"Yes. Yes he is and he will. Don't you see? The man is but a plague, he is the plague. He is the four horsemen that ravage our planet. You want to be biblical about it, that's what he is."

"He is unstoppable."

"No man is unstoppable."

"This one is."

"I will prove that an error."

"You won't be able to show me that you failed. You'll just cease to be."

"Then so be it but I won't fall until his body ceases to breathe, ceases to beat, ceases to pulse. He's going to die and it's going to be by my hands. These Inferi? What good are they but to slow me down, if that much? They're all in my path."

In the bunker, underneath the destroyed city, a man stepped out from the shadows of the dimly lit hallways. He hung his head low and a red glow illuminated the blackness around him, brightening as he inhaled, darkening when he stopped. The cigarette drifted up a slow but steady stream of smoke into the air, above his head. He was tall, not less than six feet tall. His hair was long, unkempt, and hung over his face, where his cigarette burned, hanging from his cold and impersonal lips. His long, overcoat, which went from his neck to his knees, glided with him as he entered the room. "You asked for me, my liege?"

"I did. There is a man in the Neatherealm that wants to see to it that I cease to be. You can understand how this upsets me?"

"Yes sir. You are our benefactor and I do not understand how one can decide such a horrific fate for you. Sir."

"That is true. I do not understand it myself. You are my best man Apollyon. Your name means 'to destroy' in Greek and that is what I have asked you here to do. You must destroy this threat and this man. He seeks to undermine the world here and turn it upside down. Perhaps he wants to assume my position. This cannot be. Do you understand?"

"Clearly." The man said, his voice echoing the administrator's concrete room. The room was dark and the only source of illumination had been the glow of the cigarette in Apollyon's mouth. The administrator never switched on the lights when there were others around. When he had been informed of the man he had been informed in the darkness and he hid in the shadows, concealed from view and from identification. None of the Inferi had ever seen his face and Apollyon, one of the original Inferi, was no exception. It was a rule that seemed to fit appropriately. "I will find this man and end his life."

"Begin in Sanctuary. Do not fail."

"It is not my intention to return here a failure."

"Good." The door slid open and Apollyon stepped backwards, out of the room, and into the hallway. The door shut in front of him and he pulled the cigarette from his mouth, tossing it to the ground, stepping on it as he turned and walked away.

This man is history. He thought to himself as he began walking. He would stop by his own quarters and, from there, gather what he needed, and leave the center, heading to Sanctuary, almost fifteen miles away.

Apollyon wasn't his real name. The Inferi were called that simply because they had chosen the names of Roman gods to refer to themselves. Apollyon was the exception, having chosen a Greek name instead. It had, in part, to due with his Greek heritage but also due to the truth of the name. He truly was the destroyer and he had, on many occasions, done the administrator's bidding with pure destruction, whether it included car bombings or what not. When he retreated to his quarters, he retrieved everything he would need to make the journey. A knapsack would hold food rations, money, and utilities, perhaps a change of clothes or two, and ammunition. He would also gather his weapons. In the Neatherealm, every carried a knife and Apollyon was no exception except that his was a machete and he also carried, on his belt, a hooked knife, small enough and sharp enough to slice a man's neck with just one stroke, killing him. Then, he strapped on his guns, both of them going in a holster on the back of his belt, crisscrossing so that he could remove both of them and dual-wield, if necessary. They were a pair of Beretta 92s but heavily modified. Both of them had a compensator and weight added to the muzzle as well as a selectable trigger, giving them either semi-automatic or fully automatic fire. Despite the limitations of nine millimeter rounds, particularly in the lack of stopping power they offered, in fully automatic mode, these weapons were more deadly than most other pistols, included the famed and coveted forty-five caliber ones, which could kill a person in one shot, seemingly regardless of where they were hit, in their main body area. Standard magazines held just twenty rounds each and that gave him, essentially, forty rounds, at the ready, to engage an enemy with but he wasn't entirely satisfied there and had obtained extended clips, each holding up to thirty rounds each. He basically had double the amount of rounds at the ready than most assault rifles carried.

He had other weapons in his quarters but he wouldn't need those for this mission. He was being sent to kill someone who wanted to find and kill the administrator. Anyone dumb enough to do that would definitely be wary of a man with an assault rifle or a submachine gun following them. Pistols, on the other hand, he could easily conceal behind his long, leather, hooded overcoat. Gathered what he needed, he set out from his quarters and headed towards the departure point from the underground complex. Men, Inferi, stood guard at the door, which was at the end of many long corridors, weaving and interweaving around, designed on purpose to make fighting with it, for an attacking army, next to impossible. The Inferi guards were guards at their very core. They paced around with armed, locked, and loaded assault rifles or submachine guns, some of the best weapons that the Neatherealm had within its confines. They were well maintained too. They all knew each other though and as Apollyon approached the door, he was greeted by them. As impersonal as they were, they did always manage to say "Hello" and "Goodbye" to each other, sort of unusual one would think.

When he departed the base, he departed down a long, underground tunnel, wide enough for multiple vehicles side by side. Because it was so far underground, supported its own power supply, and contained air filtration systems, it was immune to the radiation on the surface, which wasn't all that much but enough to kill those who came in contact with it for a prolonged period of time. As he walked underneath the city, a desolate, destroyed land, cockroaches scattered every which way. The tunnel was silent and dark, dark enough that he could only see by the general feel of it. He walked with a flashlight but didn't use it; he didn't have the need to, yet. He knew the tunnel inside and out, every obstacle, every manhole cover, and every square inch of it. He had his own sixth sense and it was honed sharply. With just a cigarette glowing in his mouth, he moved down the tunnel, the wasteland above supporting no life. Animals didn't dare tread near the radiation and people couldn't survive more than a week or two without succumbing to the radioactivity. Above them, bones were all that was left of the people that had once inhabited the city. After the blast, few remained alive and those that did were, for the large part, trapped. They succumbed to death shortly thereafter, whether it was from dehydration, injury, or radiation sickness. The blast had, outright, killed over eighty percent of the city's population, the remaining twenty percent dying shortly thereafter.

It was a sad tale in an even sadder story of the fate of an empire, which had come from miniscule borders to one of the largest collectivized countries in the world, only to fall back down again, swatted by the mighty hands that created it. It was a tale that involved just a hundred million when it began but affected over one and a half billion when it ended just shy of thirty years later. It was a long run for a country that had become everything, a model for success. Inevitably though, it would be torn apart from within, just as the nation before it.

Layarteb

04-01-2008, 04:05

Back in Sanctuary, Trilogy had finally begun to see the man's side of things. He understood the quest that the man set out for himself and he wanted him to succeed, to a degree. "He's our benefactor. I want you to get your due justice but, at the same time, you can't abolish the Neatherealm. Then what will happen? You see we have an uneasy peace with the government. They don't bother us, we don't bother them. They have walls around us, they have guard posts all around us, they shoot anyone who escapes, and they shoot those who try to enter. It is a place that is forgotten by the rest of the world. He's given us that much, a place that is totally free. This is the state of nature that Rousseau talked about so long ago. You see this; this place isn't ruled by government. It isn't ruled by the rich, the powerful, the influential. It's ruled by the people. It's ruled by Darwinism. Out here there are no laws to protect you, no police to come rescue you, no fire department to come save you. If you mess with the wrong person you face the consequences, if you steal or you rape, you do so on your own, if you light your place on fire, no one is going to come put it out.

"You see, this place is freedom," Trilogy continued his monologue with a passion that the man did not understand. "We can do as we please here."

"As you please? You murder, you make drugs, you rape, you torture, this place isn't a paradise. It's hell on Earth. There's no good within these walls, just evil. All of the evil in the world has come here, to live here, to prosper here but when I say prosper I don't mean for the good, I mean for the bad. This place is devoid of any morality, any civilization. You are all animals and you will die as animals. You want your freedom you've got it, the freedom to be filth. That is what this place is, filth. Sooner or later, it doesn't matter who you got protecting you, it's going to come crashing down and end. It might be a year it might be a decade. Sooner or later, the government is going to be powerful enough again to come in here and then what will you do? Defend yourselves? Cry unfair? You'll be squashed like the cockroaches that you all are." Trilogy took some personal offense to his comments and it shone on his face. "What, does that offend you? Are you hurt by what I said? Come on, you said it yourself, absolute freedom."

"Absolute. Yes. Which gives me the freedom to kill you right now," he stared at the man.

"If you wanted to kill me you would have already. No, a part of you agrees with me."

"So what if a part of me does?"

"It means that you want to get out of here, even if for just a little bit. Who knows, you may long for the outside world but you're too afraid to leave."

"Even if it was true, and it isn't," a surefire indicator in conversation that it was, in fact, true, "I wouldn't."

"There you have it, fear. You're afraid that I might succeed, that should I kill this bastard, all of this will come tumbling down."

Trilogy was silent as the man looked at him, Larisa doing the same, curious about the who situation, about the history between the two of them, and about the Neatherealm itself. "So tell me something. Why did you come here? Just to find and kill him? Nothing about this place drew you in?" Trilogy asked.

"What in this place could make me want to come here?"

"Freedom."

"What freedom? I don't see it as you see it. This place is hell to me. It is a place where the worst of society have come, where people ravage the land. There's no humanity here, just beasts, animals with guns and voices. Why did you come here? Freedom? No. You came here to escape."

"I did."

"Escape the wrath of the government. You see you labeled me a traitor and so what if I was, so what if I felt, in my heart and my mind that what I did was right? I still do! You have second thoughts. You were loyal, then, then you turned. Then they turned you away."

"They did."

"So now you're hunted, a wanted man, you and millions others. You actually think they'll find all of you?"

"No."

"So why the fear to leave? Afraid they may actually find you?" He stayed silent. "They won't."

"Maybe you're right. But what if you're wrong?"

"Then you face the consequences just like I faced, just like I am going to face when I'm done with this task."

"Still unafraid of death?"

"Unafraid? I welcome it. I need an end to these nightmares. You know how many dreams I have where I see the faces of those I killed, I tortured, I maimed? It's hell walking on this planet, regardless of what filth I am walking through. Outside these walls, it's different. Those nightmares come and go. In here, in here they thrive. This place is like a living entity all on its own. It draws out the demons inside of you and it calls them to action, calls them to play with your mind. It tortures you all on its own. Perhaps this is my punishment."

"Perhaps. And you, why are you here?" Trilogy directed the question now to the ever quiet Larisa, who sat in her chair, knees drawn to her chest, chin tucked away, practically shivering. "Cold?"

"A little. I'm here to hide."

"To hide?"

"Yes. I'm hiding. People out there want to kill me."

"You picked the wrong place to hide little girl," the man answered, butting himself into the conversation.

"He's right. This isn't the place for a woman as young and beautiful as yourself. You're lucky he's with you right now."

"Am I? I don't know since he's been around two people have tried to kill me, directly."

"And?" Trilogy asked, surprised the number was so low. "It just means they're slow that's all. Listen, this man here, he saved my life a few times," the man lit a cigarette. "Now tell me," he leaned back over towards the other side of his desk, looking at the man. "How do I know it was Williams?"

"Because he's swine, that's why."

"Besides the obvious. How do I know that you aren't here to try to lie to me? You're good at that you know."

"This time, I'm not."

"Williams is dead," Larisa said. "He killed him."

"So you said."

"How do you think I got the name 'Trilogy' or knew much else about where the dead sleep?"

"Where the dead sleep? That's what he told you?"

"Yes."

"That sounds familiar."

"It should."

"Shouldn't it? But where have I heard it."

"We heard it here, in Sanctuary. Just moments after the tank struck the building. Remember what he said?"

"I guess this is where the dead will sleep?"

"Yes. Remember, think hard, and think real hard. What did that rebel soldier have on his arm, the tattoo?"

"Which one?"

"The one we got information from?"

"The one we tortured?"

"Yeah. Him."

"The same thing?"

"Yes. The same thing. It didn't occur to me then the similarity between them until I actually did some research on it. It was part of an oath that rebel group took and they said it every time those who died did so in front of them."

"Why does this sound nonsense?"

"It isn't. It's how I knew to come here to find him. You see he never showed us but he had the same tattoo."

"Where? On his arm too?"

"Yes. On his arm too. He always did his best to cover it up. He's the one that gave us away. Not me." Trilogy looked around and seemingly stared into deep space as he tried to picture what Williams looked like and tried to think of somewhere he might have seen his arm, uncovered. He couldn't.

"I can't. I can't think of it."

"Well then you'll just have to trust me."

"Trust. You?"

"Yes. That's your best course of action."

"Do you trust him?" He looked at Larisa, who remained in the same position, the heat barely touching her though the whole room was like a sauna.

"Do I?"

"Yes. Do you? Do you trust him, do you believe what he says?"

"I mean. How long have I known him, I don't even know him, not a tenth as much as you seemingly do."

"That's not what I asked? Do you trust him?"

"I…I…" She stuttered on the words and he wasn't fazed by it either. "I do." She finally uttered. "I mean at first I thought no, I wouldn't. He tried to kill me."

"Did he?"

"Guilty," he said jokingly, ignoring the seriousness of the conversation.

"Then I thought I was being held hostage you know him using me for whatever he is here to do and living under my roof and stuff like that. I guess I thought he was going to take advantage of me or rape me or something like that but I don't know anymore. I don't think so. I've seen him, how he reacts to certain situations and how he has protected me and I do, I trust him."

"There," Trilogy said, not expecting that answer. "I wasn't expecting that."

"What? That I trust him?"

"Yeah. I was expecting a flat out no."

"Sorry," she said, with a slight smirk.

"She trusts you, interesting," Trilogy still couldn't stomach it yet. "Truth?" She nodded her head. The man only sat there, impressed that he had won the showdown. "Perhaps then you are telling the truth."

"That's all it took? Her word?"

"Women have an uncanny knack for judging truth from bullshit."

"Do they now?"

"Yes. Yes they do."

"Well then you have it. So are you going to help me?"

Trilogy took a long time to answer him, during which time an uneasy silence fell upon the room, where both of them just stared at each other, waiting for the response. "Yes. Yes I'll help you but on one condition."

"What's that condition?"

"That when the government troops come, you aren't with them."

"I won't be alive that long."

"It's a deal then," they held out their hands and shook. "We'll start in the morning."

"Good. It's too late now and I see that it's raining out there. Have you a spare bed in here?" Larisa shot him a look.

"We're staying?"

"Do you see it outside? We'll never make it back."

"Here?"

"Yes. Here. You're safer here than where you stay."

"Here?"

"Yes. Here. Get over it." He said as he shook his head. "And I need one other thing. I need some books."

"Books? What the hell for?"

"She likes to read and I promised her some books. This place still has a library right?"

"Whatever's left of it?"

"Okay, where is it?"

"Upstairs, top floor. We don't manufacture up there, we just sleep up there. You can't sleep down here, not with the smell."

"And this place, we're safe?"

"I'll give the order. She's safe."

"Good. Let's go."

"Okay," Trilogy stood up from the desk, picked up his cigarettes, and followed them out of the office. "Listen, I'm sorry, for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry," he extended his hand.

"I'll forgive you for it. Let's just move on, shall we?" The man said with sincerity as he shook his hand.

"Let's."

Layarteb

04-01-2008, 04:08

They departed the office and the floor, moving up to the top floor, the fourth floor, which was two floors above the factory level. The factory occupied the whole second floor, every room filled to the brim with chemistry sets and equipment to manufacture the substances they sold. The third floor was largely unoccupied and served mostly as a function floor. Whenever they brought in girls or had parties, the third floor was usually where they held them. the basement and the first floor were places to sleep, mostly for the lower ranking members of the Dragons. The higher ranking members lived up on the fourth floor, far away from the ground level, where it was easiest to defend the building.

The building was more of a fortress than anything else. The Dragons were just one of three major gangs of the Neatherealm. "What do you mean you've got enemies that sometimes come around looking?" The man asked Trilogy as they walked up the stairs from the second floor. Trilogy had been explaining some of the composition of the gang, at Larisa's insistence.

"We're a throw back to the old biker gangs. We got mostly bikers within our ranks, those sorts. The worst we got are murderers but no rapists, we don't believe in that here. The other guys, the swine, the Reavers, they do shit like that. They mostly rob, they like to steal from everywhere but they also do that sort of sick shit too. They are just one of our enemies," he said. "Sometimes they come here though; sometimes they come looking around, for drugs. We usually handle them though." The man asked his question and Trilogy continued. "I know we're not supposed to bring our wars here and we don't. But we defend our building. Most of the gangs, they deal in drugs, ours being the biggest. We all have safe houses and shops here in Sanctuary, it's because it's neutral ground. Well it is supposed to be neutral ground. We don't bring our grievances from outside within but the new stuff that arises here, that we settle here, we don't let that leave Sanctuary and we don't let them take advantage of this place either."

"How often?" Larisa asked.

"Sometimes once or twice a week. Usually just one or two of them, looking for a fix."

"What do you do with them?" Larisa continued, stepping on the man's speech as he wanted to know more about the other gangs.

"We usually just catch them, maybe torture them a little and then deal with them afterwards. They always wind up dead, we don't let them go back, not unless we want to send a message and that's rare. If we have to send a message we just chop off a hand or finger or ear, something like that. We usually see them again though, it never teaches them a thing, it just makes them angry, gives them some sort of reason for revenge, although their acts of thievery don't guarantee them a damn thing."

"Who else are there?"

"One other major gang, the 'Wraiths,' the ones I fear."

"Why? Who are they?" The man was intrigued. "Like the 'Hunters'?"

"No. Not like them. They're mostly assassins, mercenaries, soldiers of fortune. They've come here to make money, to do the dirty work of the Harvesters, to kill those who owe them debts. Sometimes they are like bounty hunters too. They get paid to come here and kill people hiding. They aren't like the 'Shadows' though."

"The Shadows, who are they?"

"They're bounty hunters. They are paramilitary types, assassins, ex-special forces soldiers, those kind of guys but they work for the government. They come in here, from time to time, and seek out and kill criminals or traitors. That sort of thing. The different is that the Wraiths are for private hire and often are."

"Do both of them live in here?"

"Shadows don't but they basically have a free pass into and out of here. The other guys, the Wraiths, they live here but I don't know where. The Middle Rim is a pretty large and dangerous zone."

"Alright," they reached the fourth floor and exited the stairwell. "So I'm going to need a crash course in the Neatherealm. Larisa here doesn't know as much as I'd like to know. Think you can help me with that?" The man said as they turned down a dark and quiet hallway, leading towards wherever they would spend the night.

"So what do you know then?" Trilogy asked, leading them to the right at the end of the hallway. There was some life in this wing of the building, where the dull echoes of music perforated the still, silent, dark, night air in the school. The hallway was very chilly and instantly drafty. "Don't worry about the draftiness. The rooms are warm. We have the heat on."

"I don't know anything about the Neatherealm, that's the problem. What can you tell me about it? I need to know everything, all of the minute details."

"All of them?"

"Yes."

"We don't have that kind of time."

"Fine then, a crash course, I just need to understand certain things about the place. You have to help me understand them."

"Okay. Fine." Trilogy said as he led them up to a doorway. "We've converted the classrooms into living quarters, that is downstairs though. You see, this was once a Catholic school and the fourth floor was reserved for the brothers to sleep. That's why you see the higher-ups here. It's a lot nicer."

"Is it now?"

"Yes. Aside from that draft. Here this will lead us to one of the four dormitory sections. Nobody is in here so you'll have it to yourselves. I don't want you mixing much with the rest of these people anyway. You might spook them."

"We don't want that then."

"No. No we don't."

As Trilogy opened the door, more darkness hit them but so did the warmth of the heaters. They were on, pumping warm air throughout the building, namely up to the fourth floor, where the higher ranking members of the Dragons slept and stayed. It was a big safe house too. Dragon members, passing through Sanctuary, could stay there just the same and the higher their rank, the better their accommodations, that was just how it was. "One more question," the man asked as Trilogy flicked on the lights. All of the windows had been painted black, to prevent light from getting in and to prevent anyone on the outside from seeing into the building. "How is the heat on?"

"Boiler's on. We get power from an old oil line that runs through here. We made a deal with the Harvesters to get it. Sort of like a rent." With that, the man suddenly knew how the politics of Sanctuary went and they revolved not so much on the pimps and those in power. It had to do with the Harvesters. They were, as they were throughout the entire Neatherealm, the benefactors of their existence.

Layarteb

04-01-2008, 04:48

Chapter V
My Blackened Soul

"Hope is the worst of evils, for it prolongs the torment of man."

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Infernal/12-chapter05.jpg

The lights were dim, too dim to be all that much good by themselves. "Sit down this is a long story," Trilogy said as he took a seat himself. It was an old, wooden chair that was part of a desk set in the corner, an old set that was clearly for writing and praying only. The beds were small, twin frames, more like cots than anything else. Highly uncomfortable in the real world, these cots were, most likely, akin to the beds one would find in a lavish hotel in downtown. "Alright. You know about the general layout right?"

"Nothing except what's at the center."

"Fine," he sighed, not wanting to explain everything. He was tired and groggy and still a little hung over from earlier. He lit a cigarette and reached into one of the desk drawers, pulling out a glass bottle of whiskey. "Complements of the house," he said with a smirk, unscrewing the cap and taking a long swig. "Here," he handed it over but Larisa didn't take any. The man, on the other hand, equaled Trilogy's swig and handed it back, lighting a cigarette himself. "In the Neatherealm there are four general areas. We call them 'rims' but they're really just concentric circles. At the center is the sky, bombed out, destroyed, completely obliterated. The next area is the 'Inner Rim,' that we call Acheron. In Greek mythology it is the river of woe and, well you get the symbolism right?" The man nodded his head. "Good. In Dante's Inferno, it forms the border of hell and, as such, hell is the center. We've dubbed it Hades. The Inner Rim is the one that most fear to tread. The gangs stay away and it covers an area up to five miles from the center. Inside of it you'll find the most horrific of the horrific. There are a few things though that we aren't sure even exist."

"Like what?"

"There's the 'Box' and the 'Bunker of the Lost.' The Box is some secret prison that the government operates, supposedly where they keep the 'Infected' and the Bunker of the Lost is some benefactor place. I'm not sure. The rumors basically said it is a place where those who have fled from people outside of the Neatherealm can go and live peacefully. Mostly, we think they're children, fleeing from abuse and all that horrible stuff. We call those people the 'Runways' and the group that protect them, the 'Watchers' but we don't even know if that's true. None of the people that I have ever met have ever gone into Acheron so I wouldn't know if it's true or not but I suppose you'll find out?" The man nodded again. "Then there's stuff we do know about, two horrific places in particular. One is the 'Church of the Elder Gods,' where the Hunters call home. They do human sacrifices there, as far as we know. Then there's 'The Pit.' You remember it. We shelled it to holy hell during the war. It was the rebel headquarters in this region and who knows what's even left of it but it's rumored to be inhabited by the 'Shadows.' That's that group I was telling you about earlier, the group that is 'for hire.'

"That's really Acheron in a nutshell. There isn't much else to tell you about the place that I know. I'm dead sure that there is more there but I can't imagine the rest of the specifics so that's all I can tell you. I know the most about the Middle Rim, which we call Elysium, which extends out to here, fifteen miles from the center. Sanctuary is really the only safe gateway into and out of Elysium. Every other way in or out is at your own expense. You've got the gang cities, Dragon City, Freedom, and Underworld. Obviously you know who inhabit Dragon City, us. Freedom is claimed by the anarchists who go by the name 'Mayhem.' Underworld is right along the border between Elysium and Acheron and it is populated by 'Force Five,' a faction of ex-soldiers, seeking to just get money here. The place is a fortress. Then you got various camps. These are inhabited by the Reavers and they're pretty nomadic but, so far, they've stayed still for quite a while. The Wraiths, we don't really know where they are, probably some underground bunker in Elysium.

"You know about Sanctuary. The last is the Outer Rim, which extends out to twenty-five miles, the edge. We call the Outer Rim Purgatorio and the edge Avernus. You understand Purgatorio being Purgatory but Avernus is named after more Roman mythology. Avernus was an ancient name for a crater near Cuma, in Italy. It was believed to be the entrance into the underworld. As you can see, all of the names are applicable.

"The rest is pretty straight forward. What else do you need to know?"

"I think that sums up most of it." He looked around at Larisa who was practically asleep. "Tomorrow we go."

"Yes. Tomorrow, listen though," he took another long swig of the whiskey as he took it from the man's hand. "I know I owe you, considering the past and what not but there is a favor I need from you."

"Go on," Larisa had a feeling that his help wasn't going to be unconditional and though she rolled her eyes at the beginning of the request, she expected it and wondered why it took Trilogy so long to ask.

"I need someone dead."

"So shoot them."

"I need someone dead but I can't have it linked to my gang."

"Why is that? Rivalry?"

"No. You know the rule of Sanctuary. This would break the rule."

"This is an outside war?"

"It is."

"What if I don't help you?"

"Easy now. I may feel a debt to you from the past but I will not sacrifice my future. Is that understood?"

"No honor amongst villains is there?" Larisa sarcastically said as she broke her silence.

"Listen little girl," Trilogy shot her a mean look. "You may see us as villains, him as a saint, and yourself as just a victim but let me give you a piece of advice here. I don't know how long you've been here but you obviously haven't learned the most cardinal rule of the Neatherealm."

"Oh yeah? What's that?" Her arrogance continued as Trilogy spoke on, the man silent, taking another long gulp of whiskey.

"In here, we're all bad guys and we're all good guys. The only thing that makes us either is whether or not we're the ones holding a gun to your head or standing by your shoulder. Make no mistake honey; that kind of thinking is going to put a lot of guns to your head. So keep your mouth shut!" He looked at the man who gave some sort of tacit approval. She fumed and stood up, leaving the room and going outside, to the drafty hallway.

"Don't worry about her." The man said as he put out his cigarette. "She doesn't know yet what I am here for or anything else of that matter."

"Do you plan on informing her?"

"No. I'll do it. What's this person's name?"

"It's a she."

"A she? Ex-girlfriend?"

"Mercenary for hire."

"Which faction? Wraith?"

"Yes."

"Why is she here and why are you so afraid of her?"

"You have forgotten a lot haven't you?"

"So I have. Who is it?"

"Mary."

Layarteb

05-01-2008, 06:57

Suddenly the man sat up and looked at Trilogy, his eyes widened, the burning sensation in his throat from the whiskey receding quicker than he could breathe. "Mary is dead."

"She's alive."

"How the…"

"She's here."

"How can she be?"

"She isn't dead man."

"I shot her. I shot her and watched her die!"

"So we thought."

"No. No." He stood up and began to pace the room. "Do you realize the implications of her being alive?"

"Yes. I do."

"Does she know I'm here?"

"How can she? I didn't even know you were here. I thought you were dead. If she survived I doubt she thinks anything different. Although her own experience, who knows. She was a crafty veteran."

"You're telling me. We chased her for weeks until we finally cornered her in a trap. How the hell did she survive?"

"Beats the hell out of me."

"Did she tag you?"

"No. She doesn't know I'm here either."

"So then how is it you came to find out about her?"

"My eyes."

"Explain this to me," he sat back down on the chair, leaving the whiskey alone, realizing the gravity of the situation.

As Trilogy began to explain the story, Apollyon stepped out of the tunnel, having walked for several miles underneath the eradicated metropolis that had once stood so greatly against the backdrop of an even greater country. He stood at the tunnel opening, a train car in front of him, rusted and eerily silent. Above him, the silver moon shone in the dark, cloudless sky above and he looked up at it, his eyes fixed higher than his nose pointed. With one hand, he reached into his long, overcoat for a pack of cigarettes and removed one, putting it in his mouth and lighting it with a lighter than he produced seemingly out of thin air with his other hand. A bit of a magician, he was fast and he was cunning. He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. He stood there, a small ant in between the wooden bases of the railroad track that he followed his whole way out of the tunnel. Behind him was the ravaged metropolis that had once been a booming commercial and industrial capital in the world. For the Layartebian Empire it had been a city so important that its loss triggered an abrupt end to the civil war, the outcome being unforeseen. Where do the winds take me? Apollyon thought to himself as he looked down from the moon and at the train car ahead of him. It sat still, protected from the events so many years ago because of its location. In between the openings to two tunnels, and in a dug out section of the ground it was below the ground level, the shockwaves carrying themselves over the area and continuing outwards, from the epicenter. It had been abandoned shortly thereafter, its locomotive trudging away from the metropolis at maximum speed, having shed the train car to avoid the extra weight. At one time, the car had been loaded with supplies for the war effort but had been pillaged since then.

Apollyon began to walk, setting his sights on the horizon and on the destination he sought. Being the right-hand of the Administrator of the Neatherealm, there Apollyon walked with invulnerability. Nobody would dare kill him and many knew of him and of his name. He had roamed the wilderness of the Neatherealm since its inception and did many deeds for the Administrator, most of them being horrific in nature and cause. He could take quarter anywhere and no faction, group, or gang would deny him any information he needed. He could have been the Administrator himself with the treatment that he garnered although nobody worshipped him, per say.

Trilogy continued his story about how he had been walking through the market square in Sanctuary and happened to see Mary conversing with one of the Harvesters. He had to look twice to make sure it was her and he wasn't entirely sure even after that, not until he had someone take a photograph of her and bring it back to him, a photograph he handed to the man. "Yep. That's her. How the fuck did she survive?" The man was still in disbelief.

"She can't be allowed to know I am here. That you are here. She'll do whatever she has to, you know that. We're the only three people who know who she was, what she did, and that she is alive. You, me, and her. She can't be part of this equation anymore."

"No. She can't but how am I going to get close to her?"

"She walks alone. I surmise even those close to her, if there are any, fear her."

"She's the villain."

"She is. It's a shame though. That body." Trilogy laughed, thinking back when they were on the hunt for her and he commented that he could make her change her ways if he could only sleep with her. Mary was beautiful, a stunning sculpture of a woman that only the gods could have crafted. That was her weapon though. She was the premier assassin in the world until she died, although that never seemed to happen. It was on a fateful day in the midst of the civil war when they caught her. The man had taken the shot from a distance exceeding thirteen hundred meters and struck her clear in the chest. He saw blood and he watched through his scope as she died. She was not alone that day and those who had been with her had checked her pulse and, in frustration, fired their assault rifles blindly around them. The nearest bullet to the man and his sniper team was at least six hundred meters away. They confirmed that she had died and that was when they moved. Now she was alive and he wanted to know how she survived the .338 Lapua Magnum round. "Listen there's another thing too."

"What's that?"

"There's a certain way we kill people for a hit."

"I'm listening."

"It can't be this way though," Trilogy emphasized his point. "You see when we hit someone and kill them as such, we take their arms and place them over their chest and put pennies on their eyes."

"Alright. I know of that. Why would I do something like that?"

"I don't know. I just want to warn you not to."

"Fine. You got it. I don't plan on getting close enough to her though to do that."

"Good. How are you going to do it?"

"Where can I do it? Where does she sleep?"

"I don't know where she sleep's but I know she always goes to this one bar down the block, about two hundred meters from here. She goes everyday at dawn and stays there for an hour and then leaves. I've had people watch and we can see from up here." They walked over to the window and he pointed it out, "Down there, see the neon sign? The building after that one."

"Okay, so I guess you planned this out, what were you going to do?"

"A bomb placed inside of a garbage can."

"Ingenious but that's going to attract a lot of attention."

"At dawn? Not at all."

"How so? A bomb is loud."

"At dawn everyone is asleep maybe an hour or two, if that much. They're drunk, stoned, hung over, and all that garbage. I doubt anyone would actually hear it."

"You underestimate stupid people."

"Even still, nobody can pin it on us, we don't do that sort of thing."

"How powerful a bomb?"

"A pound of Semtex."

"A lot of explosives there."

"Enough to turn the garbage can into a thousand pieces of flying metal and a shockwave powerful enough to tear a jet apart. I think it'll be enough to tear her to pieces."

"A bullet wasn't enough. Maybe that will be?"

"That was my thinking."

"No. I don't. It's too damn loud. I'll shoot her."

"You'll shoot her? You'll do what, sneak up on her?"

"At dawn nobody is going to be around to give me away, according to your observations."

"I hope not."

"I'll shoot her myself and after she's lying on the ground, I'll make sure she's dead."

"Yeah, how?"

"I'll cut off her head!" He said, squinting his eyes and pursing his lips. Her death would satisfy him greatly and Trilogy would be overjoyed as well. He explained how he had been fearful to tread outside of the safe house since he had seen her. Had she seen him, she might try to capture him, interrogate him, and kill him. She would definitely not try to hide if she saw him. She wasn't one to run away or hide, she would follow him, capture him, and find out whether or not the man survived. She never knew who her assassin was but she had her theories, him being one of them. "But your bomb idea. No. I don't like it."

"What do you think you'll do?" The man stood up and paced around Trilogy. He took a final swig of the whiskey bottle and cracked his neck, Trilogy even hearing the echo.

"I need a room, somewhere empty I can bring her for a while."

"You can't bring her here. They'll know. No! No! Just blow her up and be done with it!"

"It isn't that easy. It won't be that easy. I don't want to bring her here, no. Somewhere else, close by though."

"Alright, I got an idea." Trilogy stood up and went back to the window. "Alright you see the bar now."

"Yes."

"The building with the neon sign is a big 'no-no' so avoid that place but there. There's a place where the chimney is."

"What is it?"

"It's where sometimes they drag girls to rape them."

"Woah!" The man shot Trilogy a look. "I'm not touching her!"

"I didn't think you'd gone totally mental on me."

"Then what…"

"That's the story. She was brought there, raped, and left for dead."

"Alright. Is anyone in there?"

"Two stoners. Don't worry though. They aren't awake until noon."

"They're going to know if I bring in a woman and start killing her."

"No. They won't. You see, they had a lot of money in there once so I had some of my guys go in and steal in. The dolts knocked over half of their shit. I could hear it from here, they never woke up!"

"You're sure? If I have to kill them this isn't believable anymore."

"Don't worry, it'll work!"

"Fine. I'll do that then." He sat back down in the chair and lit a cigarette. The taste of whiskey in his mouth mixed with the nicotine in the cigarette and relaxed his whole body in just a moment's time. "I need something to knock her out with."

"I've got plenty of that here. We manufacture drugs. Come on!"

"But I need something that can wake her up fast."

"I got that too. I'll bring up what you need in about a half hour, maybe an hour. Don't make me wait on this. Do her and I'm your guide."

"It's a deal," he held out his hand. It was almost as if they were agreeing to help each other out with their cars but, instead, they were tossing someone's life away. Despite how sinister the person was, they treated it as such a non-serious subject that it would have made anyone sick. "Oh cutie pie," he yelled out of the room. Larisa was standing outside, pacing back and fourth, furious that he was agreeing to murder another person so easily. She didn't like it and she hated that she was going with him but he was her only hope. Her fury only grew when he called to her as if she was just another hooker in Sanctuary. She didn't answer him but fumed more. "Larisa. Come in here." He said again, this time, standing at the door. She was shivering, he could tell and the draft in the hallway was enough to make his own skin instantly break out in goose bumps. "Come on, you're shivering."

Layarteb

06-01-2008, 07:47

She stopped and looked at him, exhaling a cloud of fog as she shivered from the cold. "What do you think this is? Some kind of game?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're agreeing," Trilogy stepped out of the door and stopped in the hallway.

"Give me a half hour." The man nodded.

"Continue," he said to Larisa as he stepped out in the hallway as well. It was dark but a little moonlight shone in from a window and reflected off the otherwise filthy, industrial tile floor, shining on half of her face. "Listen, you don't know anything about that conversation."

"Oh now you're telling me to keep my mouth shut?"

"No. I'm saying that there is a history there that you don't know about. And yes you will keep your mouth shut."

"And if I don't?"

"You'll never find that bunker, I promise you. Now go in, sit down, get warm, and I'll explain it to you."

"Yay, another war story." She didn't budge but the sarcasm in her voice echoed loudly.

"Or I could keep you in the fucking dark, it's your choice. Either way, tomorrow morning I am going to do away with one less bad person in the world. Will that satisfy you?"

"So you're going to leave me in here. Alone. What makes you think I'll still be here when you get back?"

"You do realize what'll happen if they catch you roaming around, trying to get out of here. Those aren't the most reputable people down there. To them, you'll be breakfast and they won't be gentle." She hated the reality of the matter and refused to accept it, standing instead in the cold, her hair falling over the lighted part of her face. "It's cold. Come in. Sit down." She couldn't wait any longer; the cold had penetrated her skin and froze her bones.

"I don't want to hear the story. I want to know why though? Why is that person a bad guy and you a good guy?" She walked passed him, her arms folded in anger.

As he shut the door behind her, he began, "I'm not a good guy."

"You could have fooled me. Here you are trying to save me and protect me and do all this good in the world by killing off bad guys and yet you're no good guy? Then what are you?" She ducked underneath the thin blankets on the cot as he sat down on the chair. The cigarette he had placed on a small candle plate on the desk had become a long piece of ash and he got in a final drag before he had to put it out, using the candle plate as an ashtray.

"I did worse things than this person did."

"So how are they the bad guy? You did them for the government? They did them against?"

"You could say that."

"What government are you still fighting for? It's all over! Everything is fucking over!"

"Some things aren't."

"What is this, a personal war? Your personal war?"

"Something like that."

"What does this person's death have to do with your getting to the center and doing whatever it is that you want to do there?"

"Without it, Trilogy wouldn't be with us."

"Can't he find some dog to do his dirty work?" She said sincerely and he almost detected some fear in her voice.

"It's complicated." He ignored it and continued. "Sanctuary is a place all about politics, despite the desired sense of anarchy. There is no anarchy here. The Harvesters, they rule this place. The whole Neatherealm, that's ruled by someone too. There is no anarchy here, just people pretending it to be anarchy. So you see, consequences still exist."

"So you're helping a gigantic drug dealer kill off one person? Tell me how these means justify your ends."

"Because if Trilogy helps we get you to your precious little bunker that much faster and I get to the center. That much faster."

"How can you trust him? He sold you out, remember?"

"Because he's the only friend I've got in here."

"The only friend? That's your friend? A man who tried to have you arrested or killed, whichever?"

"Like I said. It's complicated."

"That's a load of horse shit and you know it!" The warmth of the blankets finally began to seep into her pores, although they weren't as warm as she would have liked. Under the circumstances though, she had no right to complain. "Come on. Why the fuck are you doing this? It isn't about complicated or politics. It's about your personal vendetta."

"So what if it is? You aren't concerned with that."

"You're right. I'm not," although the whole business intrigued her and she wanted to know the whole story, everything, from the beginning to now but she dared not ask, her pride getting the best of her there.

"So then why is this such an issue to you? You have some moral dilemma with me killing off bad people?"

"I have a moral dilemma with killing period."

"What do you think would have happened if those people got a hold of you back at your basement there? What do you think they would have done, invited you out to tea, sipped it with you, asked you if you read the latest edition of Cosmo? No. They would have raped and killed you, simple as that. You said you have a dilemma with killing but guess what, nobody else here does except the weak. Those are the people who don't last in here, who come out dead, who come out of someone's asshole after they've been eaten. What you think I'm joking? That is the truth about this place. You see, I knew everything about this place before I stepped into it but I wanted Trilogy to tell me so I have an excuse for knowing everything. You think I'm here shooting it from the hip?"

She sort of nodded her head. "Are you?"

"No. This is planned. This is researched. I'm going to succeed."

"What is this, some secret government mission?"

"No. I don't do those anymore."

"Then what is it then?"

"You said it yourself."

"What?"

"A personal vendetta. People need to be brought to justice for what they did in the past and I'm the one to do it."

"Oh," she stressed the word. "So you're a vigilante now?"

"Do you enjoy being a bitch?"

"Hey fuck off! You're the one putting yourself on some fucking pedestal here saying how 'righteous' this shit is."

"Go to bed. When I leave in the morning do not follow me and do not leave this place or else there is no protection I can give you. What I do is my own. When I come back, be ready to fucking leave. Is that understood?" There was a long silence but he reiterated, "Do you fucking understand?"

"Yes." She answered snidely but didn't lay down for bed. She didn't feel like it until about five minutes before Trilogy returned with a small pouch. Inside of the pouch was a small blow gun with a thin dart. He explained, quietly by whispering to the man that the dart was coated with some special drug and that, to wake her up, he would need to use the needle that was also in the pouch. It contained a powerful steroid that could wake her up from a drug induced slumber. He nodded, put the pouch away, and sat down on the floor, against the wall, right by the heater and closed his eyes. He locked the door before he nodded off and set his internal alarm clock to wake up before dawn.

Layarteb

07-03-2008, 01:20

That night, a cold descended over Sanctuary. Winter was here and though no snow fell and no clouds graced the sky, a sort of impending doom was upon the city. What nobody knew was that a massive winter storm was brewing to the west, powerful enough to dump in excess of a foot of snow on the Neatherealm, dropping the temperature to a mere eighteen degrees. It could veer off and go north or it could continue along its easterly path, making Sanctuary, its target. The cold air being sucked into Sanctuary and the Neatherealm by departing warm arm chilled the whole place to just above freezing. People not ready for it found themselves slowly freezing to death while others huddled by fires so close that flames singed their nose hairs. Inside of the whore houses and bars, the heat was pumped up and the sheer thermodynamics of that many bodies ensured that those places would stay warm.

High overhead, a satellite drifted, taking advantage of the clear skies. It was a reconnaissance satellite, belonging to the Layartebian military and it was being used to conduct aerial reconnaissance on Sanctuary. Government forces were pondering a strike against the city using a Special Forces team and helicopter support. The goal was to nab two high-value criminals who had been reported in the city. Both of them had been horrific butchers during the civil war and their hiding out in Sanctuary meant they were easier to get. The satellite would look for their location, as arduous a task as that was.

Yet in the warm room of the school, the man sat completely still. He was leaning against the wall of the room, just inches from the heater, feeling its warmth on his skin. Larisa lay on the other side, on the uncomfortable but luxurious cot, the thin blankets pulled all the way up to her neck. She was curled up in a ball underneath the sheets, using her own body heat to stay warm. She would have been better off sitting next to the heater but that was ten times more uncomfortable than the ragged cot was. As dawn fast approached, the man slept very lightly, almost as if he were just napping. In reality, that was all he was really doing, just napping, waiting for the moment to wake up and undertake his mission. He would hide out in the alley, using its dark spots to conceal himself. Once his target entered, he would use the blow gun to put the dart in her, preferably her neck, rendering her unconscious. Then he'd take her to the house, restrain her, untie her, question her, and, getting the answers he wanted, he would kill her, making sure she was dead, once and for all.

Still in Acheron, Apollyon strode carefully through the darkened abyss. He wasn't too far from the Pit at all, where the Shadows rested. They were an enigma in the Neatherealm. Everyone had come to the Neatherealm to hide out, to stash themselves away from the government, and, needless to say, the anti-government feelings far eclipsed those being pro-government. Then, there were the Shadows, a group of vigilantes hunting down criminals for the government. They were pro-government, one of the only groups that were yet they knew their role. They dared not oppose the Administrator or the Inferi body guards that sometimes ventured from the city's underground catacombs. They hunted mostly in the Middle Rim, where the gangs tried to hide. Sometimes they even went into Sanctuary, capturing their prey and hoisting them out of the Neatherealm through helicopter, sometimes in the Middle Rim, sometimes in the Outer Rim. They were unique in that they were not only pro-government but they had vehicles. The Shadows operated a number of trucks, mostly jeep-like vehicles and old, military transports but vehicles nonetheless. If anyone else possessed vehicles in the Neatherealm, they were always at risk for losing it and if they did, they had small dirt bikes, like Larisa had.

Despite that being her home, Larisa had not given it a second thought that she left behind a good deal of her possessions. She had what she needed with her, everything else was useless to her, the bike included, if she got to where she wanted, the elusive Bunker of the Lost. She still didn't even know if it truly existed but it was her only hope. She knew that the man would bring her to it, if it did exist but she also knew that, if it didn't exist, she was on her own. The man was going to the center and he wasn't going to turn back and bring her all the way back to her basement abode just to have to come all the way back, again. It would be her willpower and her willpower alone that would get her back there, nothing else. She put a big gamble on their being the Bunker of the Lost and she hoped its existence was true.

The man stirred about twenty minutes before dawn. He looked around the darkened room and noticed that Larisa was soundly asleep. What time she had fallen asleep he did not know. He had drifted off himself before she had, her anger basically preventing her from falling asleep too quickly as thoughts played out in her mind, running it at speeds close to that of a rocket. Quietly, the man stood and put on his shoes, pulling the small pouch out of one of his boots before he put it on, picking up his pistol next. Loaded and ready, he stepped out of the door and quietly shot down the hallway, the stairs, and exited the building. Everyone was asleep, even the guards at the front door, who didn't even hear as he left. He guessed that they were drunk. Some guards, he thought to himself as he walked by them without them so much as moving or breathing different. The brisk, cold, and chilling morning air hit him right away but he didn't have time to stop and think if he should find another layer of clothing or not. Instead, he darted across the street and down the sidewalk, using the darkness as his cover. Because it was so early and the sun was not yet over the horizon, there were a lot of dark spots.

When he entered the alleyway by the bar, he noticed that it was extremely messy. There were dozens of places to hide a person, let alone a small bomb. Because it was so crowded, if anyone could get far enough into it, they would have a hard time getting out in a hurry. This was all to his advantage and he took up a position deep into the alley, behind a pile of garbage. With the dart loaded into the small, wooden blow gun, he now began a waiting game. He did not know where Mary was coming from but he did know, as per Trilogy that was, that she came through here every morning at dawn. He had plenty of time to waste waiting for her to show. The waiting gave him some time to think, mostly about Larisa. He wondered if he should tell her the whole story, if perhaps that would set her at ease. He noticed that the moment they had left from the basement, despite wanting to come along, Larisa was in a state of deep regret. She was not easy with the journey at all, even if it was towards a place she wanted to go. She felt uncomfortable, scared, and slightly angry at herself for pushing so hard to go along. A part of her wished that she was sitting in her basement abode, curled up underneath her own sheets in her own cruddy cot, far away from such a grotesque place. Yet another part of her wanted to be there. It wanted to be going towards the Bunker, to seeking some sort of safety and salvation from all of the horrors of the Neatherealm, many of which she had seen since she first came in contact with this mysterious man whom, surprisingly, she trusted. This didn't help, of course. She was unable to explain why she trusted him so well or why she was going along with him. To her, none of this made any sense. Emotionally, she was confused, perplexed, and at war with herself. That explained why she was always so short with the man, even though he was only trying to help her.

The truth of the matter was that she didn't care who he killed or why, so long as he protected her. He could kill anyone, anywhere, and any which way, she honestly did not care. She did care though that he was leaving her alone in this place. That was why she was so angry that he had gone to kill whomever it was that Trilogy asked him to kill. She was scared to be alone and the fact that she had drifted off to sleep said a lot. She really, truthfully, and irrevocably trusted the man, enough to fall asleep, to let herself become the most vulnerable a person could be, asleep. Despite their first encounter, which she still replayed in her head, she was no longer afraid of the man or of his tactics or of his quest. It excited her, which only added to more internal confusion. Within her raged a thunderstorm of uncertainty, which cast her into some sort of unknown abyss. She didn't know much about anything and she certainly didn't know why she was doing what it was that she was doing. Alone, asleep, unaware that the man had left her, Larisa slept soundly, better than she ever had since she had come to the Neatherealm. There was one thing to say though about her situation. She trusted Trilogy far less than she trusted anyone in the Neatherealm. She saw him as a many of opportunity that would do anything to put himself on top, to get himself over the other person, even if it meant selling them to a higher bidder or killing them. She thought everything with Trilogy was an elaborate setup. She entertained the possibility that if the man was going out to kill someone, he was really going out to walk into an ambush, trap himself, and get himself killed. Without his protection, she would be candy for the gang members inside of the school. She wondered, just before she closed her eyes, if she was going to be dragged from her sleep and raped during the morning hours, after he had left her. It was a wonder she had fallen asleep at all and not stirred when he left the room, despite her keen sense of that sort of thing.

Meanwhile, the man huddled down behind the pile of garbage, which was high enough to cover up to his waist. He waited, cautiously and patiently. He had, upon entering the alley, spread some sort of garbage on the ground, which anyone entering the alley would have to step on, giving some sort of audio alert that someone was coming. He couldn't see from behind the pile and he dared not stick his head up cover its top. Despite the lack of lighting, he knew it was all to easy to be seen doing something of that nature and he didn't want to tempt fate into letting him fail this one. Mary was a trained killer, professional elite, someone who the government would have benefited from, had she been on their side, instead of against them. Had she been on the side of the government, she could have been there to protect the Emperor, even when all hell broke loose and the conspiracy unfolded right before his eyes. Minutes seemed like hours as he waited there, the blow gun ready to be fired.

He didn't know how long he had waited. It could have been five minutes, ten minutes, a half an hour, he didn't know. At the end of his wait, he heard the rustling but it stopped quickly. He had heard the footsteps of someone wearing combat boots but he didn't hear anything following that, which was what prompted him to get ready. Whoever was there knew that something was up and it had to be Mary. He heard a few more footsteps after a long pause and then silence again. Judging from the number of footsteps and the sound of them, he knew that the person was too far away to be within good range of the blow gun for him to pop up and shoot so he continued to wait. There were footsteps, a pause, footsteps, and a pause. That pattern continued for another minute before the footsteps were loud enough to be within arms reach. Pleased with the distance, the man shot up from the garbage, the blow gun between his lips, holding it with his left hand, his pistol in his right hand. With a powerful exhalation, strictly through his mouth, he sent the small, drug-soaked, wooden dart through the air at a phenomenal speed, catching it right into his target's neck. Mary stumbled a few steps as the drug kicked in and traveled through her veins. She barely got her hand on her knife hilt when she lost consciousness, dropping to the cold ground beside a garbage pile, just a few paces from where the man was.

Layarteb

07-03-2008, 01:35

Drawing his pistol, the man now waited for any sign of life in the area. He crouched low in the alley, his pistol straight in front of him, the sights bridge perfectly, and the suppressor at the end of the barrel making sure that any shot he were to take would be a quieter one. Carefully, he scanned with his eyes, pointing his head exactly where his eyes went, both of them locked into each other in a robotic like manner. Cautiously, he looked forward, up, back down, and all around him as he stepped closer and closer to Mary's unconscious body. When he got to it, he crouched back down and, never taking his eyes off the sights on his pistol, he released his right hand, and checked for a pulse on her. She was still alive, good enough for him. He backed away and kicked her now, testing her for consciousness but, there was none. It was good enough for him. Happy with the result, he moved forward to the opening on the alley and peaked out of it, his pistol pointed forward again. Anyone here? He thought to himself but there wasn't anyone, in either direction. Knowing now that someone was going to be expecting her, he quickly holstered his pistol and picked up her body, slung it over his shoulder, and began to exit the alley. He instantly began moving towards the building that Trilogy had pointed out and he made sure that he looked everywhere. He didn't want anyone noticing that he was carrying her and alert someone, especially her own faction.

When he came to the door, he found that it was locked, tight. He yanked on the door and even tried to kick it but it didn't budge and he didn't want to make too much noise. Despite what Trilogy said about the people inside, he didn't trust his own luck not to have them wake up and find him there. Then, he would have to kill them, making the whole story that they took and raped her completely unbelievable. At least if they woke up, alive, they would take the blame for it, even if they never remembered actually doing anything, which could easily be blamed on their drunken and drugged up state. Nobody would think to question Trilogy or his gang, especially when the answer was so easily available for them as being those people inside. He had to think and he had to think fast. Without any easy point of entrance, he was going to be in trouble. Time was wasting and she wouldn't sleep forever. He quickly dropped her down on the ground, laying her against the cold wall of the building. He took another look around and didn't see anything. Removing his lock pick from his pants pocket, he quickly opened it and began to jiggle the door lock. It took a few seconds but he got it open easy enough and opened the door. He put the lock pick away, picked up Mary and slung her on his shoulder, and removed his pistol from the holster, pointing it in front of him, ready to shoot anyone who stood in his way.

The door creaked opened, slowly but still quietly. Finally, when he got it open, he stepped inside and noticed that he was in what remained of a drug store. The place was trashed though. It was a small space with everything held behind the counter. The floor, which had once been vinyl composition tile but not it was chewed up and covered in garbage. Half of the ceiling was on the floor, its dust everywhere else. Litter and chunks of the counter took up the rest of the place. What used to be a cash register was half on the counter and half on the floor, its circuit board stuck into the sheetrock wall, right above a stain of dried and old blood. This can't be any worse than hell is. He thought to himself as he stepped over the garbage, the door shutting behind him. He kept his pistol out and ahead of him as he stepped towards a door that led directly into a back room. He stopped before he came to it and put her down on the floor, behind what was left of the counter, proceeding forward alone, without the extra weight.

The back store room was dark and without any windows, he couldn't tell where anything was. There was a lot of garbage on the floor, he could tell as he stepped over and on top of it as he moved through. He could tell that nobody was in the room so, before he tripped over something and got too far, he removed his flashlight and turned it on, bracing his left hand underneath his right, his wrists touching. Now, he could illuminate the room and he did, taking a quick survey of the room. Garbage and more of the ceiling covered the floor, along with a large cabinet that had not only been tipped over but attacked with an axe in the process. He didn't decide to stay there for long and, instead, took a trip up the stairs at the far end, which led to the second floor of the building. He carefully climbed up the steps, which were made of concrete, sturdy at least, which he couldn't say about the rest of the building. Above the store was a one bedroom apartment, with a living room at the front of it, a small bathroom and kitchen, and an even smaller bedroom. He guessed that this was where they took their girls.

With his pistol still out in front of him and above his flashlight, he turned off the flashlight and pushed open the unlocked and partially destroyed door at the top of the stairs. It led right into the kitchen and the smell was what hit him first. The caustic scent of a drug lab was enough to make his eyes instantly begin to tear as they fended off the horrific odor. How people could sleep there, he did not know. The kitchen was a complete and total pigsty. Empty beer bottles and liquor bottles were all over the floor, along with half-eaten food and crumbs, all rotting. Dirt and spills were everywhere and plastic chemical containers were lying all around as well. There were no appliances except a refrigerator, which didn't even have a freezer door on it and whose door handle for the lower part, was broken clean off, lying on the counter beside it. The sink was rusty and full of garbage and flies buzzed around the trash on the floor. He didn't both to stay, checking the bathroom quickly to see that it was just as much of a filth ridden sty. The stench of whatever was in there filled the air as he pushed open the door, not closing it quick enough.

The apartment was quiet and still. Inside of the living room, he found his first victim. The man was lying on the sofa, in the same filth that covered the kitchen floor and counters. The man was sound asleep, an empty bottle of bourbon in his right hand, which clutched it tightly, despite it being on the floor. He didn't bother to try to wake him; instead, he peaked into the bed room. Inside was the other man, passed out on the bed, face down, drool hanging from his lower lip. He couldn't tell if there was someone else with him but he could tell that the man had enjoyed himself the night before. He could plainly see that both of them were in a deep state of sleep and that Trilogy was right, they weren't going to wake up anytime soon. Satisfied, he put away his pistol and returned back to the ground floor. He found Mary still unconscious behind the counter and quickly looked around the floor. He couldn't find a chair for her but he did find plenty of things to restrain her down. All he had to do was find something to restrain her to, choosing the back room over the front room, despite its darkness. He used his flashlight too look around the room, finding a light switch in the process. Daringly, he flicked it and, above him, a fluorescent light, which hadn't been turned on in years, began to start. It flickered as its starter, saturated in dust, began to make the connection. Finally, it caught on and the room was illuminated. He almost wanted to turn it back off after he saw the filth of the room. There was garbage everywhere, blood stains on the wall, and even a human skull lying on the ground. He decided not to approach it, it was too grotesque to look at and it wasn't a clean skull either.

However, in the process, he found exactly what he was looking for, just what he would restrain Mary to, an exposed beam in the wall. Quietly, he pushed aside some of the garbage so that he could stand there without tripping over anything. Satisfied, he went back into the other room, tied Mary's hands together, and bound her feet. Making sure that the ropes were tight, he picked her up and brought her in, to the room, where he then used a piece of chain to restrain her to the exposed beam. There was no way she was going to pull herself away from it and he shut off the light before he injected her with the stimulant. He carefully waited now, in the dark, leaning against the wall, by the switch. It was pitch-black in the room and she couldn't see at all, although neither could he. He knew where she was in the room but he couldn't see her body. Groggily, she came to, unaware of her surroundings but fully aware that she was "captured" and restrained. "Who's there?" She demanded as she came to, only a few minutes after the injection. "Who's there? I can fucking hear you!"

"Relax woman," the man responded calmly. "I am here."

"Who are you?"

"Someone from your past. Don't worry about it though; I don't like to play with my dead like you do."

"Goddamnit who are you!" She demanded again, trying to free herself, obviously helpless. "What do you want?" She calmed down, now trying some sort of reasoning. "Huh? What is it?" She altered her voice, thinking he was just a rapist.

"I told you. I don't do that sort of thing. So it won't work with me. No, instead I want to ask you a few questions. Starting with, how did you survive that bullet to your chest?"

She didn't answer at first but her mind was telling her something she had thought for a long time now. "Lieutenant. Is that you?"

"In the flesh." He flicked on the light switch and watched as the room became illuminated with the fluorescent light. Her eyes widened as she saw him. "How did you survive that?"

"Better question Lieutenant. How did you survive that explosion?"

"You first."

"Fair is fair I guess," she chuckled. "Body double. You see, that wasn't me you shot. You did shoot didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Yes. That wasn't me. It was a double of mine. Perhaps a little like that. You actually shot my sister. She looks very much like me. You see, that wasn't a very nice thing you did there. My sister. She wasn't involved like I was."

"Where were you during this?"

"Hunting for you."

"Even though I was 'dead' myself?"

"I never quite thought you were dead." She said with a smile.

"Well I didn't expect to see you alive again. Not after that."

"So now you know. Your turn?"

"Very well. Fair is fair I guess."

"In the situation. Yes."

"I got lucky. You see, the explosion ripped through the walls and took me down, knocked me right over but a bed mattress fell on top of me. Shielded me you could say. I guess I just got lucky."

"Yes. Lucky."

"You do realize that, this time, I'm going to make sure you don't survive."

"I might have an escape plan in mind."

"You might," she continued to fidget in the room. "But I might have planned for it."

"I wouldn't put it past you. You're a cunning son of a bitch. You know that."

"I do."

"In truthfulness, Lieutenant. I was honestly afraid of you. That is why I had to kill you early. Quickly. You see the stories from your friend, the Sergeant. He. He told me great tales of you."

"Well Sergeant Williams was never one to keep his mouth shut."

"Sergeant Williams?" She asked with a tilt of her head. "Who was he?"

"Your contact."

"No. Honey. He wasn't. No. My contact was Sergeant Harris."

"Harris?"

"Yes." She nodded her head and he couldn't believe her.

"He died that day in Sanctuary. When we assault it."

"He did. The tank turned him into small particles of mist."

"Yes. It did."

"He was your traitor. Williams. Well, Williams was just someone else. Someone a little less significant. He was a sick twisted son of a bitch himself. Was it true? What he did with the kid?"

"Yes. It was."

"I presume he is here too?"

"He was."

"You found him didn't you? And now you've found me." The man nodded. "Well what do you plan on doing to me then?" He had not moved from his place at the wall. "Are you going to kill me too?"

"It's something that should have happened a long time ago, had you not put your sister in the way of the bullet."

"Spare me. You and I are one of the same. Our only difference is that you fought with the government. I fought against it."

"We are not the same. You, you saw civilians as a tool of the trade, shields for you and your army."

"If you weren't with us you were against us. I remember hearing that from someone. Was it you?"

"Perhaps," he knew he had said it but the context was different.

"I applied the same logic." He shifted his weight but remained sitting against the wall. "I don't understand. You. You killed for pleasure just the same as I did. What? Because you fought for the government it was okay? Because you were killing traitors? What do you think the government was? Traitors to the people."

"And so they were…"

"I'm sorry?" She couldn't believe what she had heard. "You? So fiercely loyal to the government and now to utter something like that?"

"I fought for the government. I don't deny that. I supported the government. I believed in it."

"Did you now?"

"And you? You were just a mercenary."

"So I was. But I was still a citizen. Just the same as you were. We were brother and sister, Layartebians."

"Yet you choose a different side than I did. It's good that you weren't my sister by blood. I would have had an easier time shooting you then." He laughed.

"So what now? You are here? Fighting the good fight?"

"No. I'm fighting my fight. Where is he?"

"Who? Who are you looking for now? You've found me. What has that gotten you? Nothing. What you don't understand is that whatever it is that you seek, it isn't what you want."

"Spare me the philosophy. Where is he?"

"Who?"

"The Administrator!" He angrily looked at her. "You know who, stop wasting my time," he yelled.

"Him? You're seeking him? What makes you think you're even going to find him? Do you even know where to look?"

"The center. That's where I am going."

"Then you've found him but that's no secret. Any moron here can tell you that."

"Where in the center?"

"Do you think I know? He betrayed me just the same as he betrayed you."

"No. Not like me."

"What was different? What then? He sold me out to the government, allowed me to be taken away in handcuffs. Before my escape that is. I was his scapegoat. They blamed it all on me you know."

"Because you were so innocent?"

"So what are you going to do when you find him," she said, opting to ignore the line of questioning. "What will you do? Kill him?" He nodded. "You won't get near him. His bodyguard's make the Emperor's seem like nothing. They're loyal. Too loyal!"

"Then I'll shoot my way through them. You see, he and I, we have a history. He ruined mine so I will ruin his future."

"You're only going to your own doom. What makes you think you could do it alone? Well. Perhaps not alone. Someone has to be guiding you somehow. I mean. You found me after all."

"You are just a target of opportunity and I like opportunities. I am here of my own accord. You, on the other hand, you're here for protection. Hiding out amongst the Wraiths are we?"

"Like minds follow like paths."

"So it would seem. How do I get there?"

"Get where? The center? Walk. That's it. There is no safe path."

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps what? You think you're going to do it alone? Why not allow my help?"

"What is this a cartoon? You're trying to convince me to spare you, let you help me? The moment I remove those ropes you'll try to kill me. I wasn't born yesterday."

"From what I recall you don't have a birthday."

"Correct. You have a good memory, unfortunately too good. It's getting to be that time now."

"I still have time. You shouldn't consider me dead just yet Lieutenant, though I would be worried about my own well being."

"That works on rookies huh?"

"Have I lied to you yet? Why would I start now?" She had a point. He was extra careful as some sort of elusive shadow fell over him. He felt a sudden chill down his back. He realized that a thought came through his head, a thought that was applicable enough in this situation to warrant him to step back a little further.

"Planning something?"

"Every soldier has an escape plan. I eluded authorities for years until I got caught myself. Too bad for those police officers, I know they didn't deserve what happened to them but you see that's the way war unfolds. Then you and your prima-donnas found me, thought you killed me, and here we lie. No. He sold me away, to the loyalists. Now here I am. You've found me yet again, presumably with someone else's help. So yes. I have a plan."

Layarteb

07-03-2008, 02:35

OOC: The content of the following post is not intended for all audiences. Please consult the warning in the first post if you have not seen it.

"I'm glad to hear it. You see, this time no body double is going to save you and you can scream all you want, nobody is alive, awake, or even sober within a hundred yards."

"I wouldn't do that. That's too much like a cheesy movie."

"Good. Then we'll try something," he reached down and picked up a block of concrete, big enough to fit in his hand like a rock but small enough to wield easily. With a toss, he chucked it towards her, striking her clear against her shoulder. "How's that for a plan?"

"What are you? An ancient Muslim? You're going to stone me to death? I hate to tell you adultery isn't my specialty."

"Nor is stoning mine. I just want to remind you that you are done. I'm going to take pleasure in this. In gutting you!"

"In gutting me?" She started to laugh as he tossed another rock of cement, this one doing far more damage. Inside of it there was a small piece of steel rebar so, when the block exploded and disintegrated into a cloud of grey dust after smashing into her jaw, the steel rebar kept moving. He had practically pitched the chunk of cement, as if it were a baseball and he was throwing a fastball. Her whole jaw puffed up as she spat out a wad of blood, including one tooth. He laughed, taking some sort of pride in his torture. She deserved it, there was no doubt about it but he would have been far better off if he had just killed her. She was a dangerous foe and, to him, she was one of the most potent enemies. Even restrained, as solidly as she was, she was still the largest danger in the world to him.

"Hey? Who's there?" Suddenly, a groggy voice echoed from the top of the stairs. The man immediately swung his head towards the stairs, in a bird like motion, quick, abrupt, and precise. Instantly, he drew his pistol from his thigh and Mary began to laugh as she spit out more blood. Her jaw was turning purple as blood exited the wounds caused by the abrasive pebbles and steel rebar that were inside of the cement chunk. "Hey? I can hear you down there motherfucker! Who's there!" The voice sounded more alert.

"You left them alive?" Mary whispered, a smile on her face. "Oh this is worth it!"

"Who? Left what? That's it fucker! I'm going to kill you! You picked the wrong place to break into!" The man stepped back into the shadows and put his pistol away, drawing his knife instead. He would have to take his attention off Mary but, only for a moment. The stairs creaked as the junkie began to walk down them, a lead pipe in his hand. He moved slowly but clumsily, still drunk and high from the evening before. His reflexes were beyond slow but his adrenaline was racing, making him still dangerous. Doped up, he was nearly impervious to pain and that would require double or more effort from the man to subdue him. He had a plan though, he always did, as did Mary. "Listen you fucker you best be gone by the time I'm down there!" The voice yelled again and his legs began to move down the steps towards the bottom. His torso would be visible soon as the man waited for his moment to act.

It came not much later and he did it in a fluid, swift, and professional move. He grabbed the junkie's leg with his left hand and yanked him down. The surprise stunned the junkie in such a way that, as he came crashed down, towards the steps, his entire concept of balance gone, he dropped the lead pipe. It clanged down each step it hit, rolling to the bottom and stopping against the brick wall. The junkie, on the other hand, slammed the back of his head into the wall and then into the steps as the man yanked him towards the ground. The junkie flew threw the air and crashed down on a pile of concrete chunks, dirt, debris, and wood chunks. Everything that he landed on was sharp and tore his shirt to pieces, shredding it and the skin on his back. His head hit the ground just as hard as it had before and he was practically in a concussion induced coma but he still remained conscious. With a hard, downward motion, the man drove the knife drive into his heart, ripped it out, and then jammed it into the side of his face, right through his cheek. He wasn't done though. He made a third though unnecessary slash, yanking the edge of the knife across the junkie's throat. He was dead before finished wiping the bloodied knife on the junkie's shirt.

"Wow. Impressive!" Mary said, actually having enjoyed the short melee that ended with one dead junkie. "Just think you could kill me that quick but you intend to play with me I guess?"

"Something like that," he walked towards her, his knife still in his hand. He gave a quick slash with it and opened up a gash on her arm that was at least six inches long and several layers deep. It bled immediately and she winced with the pain. "You see, that moron there, he decided to make this look like something else. I intended for them to wake up to find you but, well, now, I guess that won't happen, will it?"

"I guess not. New plan?"

"Perhaps." He stepped back and reached down against the side of the wall and pulled up a short piece of chain. It was long enough that he could use it as a sort of whip, while remaining far enough away from her to keep out of harms way if she suddenly got free. He swung it around and landed it four times on her with rapid succession, slamming her knees once, her stomach twice, and her hip the last time. She wouldn't lie to herself, his torture was driving pain throughout every part of her body and she hated it. She wasn't a fan of torture although she had used it on more than one occasion. He, on the other hand, was a master at it and he used it far more than he would even tell himself. "That looks painful."

"No more than your sorry excuse for a torture session," she continued to lie to him though. He continued to swing the chain, hitting her legs and knees many more times, her stomach receiving just as many hits. It was an eight minute ordeal that left her bruised, bloody, and in serious pain. Her knees had swelled up to twice their size, her stomach ached, and she even had bruising inside of her body. Soon, she would begin to bleed internally. He kept it up, using the chain, concrete chunks, and his knife to inflict wounds on her as he made his point. She nearly lost consciousness, the pain echoing through her body.

"Don't fall asleep on me here," he said as he smacked her cheek with his hand to keep her conscious. "No passing out allowed!"

"You're boring me half to death here."

"That's not true now is it?" He swung the knife again and sliced her clear across her stomach. She was already bruised and bleeding but the slice opened up wounds that were internal more than they were external. More blood came out and she yelled out in pain, the first time yet. "Did we feel that?"

"You just wait," she sort of promised him. He added more bruises and cuts to her as the time went on and it was nearly a half hour later that he finally decided it was enough, that it was her time to die.

"You see. Mary. There are demons within me. You are a demon."

"Don't tell me you've found God and you're some sort of crusader," despite the wounds, the torture, and the blood less, she maintained her sarcastic wit.

"Not in the least. Memories of hell I should say and you're one of them. You're a memory to me, a memory of something awful. Now I can finally quell my own demon there. You're time is over now."

"Is it?" Suddenly, she sprang forward, towards him. He was standing far enough away that she couldn't hit him instantly but she was close with a blade swing. Somehow, she had managed to cut herself free, the entire time, slowing working on the rope with some sort of small blade she had concealed. He didn't search her too well, just looked for a large knife or pistol and it was easily understood that he could have missed it. With the swing, she nearly caught his neck but he wasn't about to let his hard work end with his own demise. She was weakened, wounded, and practically dead but yet the resistance she threw up came from some unknown reserve of strength within her. She took a second swing, this one he avoided. It would be her last one. As he ducked out of the way, he drove his own knife right up, into her chest, underneath her ribs, into her diaphragm. She dropped the knife instantly as he pushed the knife hard. Her whole face came to a stone-like appearance and, as he pulled out the knife, moved his arm away, she collapsed to the floor.

"Now you're done," he said to her as she laid there, her diaphragm slowing to a slow. She wouldn't die instantly, not like the junkie who got a knife through his heart but rather, she would die a little slower, suffocating as her diaphragm stopped the process of respiration. It would take some time and she stared up at him, paralyzed to act, sort of wishing in her own mind that he would kill her to get it over with, rather than wait for her to suffocate to death. It took a few minutes and, finally, her pulse stopped. He checked this four times, just to make sure that she was really dead. Pleased, he put his knife away and drew out his pistol. He walked over to the stairs and ascended them. He moved quickly but not loudly, coming to the top with his pistol out in front of him. The stench had certainly not changed and the kitchen remained undisturbed. He moved into the living room, to find that the junkie he had killed had been the one on the sofa. With a quick check to the bedroom, he saw that the other junkie remained completely asleep, lying on the bed in the same position as earlier. The drool had only increased since then. He shut the door back over, kept his pistol out, and sifted through some of the garbage in the living room and kitchen, gathering a few items that were lying around before exiting the second floor. People wouldn't stir for another few hours but, just in case, he didn't want to be caught lurking around if anyone did come around. He had to act fast and he returned back to the ground floor, almost expecting Mary to be gone but, she wasn't. She remained on the floor, next to the decreased junkie, dead herself. The man put away his pistol and gave a kick to her side, bent down, checked her pulse again, and, satisfied, went to the stash that he had removed from upstairs.

He drew his shirt collar up, over his nose, as he opened a bottle of strong, powerful ethanol. It stunk and he didn't want to inhale the fumes. He poured it over her face and the junkie's as well. He would concoct a particularly corrosive and toxic chemical when he was finished, which soon began to sizzle as he added the last elements. He kept his shirt over his nose but it wasn't helping and he couldn't get too close as the noxious vapors and smell of melting flesh wafted into the air. His eyes began to tear shortly thereafter and he was done. The sizzling sound in the air was enough to tell him that it was working. Then, he pulled out his pistol, finally ready to leave, and fired off two shots, both into Mary, one in her chest and one in her head. His work was done and he knew that now, she was dead. Excessive as it was, she would never again plague mankind with her horrific bloodlust. His, on the other hand, was something entirely different.

Layarteb

07-03-2008, 03:49

He walked back to the door and peered out, just to make sure that the coast was clear. Slowly, he opened it and put his eye to the door frame. He slid over slightly and checked way, both of them clear, before he opened the door further. Once he had it open enough for him to slide out, he did, shutting it behind him. Carefully, he made his way back to the school, entering the same way he had exited. Everyone was still sleeping, everyone except Trilogy, who hung out in his office, a cloud of smoke around him like a haze over a city on a warm summer day. The man ascended the stairs to his office and passed through guards who were doing their shift. By now, they were all told of his presence and to let him through; after all, he wasn't a threat to them. He knocked first on the closed door but didn't wait for Trilogy to tell him to enter before he did. With a sigh, he landed in the chair and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. "You know," he began but Trilogy only inhaled, letting him go on uninterrupted. "That was something I would have never thought I would have had to do."

"What? Kill Mary again?"

"Again? Apparently I never killed her the first time."

"Who was it then?"

"Her sister."

"How'd she get there?"

"History's mystery. Regardless. Mary is now deceased."

"Confirmed this time?"

"Not only did I deal her enough wounds to cause every organ in her body to fill with blood but I put a knife through her stomach, waited until she stopped breathing, put some of that juice you concocted that time all over her face, and then put a round into her chest and head. She's done."

"Jesus man that's excessive!"

"Nothing's excessive with her. Now you're part of the deal."

"Mine? I see."

"You best not back out."

"I won't." The man lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, adding to the fog above them. "You know you really have a warped dimension of justice and punishment."

"Do I?"

"Yes. You really do. What possessed you to do all of that?"

"What possessed me? Were you not with us?"

"I was."

"When we found the cops?"

"Yes."

"When we found that family?"

"Yes."

"When we were almost blown up?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you just ask me that question?" The man couldn't help but remember now the two police officers that Mary had escaped from and killed. They were both young, barely twenty-four and they died horrifically. One of them had his head practically turned around in a full one-eighty while the other one, who died a lot slower, had his tongue pulled through his neck. When she was done with the two of them, they needed a closed casket. The family, on the other hand, she had tortured and burned alive, including a small child who was barely fifteen months. The baby screamed and wailed the entire time, dying last it seemed. The explosion, on the other hand, Mary had made reference to but that was a different demon for the man, one he cared not to relive. "So, you'll help me?"

"I'll help you." He reluctantly said.

"Good. Is Larissa okay?"

"Fine."

"Good. You're two for two today. Keep it up."

"You getting soft for her?"

"Not in the least bit." He wasn't lying either but he did protect her and he didn't want anything horrible to happen to her, especially due to his own quest of revenge and blood. He stood up and exhaled another long trail of smoke into the air.

As he made his way for the door, Trilogy cleared his throat and the man turned around. "One more question, before you go."

"What is that?" He removed the cigarette from his mouth.

"What drives you to do this? To get him?"

"What? That's simple. Their memories."

"Why though? Give up, you know you can't get him."

"I can and you're going to help me. Don't go and back down." He exited the office and made his way for the stairs and came upon the room not too much later. Larisa remained asleep but did stir when he opened the door and shut it behind him. He had finished the cigarette midway up the stairs, stomping the butt out on one of the steps, underneath his boot. "Good morning," he said as he took off his jacket and put it around the chair. He sat down on the chair and pulled out his pistol, ejecting the magazine, and clearing the round inside of the chamber. He put the pistol down, on the small end table and put the round back into the magazine. He looked now, to check just how many rounds he had left.

"You're back?"

"I am."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?" He didn't look at her as he counted the bullets. He had plenty left and slid the magazine back into the pistol. The slide remained locked backwards.

"Did you kill her?" She sat up, aggravated that he was playing stupid. "You know what I'm talking about!"

"Yes. Yes I did."

"Are you going to look at me or play with the gun?" He cocked the weapon and the slide snapped forward. She jumped and suddenly, she began to doubt her line of questioning. He turned to face her although he only moved his head, a glare in his eyes.

"This may come as a shock to you but things here don't exist like they do in Candy Land. People have to die here in order for progress."

"Are you serious?" She remembered that he wouldn't hurt her, or at least that was what she had been told by him, numerous times. "You can't be serious," she added.

"I am serious and listen, question me again and you won't like the answers."

"Is that some sort of threat?"

"Take it how you want but I'm only here for one purpose."

"Right, right. Whatever. Listen, whatever it is that pushes you for this nonsense I don't want to hear about it." He gave her a look and she read his mind, "Because maybe I hoped you were at least somewhat human."

"I never claimed to be," he said as he turned his head back to his pistol and decocked the hammer.

"Of course not. Nobody with a soul as black as yours can ever be human," she got up and walked off, leaving him in the room, alone.

Layarteb

12-03-2008, 05:43

Chapter VI
Exiled Hopes

"A man who lives, not by what he loves but what he hates, is a sick man."

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Infernal/13-chapter06.jpg

Larisa had said two words to the man after he had come back and neither of them had been uttered until the moment they left for the Middle Rim. She was too furious at him, even then, that he had killed Mary, despite everything that Trilogy had told her. She had found him sitting in his office, a cloud of smoke thicker than the billowing smoke of a factory fire. He explained a lot to her about the man, about what he had been asked to do, and about the present situation. Still, she didn't accept it, despite how horrific Mary truly was. In the middle of that conversation though, a pair of gunshots echoed in Sanctuary, both of them in a quick burst and not more than a hundred yards away from the school. Trilogy scrambled to the window, which had been spray painted black almost a year earlier. There were plenty of places where the paint wore off and sunlight peaked through and a large enough gap that one could use it to look out, getting a good view of the street. "Shit!" He yelled as he saw what was transpiring in the streets not more than a hundred yards away. "They know," he commented to Larisa as he threw his cigarette into a pile of butts on the floor and darted out of the office.

By the time he got to the top floor, the man and about a half dozen people were all looking out of a boarded up window, peering down at an angry mob of no fewer than fifty Wraiths, all of them toting assault rifles. "Shit!" Trilogy yelled the whole way up to the top floor and, when he got where the man was, he found everyone else saying the same thing. The man, on the other hand, didn't seem worried. He took Trilogy off to the side and away from the other gang members, out of earshot.

"Relax. They can't prove shit. Nobody saw me."

"Who is that?" There was a man at the front of the mob, who was being dragged through the streets by his hair. His face clearly showed that he had gotten his face beat in hard by more than just a fist. "Huh? Who are they dragging?"

"Junkie number two." The man laughed. "He was fast asleep upstairs. The first one, well he's dead. I guess they found her huh?"

"You guess they found her? No shit! You said they weren't going to!"

"Plans changed. I told you. Relax."

"Relax?" Trilogy almost threw his voice loud enough for everyone to hear him but he quickly brought it back to a whisper. "Relax? You see that armed mob down there? You know what happens if you violate the law of Sanctuary?"

"You get slapped on the wrist?" He cracked a laugh but Trilogy didn't join him.

"This isn't a fucking joke! You see, you lose the neutrality and you basically become persona non grata here. You know what that's like right? We'd be lucky to get out of the city alive. The Wraiths would storm us with two hundred men and this whole school would be burning before nightfall. So you see, this is why I can't relax."

"Relax. I have it under control."

"Explain this one to me?"

"You see that guy they're dragging out there? That's someone who was in the house where the body was found. Him and his little fiend there raped and killed Mary but you see, she killed one of them in the process. They were drunk, stoned, who knows what they were, but they had their way with her, killed her, and that's that. End of story."

"You didn't did you?"

"What do you think?"

"I'm asking you aren't I?"

"Do I look like Williams?"

"Answer the question."

"No. I didn't. Happy?"

"You lying to me?"

"No. Now are you done?"

"Fine. When do we leave? I want to get the fuck out of here?"

"Nightfall."

"Nightfall? Look at the goddamn time. By then, there will be four hundred of those assholes here."

"Good. The less out there."

"You're fucking crazy."

"Certifiable. Now. Are you done or can I go and watch the execution now daddy?"

"Yeah fuck you." The man returned to the window and looked out now to see the center of the city, where the bar and most of the prostitution houses were. A large crowd had gathered and, in the center of a circle of at least eight hundred people, half of them not even awake yet, were the junkie and his captor. "We taking bets on method of execution?" The man asked nonchalantly as Trilogy went back towards his office. He had to make sure that none of the Wraiths suspected his own gang of leading the charge. Despite being so gung ho the night before, he was having more than just second thoughts at this point in time. He had made a big gamble, a gamble that the leaders of his own organization might not approve of if they knew the consequences. To be thrown out of Sanctuary didn't just mean the loss of a neutral ground; it meant the loss of business, including exporting outside of the Neatherealm. Nothing entered or left the Neatherealm unless it passed through Sanctuary. If it didn't, it didn't get out of the walls. It was that simple. They could lose three quarters of their profit and that meant they would eventually all be exterminated by rival gangs, the Wraiths included.

The crowd continued to gather as more and more people awoke because of the commotion. Prostitutes hung out of their windows and pimps stayed on their porches, watching for a show. The bar owner had walked over, spoke a few words with the apparent leader and walked away. Whatever they had discussed, the leader continued. He was a tall, nearly bald man though he had a Mohawk. He held his M4A2 Carbine by his side and continued to yell, rant, and rave. Someone would pay for the horrific crime against one of his own. He made it almost as if a school teacher had been killed or some sort of missionary but Mary was anything but, she was the embodiment of Satan himself.

It took about another twenty minutes before the leader picked up the junkie to his feet. He yelled something about law and revenge, justice, and due punishment but few people in the school could hear him clearly, only when he yelled at the top of his voice. Around him, the large crowd watched with some sort of childlike anticipation. Yanking the junkie to a standing position by his hair definitely had to hurt and the leader looked as if he had pulled some of his hair out when he did it. With an ovation, he smiled as he handed off his assault rifle to someone standing next to him. He said something else to the junkie and, before the junkie could answer him; he pulled out a large, hunting knife, and thrust it through the junkie's back. The blade pierced right through his chest, underneath his ribs, and exited the front of his body. Instantly, the junkie scream, a scream so shrill and so loud that it shook the school. He pulled the knife blade out and let the junkie fall onto the ground, face in a puddle of mud. The executioner as he became now, dropped his knee into the junkie's back and pulled his head up, exposing his neck. With a long, deep slice, he proceeded to sever his head, finishing up quickly thereafter. He held up the head to a now cheering and pleased crowd. He dropped the head back on the ground, next to the body, took his assault rifle back, wiped off the blood of his knife, returned it to a holster on his back, and ordered the crowds to disperse. Someone would eventually have to clean up the mess and though the junkie was dead, the Wraiths still weren't fully convinced it was such an isolated incident. They went to the bar afterwards, talking amongst themselves that the government had sent an assassin. The leader of the group knew who she really was and he knew that eventually, she would be found. He didn't expect that for another few years though.

Layarteb

13-03-2008, 05:17

Inside of the bar, while the Wraiths speculated who did it, why they did it, and where they were, downing shot after shot, beer after beer, and taking hit after hit, Trilogy had ventured out with a small group of his own kin. He went to the bar, more to try to learn what the Wraiths were saying, hoping that they wouldn't blame him or his gang. They, after all, had nothing to do with it. While Trilogy scrounged around, moving towards the bar, the man and Larisa ventured up to the library, her almost against her will. She didn't answer him when he told her he was going to dig around in it and she didn't even answer him when he told her she had no choice that she had to go with him. He grabbed her by the arm at that point, looked her square in her eyes, and gave her a clear and concise order, "You don't have a choice. You're coming. Now suck it up and let's go." She yanked her arm away and begrudgingly followed him around a few corners and to the library, which was in shambles. Most of the books had been used as fuel for fires and plenty of the pages had been torn out for marijuana joints but there were still a bunch left, enough to sift through for something important. "Listen to me," he said as Larisa kicked over a pile of books as she walked into the library. "I don't give a flying shit what you think about me or about today but if you don't follow my directions, I'm going to leave you here. Now. Look around for a map. Some sort of old map of this whole city and suburban area. Maybe topographical. I don't know. I don't care. Just help me find one so we can get the hell out of here, get you to wherever the hell you want to go and get me out of here."

She still didn't respond to him but she would fulfill his request. She began to sift through the books right away and he did the same. By then, Trilogy and his own goons were entering the bar. Tensions were high and most of the space in the bar was claimed by Wraiths but there were still plenty of the "non-affiliated" people in there, people who didn't belong to a gang but sought Sanctuary as their own refuge. Trilogy knew what he was walking into but he did it anyway, he needed some sort of intelligence on what they knew and who they suspected. The first table told him everything he needed to know about the situation he was stepping into and, immediately, he wasn't thrilled. Two junkies were sitting at the table, one of them tying a piece of rubber tight around his bicep, trying to spark a vein. When it puffed up, he pushed the edge of a definitely used and worn out needle into his blue vein. There were more track marks than Trilogy could have counted even if he stopped and pulled out a pad to mark them down. The junkie pushed the needle plunger and pushed a good amount of nearly pure heroin into his bloodstream, his eyes rolling backwards moments later. Laughing, the other junkie did a long line of cocaine and lit a cigarette.

Trilogy entertained the possibility that his own drugs were those being used. It was good business, selling drugs and what not; people bought them regardless of their situation. Wherever they got the money, he didn't care. He looked for an empty table and found one in the back, a pain to get to but he pushed and moved his way through, plopping down along with the three goons he had with him. Trilogy put his twelve gauge shotgun down on the table and waited now for a bar maid to come over and take their orders. Though Trilogy and his goons looked relaxed, the Wraiths were definitely stirring. The barkeep was ready with his own shotgun, a sawed off double-barrel that would easily waste anything in front of him. If he had to use it, he would. He didn't want any of his girls getting caught in the crossfire but the bar and Sanctuary was a safe haven and he wanted to make sure it stayed that way. If they got too lawless in Sanctuary, although it seemed impossible to delve any further into anarchy, it was a distinct possibility that the federal government would intervene, with force. The government already knew that the largest flow of drugs seeming into the streets came from Sanctuary and from the lawless states to the south. Sanctuary and the Neatherealm were close enough that a single bomber group could put it out of action.

Trilogy listened now as the Wraiths continued their speculation and their conversations. As Trilogy walked into the bar one of them looked over at their leader, who was nothing more than the big man in Sanctuary, Trilogy's equivalent. He bent his head down and whispered, "Do you suspect them?"

"Them? Why?" The leader asked. He was no friend to the Dragons and he hated their guts in and out but he regarded them more as incompetents. It was the nature of their make up, he always explained. The Wraiths were all professional soldiers, mercenaries, assassins, a truly professional, elite, and highly capable force looking to profit in a land where profit was plentiful. The Dragons, on the other hand, were nothing but petty criminals, dumb rednecks, bikers, and all of the other commoners of society, most of them without an IQ higher than his own shoe size. For the Dragons to actually be able to get Mary alone, kidnap her, kill her, and set up the junkies was beyond their intellect, he explained. "No. They're too stupid to pull off something like that."

"What if they had someone? What if they know who did it?"

"Them? Why? They have as much to lose as we do. No. They're not suspects. This came from outside. Someone is in here that oughtent be."

"Shadows?" He whispered to the leader, who stopped his gulp and swallowed hastily. He coughed hard and kept coughing as the cold beer had simply "gone down the wrong pipe."

"Lower your voice," he said although, in reality, his voice was already low. "Dammit Sammy what have I told you about that? If any of these people here hear that you know what's going to happen."

"I'm sorry. But you think it's them?"

Just then another stranger entered the bar, this one no stranger at all. The barkeep immediately recognized him and his cigar nearly fell out of his mouth. He kept his hand on the shotgun below him but he knew that whatever brought that stranger to Sanctuary wasn't good. Shit. The barkeep thought as the stranger walked over to the bar and sat down. The barkeep was miffed that the stranger was there and he knew that whatever brought him was serious. "Afternoon." He said. The two of them easily recognized each other.

"You know what I want. I have some information I need from you."

"What kind of information?"

"About someone."

"About today?"

"Today? No. What happened today?"

"Junkies killed someone in the Wraiths. They got all pissed off. Executed him in the street. It's within law."

"I'm not here for petty shit. I'm here on business from our Administrator."

"Concerning?"

"Let's talk in the back."

Trilogy watched as the stranger followed the barkeep to the back. He thought he recognized him but he wasn't sure. He couldn't tell for sure. If it was who he thought it was, he and the man would have to leave, right away. Word traveled fast in Sanctuary and any "new" people were definitely to pass through the bar so the barkeep would know if any knew people came into Sanctuary. The stranger, if it was who Trilogy thought it was, would know about the man before he left the bar. It would be then time to search for him and Trilogy wanted to be out of the city by then. He was no longer feeling comfortable with sheltering the man or providing him passage through the Neatherealm, not that he ever did though. Trilogy was careful now to keep his attention towards the bar itself rather than to the Wraiths all around the bar.

"What'll ya have?" A bar maid came over and stood behind one of the goons that Trilogy brought with him. She was cute, young but used and abused, it showed. She was definitely a drug addict and whether or not she was high at that moment was beyond anyone, she was in such poor condition that he just couldn't tell either way.

"Four beers." Trilogy said, not paying attention to her but rather the stranger as he walked into the back with the barkeep. The bar maid, chewing her gum, turned around and walked back to the bar, where she fetched the beers and brought them over to the table.

The stranger shut the door behind him and sat down in the same chair that the man had sat down in when he had his conversation with the barkeep. "The Administrator sent me here because we have a spy in our midst."

"Why not just send someone else? You? Of all people Apollyon?"

"He wants me to personally handle this one. You see we aren't sure what division of the government this spy is with, if he is even with the government. What we do know though is that whoever he is; he's here to kill the Administrator. You don't know anything about this do you?" Apollyon cradled his pistol in his lap, ready to shoot the barkeep.

"Not a thing. Why would I want to do something like that?"

"Power? Money? C'mon you and I both know you're a greedy fuck."

"Not that greedy." Uneasy the barkeep sat back a little bit, his hands on his knees, one of them approaching a shotgun that was suspended underneath the desk.

"Lay off the gun. Hands where I can see them. Or else it'll be the last thing you do."

"Easy man. Listen. I'm not here for that reason."

"Before you came here, you were with the government. Weren't you?"

"So what if I was. I'm not anymore."

"You still have contacts in the Ministry?"

"No."

"Why don't I believe you?" Suspicious, Apollyon cocked back the hammer on his pistol and prepared to lift it and point it at the barkeeps face. "You're lying to me. You know something."

"No. I don't. Honest man." Apollyon lifted the pistol. "C'mon man I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm not. What do you want?"

"I want to know what you know. Anyone new lately?"

"Yeah new people every day. You know how it is. What do you want from me? There's so many new faces everyday I can't keep track of all of them."

"This one you would."

"Why?"

"Because he would definitely be here looking for someone."

"A lot of people are looking for someone." He wasn't trying to be smart but the barkeep was being honest. He had a weakness and that was the fear of death. With Apollyon right in front of him, he knew that he was only inches away from death, close enough that if he didn't cooperate, he would see if there really was an afterlife or not.

"Someone who definitely didn't look like he belongs here. Maybe ex-military?"

"A couple of people this past week."

"Try last two or three days."

"One guy. He definitely looked ex-military. He helped me collect on a debt."

"Yeah. What kind of debt?"

"Some asshole who owed me money."

"What did he look like?"

"He was tall. Looked like a hard son of a bitch. Like you. Short hair had a goatee. He had a pistol on his thigh, like the kind you know the elites wear. He could have been ex-Special Forces or something. He came in here looking for. Shit. I can't remember. Someone."

"Who?"

"I'm thinking."

"Think harder and faster you fat slob."

"I am." The barkeep was sweating now as he grew nervous and more nervous. He was unable to remember the conversation he had with the man but he knew the name was on the tip of his tongue. Outside, the barmaid dropped off the four beers and collected the twenty-four shingrots but Trilogy handed her twenty-six. She tried to stash the other two bills in her underwear without being seen. She wasn't really allowed to take tips but she needed the extra money to support her own addiction and the barkeep wasn't around to keep his eye on her, like he did with all of his girls.

Layarteb

14-03-2008, 04:43

She turned around and went back to waiting on the tables while Trilogy kept his eyes focused on the bar. "You know who I thought I just saw walk in here?" He asked after a minute, his eyes still fixated on the bar.

"Who?" One of the goons asked, taking a swig of his beer.

"I think I just saw Apollyon." Everyone at the table stopped in the middle of what they were doing, as if it were a movie. They focused their eyes on Trilogy who, finally, for the first time since the stranger walked into the bar, took his eyes off the bar.

"Are you sure?" The same goon asked, lowering his beer. "You can't be sure."

"I am pretty sure. I swear. It looked just like him." The goons turned to look at the bar. "He's gone in the back with the barkeep."

"You know what that means?"

"What? The last time he was here it didn't mean anything."

"Do you still believe that man? Come on, they never found Steg's body."

"So what."

"You think he's here for that guy you got in the school?"

"No." The lie flowed through his teeth and the three goons didn't buy it either. "I doubt it."

"Where's that guy from anyway?"

"An old friend I knew during the war."

Back in the library, the man and Larisa had torn through dozens of shelves looking for some sort of map of the area but were coming up short. Larisa had managed to swipe a pair of books that she would read but she was still looking for the map. Even though she despised the very sight and nature of the man at the moment, the fact that he needed a map meant that he wasn't too sure where he was going. That simple thought in her head meant he didn't have any idea on how to get to her own destination either. She didn't want to be roaming around the Middle or Inner Rim with him, searching for the "Bunker of the Lost" and being hunted by every freak and sicko in the Neatherealm. They sifted through magazines, books, newspapers, everything that was in the library, which was akin now to an archive. Since the war and since the horrific event that created the Neatherealm, the school library had basically been untouched except by scavengers looking for fuel and rolling paper. Not one book had actually been opened to be read since the day the building was evacuated.

That had been a horrific fall day years earlier. The war had turned the Empire against itself and casualty figures had exceeded the fifty thousand mark. The war had barely been going for four weeks and it was raging like the world's biggest and most uncontrollable wildfire. Brothers and neighbors were turned against each other and death squads on both sides of the spectrum patrolled the streets and pulling sympathizers from their bedrooms and executed them in the streets. The war had begun in the biggest cities of the Empire, Layarteb City, Falcon City, Washington City, Raccoon City, Caracas, Havana, Miami, Panama City, and a half dozen other cities with populations over one million but for the small town on the outer edges of just one of these cities, the war seemed a million miles away. Despite the battles raging in the city limits, the quiet suburban town that became to be known as Sanctuary was completely at ease. Every analyst who talked about the war, whether they were Layartebian or Cottish or Russian never predicted that the war would become a battle for anything other than the cities. Not even the government forces predicted the war spreading out of the cities, where support for the rebels was less than half what it was in the major cities and urban centers. Until that chilly, fall morning, it was true. Mary and her mercenary group had rolled into town the previous night with an arsenal of weapons and a single mission: to cause chaos. The town had a population of barely twelve thousand. The demographics of the town were certainly a scientific case for even. There were senior citizens, middle aged couples, and plenty of children and teenagers. Despite being a boring town after 9:00 p.m. it was a perfect place to raise a family. That was part of the reason that it had been selected by Mary and her group of elite mercenaries. She fought for the highest bidder and, since the earliest days of the war, before it was even declared as such, she was working against the government.

It was a day that nobody in that town would ever forget and by the time the sun went down, a brutal eleven or so hours after it rose, eleven hundred people were in the hospital or lying dead in the streets. It began just before 7:30 a.m. and claimed the lives of twenty-six people, twenty-four of them under the age of twelve. The first target was the most shocking on that fateful day and was a rally cry for every father, mother, son, and daughter throughout the Empire to rise up, against the government. Mary and her mercenaries, numbering four in total camped out and waited along a small, quiet, suburban street. They hid in thick bushes along the street, armed with two rocket launchers, four grenades, and their submachine guns. The speed limit was only twenty-five miles per hour but, when their target came into view, it was doing a mere twenty. It was just a half mile from its destination and, inside the vehicle, it was quiet and tranquil, a byproduct of the early morning hours. The normal rowdiness that accompanied the vehicle wouldn't be had until at least 3:00 p.m.

The target was a long, yellow school bus, packed with children. A Carpenter Classic 2000, it was a hard target to miss as it moved down the street towards the school, only a half mile away. The driver had made his final pick up and was moving cautiously down the residential streets, wary of cars backing out of driveways, as he always did. The matron towards the rear of the bus was doing a crossword puzzle in the newspaper and the twenty-four children, averaging nine years in age, were, for the most part, asleep. Even those that were awake were too tired to do anything. It was rough on them, having to be at school by 7:45 in the morning but that was the life of a child. They would be out of school by 3:00 p.m., when most adults who were actually working wouldn't be getting home until 5:00 p.m. or later. Most of them worked in the city, just a few miles away and, because of the raging civil war, most of them stayed at home. Many, on the other hand, ventured out to other areas around, working for whatever they could, usually manual labor jobs, anything to put money in their pocket and food on the table. Nobody ever expected the war, which tore city after city to pieces, burning some down to their foundations, to spill over into their quaint and quiet country town.

Mary was the honorary master of ceremonies for that reality. Her and her three mercenaries, popped out of the thick bushes as the school bus neared and opened fire. The first rocket went through the front of the bus and exploded inside of the thick engine block in the front, tearing it to shreds, killing the driver and three children instantly as the blast rocketed into the cabin. There was no armor on the bus and the rocket was meant to penetrate through inches of steel armor on an infantry fighting vehicle or a tank. For it, the bus was nothing. The second rocket pierced through the rear of the bus and exploded underneath it, shattering its chassis and tearing its rear axle from its hinges, causing the rear of the bus to slam hard on the ground as it skidded to a halt. The shrill screech of that was enough to wake anybody up for a mile, not that they were sleeping after the two explosions. Surprisingly though, none of the children had been killed as a result of the second rocket, though many were now injured. Mary and two of the other mercenaries opened fire next, poured pullets into the side of the bus. The rounds tore through the thin aluminum exterior of the bus and ripped through the small bodies of the children inside. Most of the rounds exited the other side and the three mercenaries were careful all to stand on the same side. As if that wasn't enough, the fourth mercenary, armed with his own submachine gun, popped off the pin on a grenade and tossed it into an open window, towards the middle of the bus. Before it went off, he threw in another grenade, towards the front. The last two grenades he tossed into the rear of the bus and into the bedroom window of a nearby house. The mercenaries continued to spray bullets into the bus as they retreated.

It took police officers less than two minutes to respond to the call for help, which came from residents, who watched in horror and shock as the four mercenaries attacked the school bus. Aflame and impossible to get to, one of the police officers risked serious injury and dove into the bus through the opened rear door. He carried two children out, both of them barely alive but breathing. They would die en route to the hospital. As the firemen doused the bus with water, tears in their own eyes, residents came out to the streets, many in their bathrobes, all of them crying, in some sort of shock. With police officers throughout the town taking to the streets, in full force, the mercenaries struck again. They had easily escaped the situation while everyone's attention was on the bus and wound up towards the center of town, at a nearby diner. They had already planted bombs in the diner the previous night and now it just came to setting them off. Inside of it, workers and patrons all were talking about the sounds of gunfire and the explosions that they had just heard. Mary didn't wait for any of them to finish their meals. She pushed a small, red, plastic button on an equally small and plastic remote control detonator. It sent a signal to the four charges placed throughout the diner, each one of them a pound of C4 plastic explosive. Strategically placed throughout the diner, the charges sent blast waves through people as if they were dolls. Tables and chairs were flung through the air at terrible force along with utensils and people themselves. The structure didn't collapse but that was by design. Once the explosions were finished, tearing the inside of the diner into an unrecognizable nightmare, she and her mercenaries ventured inside, with their pistols and submachine guns and made sure that anybody alive would not be alive when the paramedics showed up three and a half minutes later, delayed because of the bus incident. By then, Mary and her mercenaries had moved on, to another target. They did this, target after target, for nearly eleven hours. When it was done, everyone in the Empire and everyone in the world knew that the Layartebian Civil War had spilled out from the cities, into the countryside, and now risked spreading across borders.

As Trilogy sat in the bar with his goons, drinking beer; as the Wraiths sat only inches and feet away, discussing who had killed Mary; as Apollyon threatened and scared the barkeep into giving away the identity of the stranger; as prostitutes and pimps coaxed clients to the whore houses; as Larisa scavenged through the books in the library; as the man did the same; as the Administrator, in the center of the Neatherealm ended a telephone conversation, everyone forgot that this day was the anniversary of that particular day. That was a day that stained every newspaper in the world with the blood of the innocent. Of the eleven hundred and thirty-nine victims that day, all but two hundred and sixteen were under the age of eighteen. Mary and her mercenaries brought such filth and horror to that town that Sanctuary would rise up without every a memory of what happened. The blood stains on the streets and in the buildings of Sanctuary were mostly from that day, years earlier. Nobody knew their story and nobody cared to figure or ask what that was, not even the man who looked through a magazine rack in a secluded corner of the library. Minutes later, he shouted in elation, "I got it!" Nobody was elated on that day, years earlier.

Layarteb

29-04-2008, 06:26

Great. She thought, "Can we leave now? I hate this place."

"Fine. Fine. We'll leave. We just have to get Trilogy." The man said as he came around a rack of magazines, his eyes pointed down, at a book in his hands, a tattered and worn magazine that was a few years old and stained with some sort of brown on its front cover. The man paid it no mind and it was old, solid, and glued the cover to itself by now.

"Do we really have to? He creeps me out." Larissa said as he approached her.

"Yes we have to. And I thought you weren't talking to me."

She smiled just out of the corner of her mouth. "I want to get out of here. Fast."

"So do I. I've got a date with destiny," he said as he closed the book cover, in a sort of comical way that made her laugh. "See, I'm not so bad."

"You're a monster. Let's go." She said, angry again that he tried to justify his actions. Trilogy left the bar around that moment himself, his goons following with him, the group of them scrambling away, trying to avoid being seen by Apollyon. If he got word of Mary's death and the anger of the Wraiths, he wasn't going to be too thrilled and he would want to question Trilogy and his own gang about whether or not they had anything to do with it. He had already questioned them a few times about "certain" activities and wound up executing one of their members as a sort of payment. Though they didn't know why he was there, they didn't want to stay around too long to guess. There were a number of events in the previous twenty-four hours, all of them bad for Trilogy and his gang. "Let's hurry." He said as they left the bar and quickly walked through the crowds in the center of the town, passing through more Wraiths, all of them angry and with a bone to pick. As he approached the school, the man and Larissa were moving towards the first floor, ready to go and eager to get out of Sanctuary and head deeper within the Neatherealm. All they needed was Trilogy to get out of the forsaken city.

A million thoughts ran through everyone's head. Trilogy and his goons worried that the Wraiths would direct Apollyon to them before he had a chance to get out of the city. Larissa worried that she would die in the Neatherealm and never reach the paradise she so hardly sought. The man worried that he would be hung out to dry and left to care for Larissa or at least protect her, indefinitely, a chore he didn't want. The Wraiths worried that their source of power was eroding and, they wanted to make a show of force but, this being Sanctuary, they were limited in their recourse. Even the bar tender, who sat inches away from Trilogy worried that this might be his last day alive. It was a conglomerate of happenings that day in Sanctuary and all of them converged on each other, seemingly, at once.

Trilogy reached the steps of the school with Larissa and the man waiting by the door, packed and ready to go. Trilogy, in a hurried rush, didn't even go into the building. He merely whispered to one of his goons, "I'm going out for a while. See to things until I can return. Do not come looking for me. Understood?" The goon nodded. Then, he stopped in the middle of the steps and looked behind him. "Come on, let's go! Get my bag there!" He said as he motioned with his hand for them to hurry up and leave. Neither Larissa nor the man questioned him and they both exited the building and hurried down the steps, handing Trilogy the bag when they got to the bottom. "We have to go. Now!" Trilogy said as he took a sharp left turn at the bottom of the stairs.

"What's wrong? Something the matter?"

"I'll tell you when we're safely out of here. Come on, the sewer is in the alley over there," he pointed to an alley at the end of a long street, a street that would take them past the building where Mary was found murdered, brutally executed by a pair of drug addicts, one of whom lay dead in the building, the other in the center of the city. His body had not been removed yet and stood as a warning that the Wraiths would not allow loners to harm their gang, or family as they saw it. Trilogy hurried both Larissa and the man down the street, past various groups of addicts and dealers who were standing around, their eyes watching everything around them. Most of them were too stoned to recognize anything about the three running people; especially that one of them was a woman. Trilogy didn't want to take any chances though. He rushed them and though Larissa didn't mind, she wanted to get out of there sooner rather than later, even she recognized something amiss about the situation.

They got to the alleyway and manhole cover shortly and Trilogy darted down the alley and almost slid over the cover as he reached down and yanked the heavy manhole cover off and slid it on the pavement. "Down here. Hurry!" He said as he climbed down a ladder that neither the man nor Larissa seemed to see. "Hurry up! Shut the cover too!" He yelled with an echo as he arrived at the bottom of the sewer already.

"Go ahead." The man said to Larissa, "I'll put the cover back. It's too heavy for you. Just don't move once you're down there, who knows what's there."

"Why's he acting like this?" She asked as she climbed onto the ladder and began to lower herself, rung by rung. The man just shook his head and followed, sliding the cover over the hole as he got lower. The sewer was totally dark and he couldn't see anything, not even the whites of their eyes. It was dry there and he half expected to jump down into a raging river of sewage and filth but the floor was dry. "I can't see anything," Larissa whispered.

"Yeah me either. Tril, what's the deal?"

"Nothing. Just be quiet. Don't even whisper. Follow me."

"I can't see you jackass!" He added as he looked around, trying to listen to the sound of his voice but, it was no use. Trilogy's voice bounced off everything in the sewer before it got to his ear, producing plenty of false echoes. "Do you have a flashlight?"

"I do. Come on though. Hurry!" Trilogy flicked on the flashlight to reveal his location and the sewer. It was made of concrete but had great brickwork on the walls. It was old and served as a few things, including the entrance to a large network of catacombs underneath the city. He put his finger to his lips and motioned with his head for them to follow. The man began walking, taking Larissa by the hand, guiding her in the darkness.

"Stay close to me. Alright." He whispered in her ear, too low for Trilogy to hear him but loud enough for her to agree, by nodding her head. In her mind, a million thoughts raced, all of them revolving around getting lost in the sewers and what she would do if something was down there. Fear rose up in her as she held onto the man's hand, tight, fearing that if she loosened her grip, he would simply walk off without her, leaving her in the abyss of darkness that surrounded her. It was bad enough being in the oblivion of darkness but, when the sound of mice and rats, moving and squeaking around began to echo off the walls, Larissa began to cry. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she held onto the man's hand. She was so scared that she didn't know what to do or what to believe. She felt like a helpless child and the man was her protector. Please protect me. She thought.

Layarteb

16-09-2008, 03:00

The sewers were endless. The three of them walked through the darkened oblivion, guided only be a weakening light that Trilogy held and progressively grew more and more frustrated with, shaking it as the beam dulled here and there. The sewers were dark, cold, and damp, quiet too except for their own footsteps and those of the dozens of rats walking around on the concrete below them. Occasionally, their feet would knock against a lump and they would hear a squeal below them, each of which would make Larissa queasier. She had never fully grown accustomed to the rats in the Neatherealm and there were millions of them, all of them having come to feast on the decay that the Neatherealm created. She continued to follow closely behind her protector but she still felt uneasy around him and even more uncomfortable with Trilogy in the picture. She knew neither of them to any extent except that the man who protected her did just that but he was no hero. After all, he originally wanted to kill her, something she still had not forgotten.

They kept fully quiet as they moved through the sewer tunnels, winding around corners, up and down levels, and towards some sort of hidden exit that none of them seemed to be able to see or even envision. It was almost as if they were walking through an abyss that was simply endless and that they would be trapped there for the rest of their eternity. Where is the end? Larissa thought over and over again as they came to a set of steps that raised them up another level. There was no telling just how many times they had gone up or down inside of the sewer and where they actually were. It seemed to go on forever as they walked for a while, then turned another corner, and walked for another, long while, the whole time Trilogy shaking the flashlight and muttering under his breath about the flashlight. Tensions rose faster than the level of fear inside of Larissa as the three of them began to walk faster and step heavier, making slightly more noise, only making each other that much more tense that they could be heard. The cycle continued until it was almost as if they were running through the sewers, deep underneath the ground of Sanctuary and towards the Middle Rim, snaking through the sewers. Unfortunately, there was no short path to the Middle Rim and they travelled, unnecessarily, through parts of Sanctuary that they would never dare approach on the surface.

They walked for hours, never stopping and never speaking other than the thoughts in their own heads. Their own voices satisfied to stave off whatever anxiety they were feeling, walking through the endless tunnels underneath Sanctuary. Finally reaching the end of the tunnels, they stopped at a ladder that was nothing more than rusty, steel rungs screwed into the concrete wall. Trilogy flicked off the flashlight, not that it was on anyway, the battery having run out about a hundred feet prior to coming to the end. They only knew they were at the end when the moonlight peaked through the sewer grate above the ladder and illuminated it almost as if a spirit above was guiding them to it. Coming to it, the three of them stopped and eyed the rungs and the grate above them, no one willing to ascend first. There was no telling what was on the surface and they didn't want to be surprised by something or someone that would harm them.

"I'll go." The man said as he looked up at the sewer grate above and the steel rungs between them and the top, which was about sixteen feet, a long way should one of the rungs rip out of the wall or fall apart. Trilogy looked down at the flashlight and instinctively handed it to him but the man ignored the gesture saying, "What am I supposed to do with that? Throw it at a dog?" He put his hands on the first rungs and his feet followed, using them to pull himself towards the sewer grate above, the moonlight still coming through its holes, now not reaching the bottom, thanks largely to his now quiet climb up the ladder, readying himself for whatever the surface brought.

When he finally reached the top of the ladder, he found himself just inches from the grate and only seconds away from some sort of impending doom that could strike at him when he opened the grate. He listened first, for some sort of indication that someone was waiting for him on the surface but there was nothing to be heard after a few seconds. He waited a few more seconds but still nothing and then he waited a minute and then a few more minutes. Nothing was to be heard and he couldn't wait near the grate all night long. He had to act and he had to act soon, before the rats below began to realize that there was food amongst them, gourmet food to them.

The man leaned his shoulder against the grate and steadied himself on the ladder rungs before reaching up with his hands and lifting the grate off its base. Weighing in at almost one hundred pounds, the grate felt a lot heavier because he was off balance. Nevertheless, he pushed it up and slid it over to the side though he didn't immediately step out of the hole, opting instead to draw his pistol first. Cautiously and carefully, he peaked up from the sewer hole and did a quick three hundred and sixty degree turn, his eyes barely above the hole. Not seeing anyone or anything, he ascended from the hole slowly, keep his pistol ready to be leveled against any threat, whether it was human or animal. As he ascended out of the hole and onto the surface he could only think about one thing, which was what he would do if someone or something attacked him. He wondered if Trilogy would ascend the steps to provide some sort of cover for him, opting to think, instead, that Trilogy would take the girl and run the other way, back to his safety in Sanctuary, possibly keeping the girl for himself. He could easily overcome her and claim her as his own, threatening to sell her to the pimps instead if she didn't give into his ownership of her.

The man couldn't let that happen. He knew Trilogy all too well and their service together during the war meant that his thoughts weren't simply errant but they carried merit and weight to them. Keeping low, he took a crouched stance once he got fully out of the hole and quickly scanned around the area. He couldn't see too well in the dark but he was standing on a concrete, square slab, at least eight feet in diameter. The manhole cover was on the concrete next to him and he turned in a full circle again but saw nothing as far as he could see, which wasn't very far. There were trees not too far away and he was in a small clearing that was only a few hundred feet wide and covered in low but thick grass. The man took in everything around him, measured distances to everything and himself, counted the number of trees, eyed the way the wind blew, and adjusted himself to the atmosphere. Being in the darkness for so long, his eyes were already adjusted to the darkness but now that there was some light entering his eyes, he had to completely readjust and his eyes were slow to do so but after a minute or so, they were ready and he could see the surrounding areas a lot better. Just as he originally saw and thought, it was empty. Still, he waited a few more minutes before he returned to the now open manhole and whispered down, "It's clear."

Larissa looked at Trilogy and nodded her head, she was going first. Quickly, she grabbed onto the rungs and began to ascend towards the surface, moving quickly with little regard for the actual age of the rungs, which became loose as she ascended, thanks largely in part to the speed with which she climbed. Despite this, when she reached the surface, she did so safely. The man gave her a hand and helped her out of the hole, where she dusted herself off and stayed low on the ground, which he had ordered her to do by pointing to the ground and making a motion with his hand for her to lay down flat. Trilogy came up next, more careful but as excited to get out of the sewer as much as she was. When he reached the surface, he helped the man put the grate back on as he looked around and took in the surroundings himself. "Welcome to the Middle Rim," he said as he eyed the trees in front of him.

"What was it you called this place again?" The man asked as he helped Larissa to her feet, dusting off his own knees as he helped her steady herself. A cool gust of wind blew over them as the man holstered his pistol, Trilogy put away the flashlight, and Larissa fixed her hair.

"Elysium. After that part of the Greek Underworld where the heroes and virtuous went. The Elysium Fields."

"I take it the heroes and virtuous are far away from these fields."

"You could say that but we're not ones to talk."

"Hey!" Larissa barked at both of them. "Can we get moving? We're out here in the fucking open!"

"Fine but we can't keep going tonight. We've got to find a place to sleep." The man said, feeling a sense of weariness overcoming his muscles.

"Until I figure out where the hell we are I haven't got a clue where we can even go. Somewhere in here is Dragon City and we would find safety there but I just don't know where the hell it is." Trilogy said as he stopped and began looking at the map Larissa and the man had found in the library at the school. "We moved through so many turns and twists underneath Sanctuary that we could be on the complete opposite end of the Middle Rim."

"That's helpful, I thought you knew this place?" The man said, disgusted now that they were, in essence, lost. "We can't just stand out here now listen which way do we go, north or south or east or west. C'mon we have to find out soon before some dogs or worse find us."

"I don't know." Trilogy began to panic a little as the reality that they were in unknown territory hit him. He looked at the map, turning it every which way, trying to figure out where he was.

"Are you serious? Are you fucking seriously lost?" Larissa yelled at him, spinning around herself. She had never been here and anything she could offer was a simple shot in the dark but neither Trilogy or the man could seemingly do better themselves. "Let's just go this way!" She ordered, looking and pointing to the direction of the trees.

"What do you know where to go?" Trilogy remarked, studying the map. "You've been here I guess?"

"No. I haven't but you claim to have and you haven't a fucking idea where to go so this is all I can offer. Got anything better?"

He didn't answer her right away and when he tried to, the man cut him off. "Woman's intuition, I'll take it. We're going that way."

"Women's sense of direction mean anything to you? I don't see a mall here with a sale."

"Shut the fuck up!" Larissa yelled back at him as she and the man began walking in the direction she pointed out, which wasn't necessarily in the right direction but neither was it in the wrong direction.

The ground crunched underneath their feet as they entered the wooded area, leaves and branches beneath their feet insulting the ground a little. The temperature and environment was completely different here, more so than on the outer rim. It was almost like Sanctuary but far windier and much colder. It was definitely winter and there was no mistaking that fact as they were inside of the Middle Rim. Strong gusts of wind rustled the leaves above them and pierced right through their clothes, chilling their skin and bones from the outside in, causing them all to shiver. Their breaths lifted up into the air above them with a soft, white cloud as they breathed and talked. Without the ability to tell what time of night it was and without any sort of idea where they were, the three of them were walking aimlessly into the dark, cold night. There was still no sign of snow in the air but it felt as if a blizzard could appear at any moment and dump feet of snow onto them, which wouldn't make them any warmer.

An hour and a half into their walk, the three of them began to feel the fatigue set in on their bodies. Their muscles began to ache and they felt a drain of energy from their body. Their pace slowed down and the cold felt even colder, the wind even stronger, and the night even darker. Their eyes became heavy and their bodies grew weak. "I can't. We have to stop." Larissa whined first, her own fatigue a little greater than everyone else given her lack of combat training.

"We don't have to stop," the man answered in return, wishing to press on further, until they found some sort of adequate shelter.

"No. She's right. I'm exhausted too. We need to stop, to get some rest and wait until the sun comes up, or else we're just walking endlessly into the dark. We haven't a clue where we are and maybe the daylight will give us some sort of bearing. We just have to find out where to go."

"Two against one." Larissa added, feeling the weakness of her own body overcoming her will to press on and exit the Neatherealm.

"Fine. Fine. But we aren't safe down here. We have to go up higher, a lot higher. In the trees. They're high enough."

"What if we fall," Larissa said, concerned with his proposition.

"We won't. Trust me. Now let me find a branch or something. You two stay here," the man said as he looked at a tree in front of him, its trunk thick enough that he couldn't wrap his arms around it. The branches were low enough though that he could climb up them and ascend to the highest portions, where he could find some sort of safety. Treating each branch as if it were a rung on a ladder, he climbed upwards, towards the top of the tree. The branches there were thick enough for him to sit on, albeit uncomfortably. Testing his weight on the branch and the nearby branches, he deemed that it was safe enough for the three of them. Satisfied, he began to climb down the branches, back to the ground, which he made quicker than the ascent, now that he knew where the branches were.

When he finally reached the ground, he looked at both Trilogy and Larissa and smiled, "I found a place for us. It's not really comfortable but it's good enough. High enough."

"Won't be the first time," Trilogy said as he began to climb up the branches. Trilogy was a few branches up when the man turned to Larissa and motioned for her to follow but she didn't.

"I'm scared."

"I know."

"Then," she tried to say but stopped herself short of finishing her sentence.

"Then why am I asking you to climb these branches?"

"Something like that," she said as Trilogy was out of sight. She paced around the area quietly and looked around at the tree above her. "Yeah. Something like that."

"Because it isn't safe on the ground."

"Wouldn't you hear someone coming?"

"I might."

"So what's the deal, you've got a gun, I know how to shoot one. Trilogy has one too."

"Because you can squeeze a trigger eight hundred yards away and kill the three of us before any of us can actually react."

"So that's why? Because of a sniper?"

"Yeah."

"But couldn't one see us in a tree?"

"Get in the tree." He said as he, again, motioned to the branches. "Hurry up." She slowly took the first branch and lifted herself from the ground, cautiously. Unsteady on the branches, she realized that she hadn't climbed at tree since she was a kid and the memories of that escapade came rushing back to her but as much as she wanted to retell the story, to put her own mind at ease, she didn't. She only looked over her shoulder to see the man following behind her, almost as if ready to catch her if she fell and suddenly, a new rush of calm came over her. She didn't or rather couldn't understand it but, at the same time, she didn't necessarily try to either. "Steady there?"

"I'm fine," she said back down to him. "I'm fine." Three minutes earlier, she would have been lying but now she wasn't, she felt fine. I'm just fine. She thought to herself as she looked up, to the next branch, seeing the outline of Trilogy about thirty feet above her, sitting on a branch. Eight feet behind her was the man who originally scouted the way to the top.

"No!" He yelled up at her as she went to grab a branch. "The one to the left. Not that one."

"Okay," she said as she switched her hand to a thicker, sturdier branch to her left. The branch she was originally going to grab wouldn't be enough to support her weight and would have torn away from the tree, sending her backwards, tumbling to the ground. The ground wouldn't be forgivable and she wouldn't likely survive and, even if she did, she wouldn't be capable of walking, at the very least. She continued her way up the tree, under the careful supervision of the man behind her, making sure she took the right branches the whole way to the top. Safely, she reached it and set herself on one of the branches at the top. The man joined her only moments later, seating himself on a branch nearby. Trilogy had already looped a rope around his waist and the tree branch below him, steadying himself so that he could sit as comfortable as possible. The man was doing the same thing and Larissa sat, perplexed at what she should be doing. "I don't have a rope." She said, realizing that she might need one.

"You'll be fine." The man said as he tightened the knot for himself and pulled off his belt. "This won't hold me or him but it'll hold you," he said as he handed it to her and watched as she looped it around the branch and her own belt, which was nothing more than a piece of fabric, not leather like the man's. "Make sure it's tight," he said as he leaned back, comfortable himself.

"It's tight. This isn't very comfortable," she said as Trilogy closed his eyes next to her.

"It isn't supposed to be, just relax and get some sleep." They were almost the whole way up the eighty foot tree, tied to the branches they were sitting on, hidden by leaves from anybody peering in on them. Sleep came fast for Trilogy and the man but Larissa, on the other hand, wasn't able to like they were. She would eventually fall asleep but not before she spent almost an hour, trying to, thinking about her situation and about where she was headed. Tears rolled down her cheeks at one point as she thought about how she ended up in such a mess. Nothing seemed to go her way for a long time, too long. When she finally did drift into sleep, Larissa had only a faint idea of what it was that brought her here, despite having spent an hour on the subject and she fell asleep knowing only one thing.

The man dozing next to her and Trilogy slept uneasily at first, taking a few moments to get used to sleeping in uncomfortable and dangerous places again. Around him, the leaves rustled with the wind gusts, which were only stronger and colder eighty feet above the ground. Despite the layers the three of them wore, they were still cold, shivering involuntarily with each gust of wind, knowing in the backs of their minds that they needed more layers. Night continued, unabated until the first glimmers of dawn rose over the horizon. A slow crescendo of light, the sunrise peaked over the horizon just as the temperature dipped below the freezing point, bathing the atmosphere with warmth, the next burst of warmth just eight and a half minutes away. The warmth of the sun's rays bathed the man's face, causing him to open his eyes, ready to face a new day in the Neatherealm, a day he'd spend on his quest to get to the center, where his endeavor would end.

At first, he only opened his eyes but then he remembered that he wasn't the only one perched up above in the tree. Quickly, he turned his head to his left and looked at both Larissa and Trilogy, safely where he had left them the previous night. A sense of relief came over him although he knew they were there; although, he would have heard them fall if any of them lost their perch and headed for the ground below. He shifted his weight slightly, to sit a little more comfortably, his enter body sore from the uncomfortable position he slept in all night. Both Larissa and Trilogy would complain of the same thing when they awoke but that wasn't just yet. The man realized that it was still early, very early and they had likely only gotten a few hours of sleep, maybe two to four, at most. Though they had at least gotten that many hours, it wouldn't nearly be enough for a continued trek through the Middle Rim, at least not for Larissa. Both the man and Trilogy had been soldiers, who were trained and, in some ways, bred to thrive on four hours of sleep a night, or less. The man twisted his own head to the right and forced it upwards, to release whatever pressure was in his neck from a bad cramp. His neck cracked and he felt some relief instantly but he wouldn't feel the rest until he was back on the ground and upright, which would allow him to crack his back.

That was when he heard it, a munching sound from below. Slowly, the man looked down and over his left side, down through the branches and towards the ground below. At first, he couldn't see to well, the leaves obscuring his view, especially since the light hadn't necessarily reached that area yet. Light beams had not yet pierced through the trees and reached what was below so he had to squint a little to see what was below him but he quickly made it out, despite the low-light condition. Initially all he saw was a figure crouched, munching on some sort of animal or something smaller; he couldn't necessarily make out that level of detail. He could see though that the figure was human and it was eating the animal-like object in the same way that an animal would eat it. Immediately, this dawned on him. Hunter. He thought to himself as he looked down at the figure chomp away on the animal, which could have been a dog. It was tough to tell but the more he looked at it, the more he could see. The animal was shredded, mangled, mainly because of the eating habit of the Hunter. If the abomination of nature happened to realize that the three people were in the tree he, she, or it, whatever it was, would instantly start to climb, heading for them. At that point, the man would have no other choice but to open fire, which would echo for miles and miles across the silent, relatively flat, and unobstructed terrain of the Middle Rim. It would alert anyone within those miles to his presence and be like a beacon for any other Hunters in the general area that he couldn't see and there were bound to be some. They often travelled in pairs, doing their bidding silently and swiftly.

The man stayed high in the tree, undoing the rope slowly and carefully, to avoid shifting his weight and losing his balance or worse, making noise that would alert the beast below. He looked over at both Trilogy and Larissa, both of them still asleep and instantly thought how to keep them quiet if they awoke, especially without saying anything to them. He wanted to throw something small, like a piece of bark at Trilogy to wake him up but he didn't know if it would startle him. If it were wartime, he knew it wouldn't but this was long after the war ended and he didn't know whether or not Trilogy kept combat trained. At the same time, he knew that he couldn't wake Larissa, she was too jumpy as it was. If she was startled she would definitely make noise and, worse, lose her balance and slip. She would be caught by the makeshift harness. The repercussions would be serious. They could lead to her demise, alert the Hunter below, reduce or utterly negate the man's combat effectiveness, and endanger all three of them. God what I wouldn’t do for a bow right now, the man thought to himself as he looked down at the Hunter below, who continued to munch on the animal below them. It was more than just irony and bad luck that the Hunter chose this spot to have his breakfast, which more than just irritated the man, it made him truly angry and want to kill it. The drawback was that he couldn't do it without alerting it and giving away his advantage.

Intently, the man watched below as the Hunter devoured the animal, making more than just a small mess. He could see that there was blood around his breakfast area and that he had ripped off part of the animal and left it behind him, maybe as a souvenir or perhaps he just didn't want that piece. In the darkness, the man couldn't necessarily tell what it was and neither did he want to, it served him no purpose. He had, in essence, no weapon capable of killing the Hunter, silently, from where he sat. His knife would undoubtedly hit something on the way down and eighty feet was a far throw. His pistol, even suppressed, was too loud. Dropping something was unreliable and could easily miss. He was, in essence, incapable of acting. He couldn't drop through the air, it was too far and he would undoubtedly hit something on the way down himself, possibly injuring or killing him in the process, jeopardizing both Trilogy and Larissa. Fuck! He thought to himself as he realized that he couldn't do anything about the Hunter below. He simply had to wait the beast out, from high in the tree, eighty feet away when, suddenly, the Hunter stopped eating and, mimicking the speed with which a bird acted, he turned his head and looked up, eyeing the man, their eyes matching. Oh shit! The man thought as his eyes widened and instantly, he went into combat mode.

Layarteb

16-09-2008, 06:27

The last thoughts running through the man's head were simple, Wait it out. Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen now as the Hunter below made a growl akin to that of a bobcat. It had looked up and saw prey high above its head, too high to get instantly but well within its reach. Immediately, the Hunter took action and began to climb up the tree branches. Son of a… He thought to himself as he looked to his left and saw Larisa awake. Her yawn had alerted the Hunter below and now she was looking below to see what was making the noise. Instinctively, the man reached over and put his hand on her mouth, "Don't scream!" She nodded quickly and let go of her, "Now wake that asshole up!" He said as he immediately began to descend from his perch. The Hunter was fast approaching the three people at the top of the tree and the man immediately began dropping down the branches, ready to fight. The duel continued for a few more seconds while the man quickly dropped down the branches and the Hunter, like some sort of carnivorous animal stalked upwards, its eyes locked now on the moving target in front of it, which was the man, who had his own eyes locked onto the Hunter below him.

Instinctively, the Hunter reached for the right branch every time and as much as the man wanted for him to reach for the wrong one and fall, he couldn't bet on that getting him out of the inevitable. He had to fight the beast and he had to fight it hand-to-hand. With it about thirty feet into the tree and him about forty five feet from the ground, he decided that he had to act and he had to act fast. He saw his opportunity almost at that very moment and quickly acted. He let go of the branch above himself into a human spear, his feet together as he entered a free fall, aimed right at the body of the Hunter. Contact was made moments later and it was the perfect strike. His feet caught the Hunter's chest and instantly, the energy the man generated from falling was transferred to the Hunter. His arms tore away from the branch and his legs slipped as he fell backwards, the man on top of him, hammering him towards the ground.

Watching the whole thing from above, Larisa held back a shriek as she saw the man let go of the branch and spear into the beast below him. She closed her eyes, knowing that, despite being on top of the beast, he was still going to get injured once the two of them met the ground. It was foolish of her to think so lowly of the man, who reached out and grabbed a branch before reaching the ground, after falling about twenty to twenty five feet. The Hunter, on the other hand, continued to fall and smashed into the ground, back first. The pain echoed through his body like a shockwave as he let out a fierce shriek, also like that of a bobcat. It echoed and the man gritted his teeth as he thought to himself, Goddamnit shut up! He let go of the branch and put himself into a free fall again, this time aiming right for the body of the Hunter, who saw him coming and, despite the pain, managed to roll away just a split second before the man impacted the ground. He landed just like a paratrooper would if he had to make an emergency landing at a higher speed, using much of his body to absorb the impact, distributing it throughout the various joints and parts of his body, which kept him from breaking any bones. He had learned this technique in the military and he had never forgotten it. He first landed on the balls of his feet and, with his knees slightly bent, he rotated his body so that, when he landed it was the following sequence: balls of his feet, calf, upper leg, rear end, and then the side of his back. The technique was executed in only a few tenths of a second but it was done with such precision that the man only had to roll over to get to his feet.

Of course, by then, the Hunter was on his feet too and in an attack stance. Crouched, with his hands out and his whole body low, the Hunter, blood drooling out of his mouth from a combination of the hard hit to the ground, where he bit his tongue, and his breakfast. His face was scared and his head was bald, as if he purposely shaved it that day. Covered in grime, dirt, blood, and filth, the Hunter lay in front of the man ready to strike, like a king cobra. Venomous in his own right, the Hunter was ready to strike and so the man had to be ready as well. He put himself in a similar stance but he was more balanced, a byproduct of martial arts lessons he had taken while in the military. Well trained with fighting techniques such as Taekwondo and Judo, the man would be ready for the close-in combat that the Hunter beckoned. Growling still like a bobcat, the Hunter eyed up the man, looking for his weakness and his subsequent location to strike, the neck being his favored. The man, on the other hand, had reached around his back with his right hand and put his hand on the hilt of his knife but did not remove it yet, keeping it in the sheath until he was ready. He eyed the Hunter too and looked for his own weakness to exploit and, like any human being, himself included, there were plenty. The only problem was that the position and stance that the Hunter was in limited his options. Still, the Hunter began to sidestep to the left and the man countered, moving to the right as they entered a small circle, just four feet away from each other, both of them waiting for the other to attack.

More disciplined, the man would wait out the attack from the Hunter and strike when the Hunter did. More defensive in this manner, he maintained his balance, which the Hunter would lose as he lunged forward and he did just that, right on cue. Lunging forward with his teeth and hands out, the Hunter aimed right for the man's neck, hoping to get in close enough to sink in his teeth deep enough to rip off a chunk of flesh, which would certainly slow down the man and limit the range of motion of his arm. The Hunter offset his balance as he lunged forward and gave the man the perfect opportunity. He simply had to sidestep a little and reach out with his left hand, grabbing the airborne Hunter in the stomach. He quickly used the beast's own energy against him and pushed him out of the way, sending him skidding across the cold ground hard. The Hunter snapped back up quickly and turned around to see the man, back in his defensive stance, his hand still behind his back. The Hunter lunged forward again and aimed for the neck again, hoping to achieve the results he had not achieved on the last attempt. Fortunately for the man, the failed again, this time meeting the man's legs as he drop kicked the Hunter from his midair flight to an instant fall. Both of them hit the ground hard but the man hit the ground in a much more controlled manner, giving him advantage and he still had not pulled his knife from its sheath.

High above, both Larisa and Trilogy both looked down at the fight. Despite their desire to get into it and help, neither of them was foolish enough to do so. Trilogy had just untied his own ropes and told Larisa to do the same. It seemed as if he would be going down to help but he wasn't ready just yet. Instead, he stayed high, safely protected from the war on the ground, using the excuse of looking after Larisa to justify his own fear. I've got to stay with her. What if we both fail and he comes up here? She'll be on here own. No. If he comes up here he'll have to deal with me and I'll make him fall eighty feet before he get's a piece of her. Trilogy thought to himself. It wasn't all chivalrous though. Trilogy truly wanted the girl as his slave and he hoped to try to barter her away from the man at some point on their trip but he didn't necessarily know how yet and he was a calculating man. All of his experience selling drugs for the Dragons and making shady deals of the sort, he had to be a patient man. He saw what he wanted but he couldn't be too gung-ho in going for it or else it would cost him more than he had. Instead, he would wait it out and use her as leverage against him, when he was at his weakest. Trilogy almost had the whole plan laid out in his head except for any of the specifics. Despite being a man of patience, he was also a man of opportunity and he would never let one pass him by, especially when it was for something that he really wanted and he really wanted her, ever since the first scent of her wafted into his nostrils. Tasty. He thought to himself as he looked her over, following his nearly chivalrous thoughts with nothing short of twisted perversion. Yeah, tasty. I need another slave, his thoughts continued.

Despite his raging, hormonal-based thoughts, Trilogy couldn't ignore the fight below. Even he was a little worried that the man had met his match. Each blow he struck against the Hunter was tactical but not decisive and why he hadn't drawn his knife perplexed Trilogy as he watched through the leaves. Down below, the man had struck another blow against the Hunter but was only succeeding in throwing the Hunter around, not really injuring him too severely. The Hunter could keep fighting for a while with the way the man was throwing him around and he would, until the man struck a more decisive blow against him. Just shoving him around wasn't going to do it and it wasn't going to tire out the Hunter either, as it would any normal human being. An abomination of nature, the Hunter, physically was nothing more than a human being who had honed his own instincts and capabilities thanks largely to his environment. Psychologically, the Hunter was vastly different from any normal person. The Hunter was a warp manifestation of the darkest, scariest, and most instinctual thoughts and habits of any human being and there were no inhibitions and no conscience to limit it from acting on any of its impulses and instincts. The Hunter was nothing more than an animal, a beast, in a human body. No criminal profiler could understand the methodology for its actions and no psychologist could peel the layers off it to understand it fully. The only way to understand the Hunter was simply to kill it, in essence, to put it mercifully out of its suffering, if that was any sort of logical excuse for killing another human being, even if there was not humanity left in it.

The Hunter came in for another attack, this time sweeping lower on the man and he succeeded in knocking down the man, causing him to lose his grip on the hilt of his knife. Now perched on top of the man, the Hunter reached down to try to get the man's neck but he was stopped. The man reacted quickly and threw his legs around the Hunter above him and reached up to grab the Hunter's throat, giving him punches to his ribs as he did, all the time holding him still to take the beating. He put a number of punches into the Hunter's rib cage before he let go and kicked him free, reaching back around to grab his knife before having to let go as the Hunter went in to grapple him. Landing back on the ground, the two of them went in for another round of fighting as the man tried to get his hand around the Hunter's throat again but he wasn't as successful this time. The Hunter clawed at him, drooling blood all over his shirt as the man struck some more blows into the Hunter's chest and ribs, throwing him off again, leaping up to his feet as the Hunter soared through the air and hit the ground. He went back to the stance he had been in before and pulled his knife free as the Hunter came in for another rush.

Entirely defensive, the man pushed the Hunter away as he slashed across the Hunter's front, slicing a superficial gash across his chest. The Hunter paid it no mind as he came back again, this time looking to knock the knife free but he failed to do so as the man slashed a few more times at him, each time with precise form, drawing blood from various parts of the Hunter's body, which was covered by layers of clothing that were easily sliced by the sharp blade of his knife. The Hunter was bleeding now from four wounds from the knife and from his mouth where he had taken a hard impact on the ground. His ribs and back were bruised severely from both the punches and the fall and his bones had been rattled around from being thrown around so much but they did nothing to slow down the carnivorous beast, which kept coming. The man kept fighting though, knowing that this was a fight to the death and, obviously, he had never lost one of those before.

The Hunter growled here and there, making sounds that would scare even the fiercest of jungle cats but he wasn't scaring the man. It was as if he had lost the ability to form sentences and actual language, instead making the sounds of an animal to fit in with his surroundings and chosen nature as a beast of nature. He made no grunts of pain and exhibited no normal, human reactions to being slashed by the knife of struck by the man's fist or foot. He shrugged off every blow and he came only harder and faster with each strike, as if his energy supply was dependent on being struck. The harder the man hit him, the harder the beast came, more adrenaline than blood coursing through his veins. Regardless, the man did not give or let up, he continued with the same fever and fury that he had used the entire time. He looked for openings and tried to exploit them. Unfortunately, because the Hunter moved so fast, the man couldn't necessarily take his time with the hits. He had to be faster and that limited the amount of power in each of his strikes, whether it was the slashing of his knife or a punch from his fist. Because of this, the fight would last much longer than it had to last.

Despite his own skill, the man could simply not get in a position to deliver a fatal blow to the Hunter, whether with his knife or with his own body. The Hunter was quick and skilled himself, obviously a student of some form of martial art before he became a beast. Those instincts had stuck with him, even in his more primordial of states. With the fight continuing, both Trilogy and Larisa continued to watch safely from above. They had spoken only to themselves and only in their own heads as they watched the man tango with the satanic creature below them. This wasn't a dance though, nobody was having any fun and it could only end in two ways, with either the man or the Hunter dying by the other's hands. Genuinely concerned with the outcome of the fight, Larisa hung on each moment of it, watching and waiting for the man to come out victorious. She hoped for that much at least as she had, somehow, built him up to be an invincible, indestructible figure that could take bullets and keep walking as if nothing happened. She was trying hard to understand what exactly it was about him that made her both uneasy and comfortable, all at the same time. As much as she felt safe with him near her, she was petrified of him and afraid that he would harm her in some way. Trilogy, on the other hand, she felt nothing but discomfort for, especially whenever he had looked at her. His thoughts were obvious to himself but she couldn't necessarily figure them out and it confused and frustrated her that she couldn't.

Trilogy looked at her, eyeing her like a piece of meat and though she was looking down at the fight, she could feel his skeevy eyes on her, sizing her up from head to toe and back up again. He licked his teeth inside his mouth, a subtle reaction to her form. She wasn't terrible looking at all, on the contrary, she was quite beautiful and she was untainted, not like the used, abused hags that the pimps sold in the center of Sanctuary. I could just eat you up, make you mine. Have you do whatever I want. Yeah baby you're going to be mine. He thought to himself as he eyed her more. I bet you taste like cherries or strawberries, he continued, not wanting to be taken out of this twisted, mental getaway that took him away from the reality that a deadly fight was not more than eighty feet below him. Larisa tried not to get distracted from the fight below but even she knew that his thoughts on her couldn't be good and she had noticed him licking his teeth simply by the way is upper lip momentarily bulged from his tongue. She wanted to look at him and yell at him to the order of "Creep, knock it the fuck off!" Holding it to herself though, she focused on the fight below as the man got an upper hand, finally, and sent the blade of the knife deep into the Hunter's thigh, undoubtedly causing major damage or, at the very least, slowing him down tremendously. The Hunter's next strike was visibly slower too, which worked in the favor of the man, who struck a terrific blow to the Hunter's throat, causing him to gasp for air.

It provided him with the necessary leverage to finally end the fight. With the Hunter unable to breathe, slowed from the wound to his leg and the number of other wounds on his body, the Hunter was unable to counter the man when he threw him to the ground and pounced on top of him, sending his knee into the Hunter's chest, crushing and compressing his diaphragm. Gasping for air and practically choking now, the Hunter knew that he had lost the fight but he continued to struggle, even as the man drove the blade of his knife into his heart, quickly but slow enough that he felt every millimeter of the blade. It wasn't enough though and before he pulled out his knife, he quickly snapped the Hunter's neck, breaking it quickly, ensuring death. He pulled out his knife, wiped it clean on the Hunter's clothes and looked around. The fight had gone on for more than twenty-five minutes and no one had come to the rescue for the Hunter but the man knew that there had to be a second one out there. He didn't want to stick around and find out though and, instead, he looked up at Larisa and Trilogy above him, "C'mon, we're leaving. Now!" He yelled up at them and they both started to climb down, Larisa first, the man following behind her, trying to get some sort of good view of her body the whole way down. It was sickening to Larisa but the vast amount of layers she had on made her comfortable in the fact that there was nothing on her that he could see except her face and her hands, the only exposed parts, the rest being covered by layers of clothing.

Layarteb

17-09-2008, 05:54

Back on the ground, the man stood over his prey, the filthy, disgusting Hunter, eyeing it and examining it carefully, meticulously. "Strange, aren't they?" He asked, feeling both Trilogy and Larisa close behind him. He bent down and pulled his knife from the sheath and sliced free the Hunter's shirt, pulling it free to get a better look at the body. The sun's rays had peaked higher over the horizon now and shone light onto the area now, giving it that dawn glow. "I noticed something during the fight, some sort of tattoo on him. Right there," he pointed, with his knife blade, at the Hunter's chest around his left breast. "Make any sense to you?" The tattoo was rather elaborate and it was old. Inside of an upside down triangle, which was edged with barbed wire, was a scorpion, fierce looking, pointed down, its claws ready to grab something and its stinger ready to strike. There was writing above the triangle that was in some weird language, almost resembling some sort of hieroglyphics. "What's that say?" He asked as he looked down and focused on the characters.

Trilogy shook his head, unable to answer the man and Larisa didn't have a clue. "I'm sure I've seen that before," Trilogy answered him, unable to actually answer the question properly. "I know I've seen that before," he went on, thinking to himself where he had seen it, the answer just on the tip of his tongue.

"Think harder man. I've seen it before too but now I only vaguely recollect it. It was on the chest of the other Hunter I killed, way back before we reached Sanctuary. It means something and whatever it is, I'm sure it's important."

"Probably. Everything in this place has some significance to something or another. C'mon, let's go." Trilogy said as he stepped away from the body, leaving both Larisa and the man to watch over it decay and rot away.

"What's that?" Larisa asked, her eyes fixated on the Hunter's mouth. "What's that sticking out?" It was hard to make out whatever she was seeing but something was sticking out of the bottom of its mouth and it was unusual looking. The man, still crouched next to the body, used his knife to pry open the Hunter's mouth and push back its upper lip, only to find a set of fangs. "Fangs?"

"Yeah. But these aren't natural," he said, eyeing them. "This was done. Filed down."

"Why?"

"To puncture something, killing it. Like the artery in your neck."

"Like a vampire?"

"Yeah. Basically."

"Scary."

"Let's go." He said as he stood up and felt a chill come over his body. Trilogy was already far enough ahead of them that they had to make a short, fast jog to catch up to him, eventually meeting him as he strode through the trees, his guard up and his weapon ready. "I need a bow." The man said as he came alongside Trilogy, Larisa lagging a few steps behind. "I could have killed him from the tree. There's no way I can get to the center, to where I have to be without one. I need silence and range. For that I need a bow."

"If we can get to Dragon City," he began but rethought himself. "It would cost too much."

"Money?" No. Not money. Trilogy thought to himself as the man realized the price he would have to pay, "Not a chance. She's not for sale."

"There's no other way," Trilogy said quietly to the man, so Larisa could not hear him. "What's more important to you?"

"I won't sell her."

"Then you will fail."

"Fail what?" Larisa asked as she came closer and heard Trilogy. "Huh?"

"Not important," Trilogy answered as he headed along what appeared to now be a path, cut through the forest.

"Not important?" Larisa, curious, asked, refusing to let it die just yet. "Fail at what?"

"Nothing," the man replied, insistence in his voice. She couldn't press the subject because she would not like the answer, especially now that the man was thinking to himself. What is more important? He asked of himself, Who is more important?

The sky remained a dull, dark gray. The wind died down a little but not enough to take away the biting sting of each gust. Their hands were cold but only the man had gloves. As he watched Larisa shiver and breathe into her hands to keep them warm, he realized that she was better off with them than he was so he removed them and handed them, not necessarily begrudgingly but definitely unhappily to her. "Take them," he said without looking at her.

"Thank you," she said, her voice lifting into the air and echoed around them. It carried with it a sweet tone that only served to further complicate his inner war. Who is more important? He thought to himself again as Trilogy suppressed a smirk. He knew that the man was forced now to decide between Larisa, the girl whom he endeavored to protect, and his own quest, which was far more than she would ever be, to anyone. "I'm bored," Larisa eventually remarked, realizing that walking through the forest with these two people was relatively uncomfortable. The silence only made thing worse because it gave her a chance to think.

"Stay bored," Trilogy answered, almost ready to slap her for whining but he knew that he would have to go around the man to do it and he would definitely get beaten for it. Trilogy may have known almost every move the man would throw to him but he also knew that even he was no match for him, weapon or not.

"You two make me uncomfortable." She finally remarked, getting it off her chest.

"Good," the man remarked, an answer she wasn't expecting. "We're not good people."

"Speak for yourself." Trilogy answered snidely, displeased at his own truth. "I'm plenty good."

"Like hell you are," the man answered back. "I've seen what you've done."

"Nothing worse than you. You remember everything don't you? All of those screams, those eyes?"

"Enough," the man answered, not wanting Larisa to see the full scope of his darker side. It wasn't that he had a dark and a light side, they were both dark and one was darker than the other. She had not seen that one yet, thankfully. Mary, on the other hand, had only seen a sliver of it.

"Forget I said anything," Larisa conceded, realizing that any conversation involving the two of them would undoubtedly make her more uncomfortable and make things that much tenser.

Back in Sanctuary, the stir had not ended. The Wraiths continued their inquisition of the city. They had not fully accepted that a pair of degenerates with no combat skill whatsoever managed to lure Mary into their building and torture her to death. They went over the entire house and couldn't believe the explanation yet. With the disappearance of Trilogy, they became suspicious, even at the official answer, given by the man he left in charge. "He's been recalled," was all that was said. The man Trilogy left in charge went simply by the name Dust and that was because he was a fan of angel dust or PCP. Originally made in the early 1950s as a powerful anesthetic, PCP found itself into the illegal market quite quickly. Producing powerful effects, the drug was a favorite of outlaw motorcycle gangs and Dust, being a former member of one such gang was drawn to the drug like a moth to a light bulb.

Dust stood six foot four and he weighed three hundred and ninety pounds. Bald and full of tattoos, he was like a brick wall that nobody dared cross. Despite his size though, he was quite agile and anyone that saw him fight knew it. Sanctuary had an "underground" fighting circuit that was kept rather quiet, despite the fact that Sanctuary's Harvesters knew about it, in full. They turned a blind eye, so long as the violence stayed in the ring. The fighting was conducted once a week in a massive, underground garage that had been transformed into a deathmatch arena. Hundreds would gather, stoned to oblivion, and watch people fight to the death. The winner got to go home and fight again, eventually. The loser wound up dead and one could only win if he killed his opponent. There was even a sort of ladder system and a championship layout that basically guaranteed the winner a huge pot. Unfortunately, for the contestants, they weren't all there willingly. Dust had fought such an unwilling participant only months earlier. Here he was, a true goliath, and his opponent was a skinny, scraggily, coke addict who owed a little bit too much money to one of the pimps. Eventually, he was sold to the deathmatch and, as unlucky as he was in his life, he drew Dust as his opponent. Heavy stakes were put on the addict, simply because he was the big underdog as the match was billed as David versus Goliath. David didn't win this one and after running around to avoid being beaten to a pulp, the addict was finally caught in Dust's reach. Catching him only by the hair, Dust ripped his body from a forward sprint to an instant stop and slammed him into the wall, hard, probably causing internal injuries. With his huge hands, Dust, high on PCP at the time, lifted the addict into the air and literally tore his head from his body, leaving both ornaments on the side of the arena, where they remained, despite their decay and stench.

Nobody cleaned up the arena after a match and Dust left, a proud winner and notched himself that much closer to the finals. The finals match went to his favor as well and he left the arena after killing his opponent, a Judo fighter and ex-Special Forces soldier, with over $5,000, the pot being much higher. The fight had been going on for a year and now that it ended, Dust vowed never to compete again, despite his obvious ease in winning. It wasn't that he was squeamish about death either or that he had a change in heart. It was all about the money. He only raked in $5,000 when the pot, he knew, was over $50,000. He had half a mind to kill the organizers but even he knew that it would be a stupid move and hurt him more than help him, even if he managed to pull it off and get away without being made.

Now he was the focus of the Wraith's attention. He was bombarded almost hourly, being asked where Trilogy had gone, why he had gone so fast, where the stranger went, and if he had gone with Trilogy. He was asked if he knew the stranger, heard anything from the stranger, and anything else about the stranger. Dust only shrugged off their questions, loyal to the Dragons and Trilogy. Feared by the whole city because of his impressive record in the fights and his stature, Dust moved about the city freely, pushing ahead the Dragons every chance he got. The Wraiths were even more displeased with these moves and even went so far as to question the Harvester's judgment in allowing the Dragons to stay, given that Mary was found murdered. Despite their suspicions, the Harvesters weren't convinced, fools as they would be called behind their backs. "C'mon, they killed her! Isn't it obvious? Now Trilogy is gone! The stranger is gone too!" They would bark at the Harvesters only to be rebuffed every time by the same time, "We're not convinced. You're treading a fine line if you keep this up!"

There was no justice for the Wraiths, as it would seem to them and with Dust parading around the city, giving the Dragons the advantage, they felt betrayed, by everyone. They would eventually begin to question if the Harvesters had something to do with the murder of Mary. Perhaps it was a conspiracy, they thought. Without any outlet for their justice, the Wraiths in Sanctuary became inundated by their revenge, which could only turn out negatively for them in the end. They would have been wise to heed the warnings of the Harvesters but that wouldn't come for some time. Without any proper avenue of relief, they went to the one person who they thought could help them.

It was just six days after the stranger and Trilogy disappeared from Sanctuary and the leader of the Wraiths, a former mercenary who went by the alias of Shadow walked into the bar early in the morning. He was looking for someone, just one person, the only person whom he thought could help him and his gang exact the revenge that they needed for Mary's death. Despite it being early, the bar was packed, especially by drug fiends looking for some food to quell their aching stomachs after a night of drinking, shooting, and snorting. Amongst them, Shadow found who he needed to find and he approached the man, who happened to be sitting, alone, at a table in the back of the bar, a shot of whiskey in his hand. Carefully, Shadow sat down at the table and put his pistol on it. "I need justice," he said as the man took his shot of whiskey, contemplating whether or not to kill the man for disturbing him. "I think I can help you too."

"How is that?" Apollyon answered, slamming down the glass and motioning for one of the waitresses to pick it up and take it away. A particularly pathetic and filthy waitress, who was more like a wench, came over seconds later, her clothes ripped and her body bruised. She doubled as a prostitute at night and it was obvious that her last fare had abused her. Her hair was a mess too and Apollyon looked at her with disgust as she took away the glass. Pathetic. He thought to himself as the turned his attention back to the man at his table, with whom he still had not decided what to do with yet.

"You were asking about someone, a stranger?" Shadow answered, getting right to the point.

"I may have been. What's it to you? Know something I ought to know?"

"I do. I can help you find him."

"Then maybe you can help me, I imagine you'll want a return favor?"

"The Dragons have something to do with the murder of our lady. Nobody believes us but we know she wasn't killed by a pair of addicts, she was too good for that."

"Maybe she was looking for a good time," Apollyon answered back, swiftly, obviously setting the man off a little.

"No!" He snapped back, instantly catching himself. "She wasn't a whore."

"You might be surprised around here," Apollyon delved as he tried to get more information.

"If she was a whore I would have known it."

"Why? Were you fucking her?" He emphasized the word as he stared the man down, trying to see what was so special about her.

"Yeah. I was." The answer he was expecting. "She was too good of a warrior for that sort of thing."

"Speak your point then."

"Their leader disappeared around the same time that your stranger disappeared and I saw them together. Talking. They know each other."

"Maybe he just wanted some drugs."

"Trilogy isn't around to sell the drugs anymore. He runs the show."

"So maybe they were friends. Where are they now?"

"Gone."

"Gone. Yeah so how is this helping me?"

"Because the guy he left in charge knows where they went."

"Oh does he? And you know this, for a fact?" Shadow nodded. "So why don't you ask him yourself?"

"I get a run around. These Dragons, they're all bikers. Really loyal."

"Loyalty isn't a crime," Apollyon said, careful of his own words and thoughts as he reached underneath the table and put his hand on one of his pistols, twisting it in his lap so that the barrel was pointed right at Shadow. "Are you questioning loyalty?"

"No. I can't get anything out of him."

"Intimidation works so well for you skells here, why don't you try that?"

"Not him. He's the most feared man here, in Sanctuary."

"Oh I wouldn't bet."

"Six four, almost four hundred pounds. Ripped a guys head off in deathmatch."

"This guy you say?" He nodded his head to a man who had just entered the bar. Shadow turned his head and quickly caught a glance although Dust did not see him back.

"That man."

"He looks like a panda. So if I got this straight, he knows where the stranger is, the man I seek."

"He does."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Consider him a gift."

"And if he does?"

"Consider him a gift."

"So you want me to dispose of him, only because of who I am?"

"Our lady's death was no accident and the Dragons must have their blood shed equally. She was our enforcer. He is there's."

"Suppose I just kill you now and end this?"

"Then you won't find your stranger."

"But I can still ask that man, can't I?" Shadow thought instantly that he had given away his trump card and know even he knew how useless he was to Apollyon. It was a rookie mistake that he made in the passion of the moment. He felt deeply for Mary and her death couldn't, in his own eyes, be made up for, regardless of who died but he wanted blood from the Dragons and Dust was the best target. "Sleep tight," Apollyon said, standing up, the pistol still in his hand and a twisted smile on his face, as if he had this all planned out and Shadow had waltzed into his trap, without extra effort.

Layarteb

18-09-2008, 02:49

Shadow almost swallowed his tongue when Apollyon stood, the pistol in his hand. He thought, for certain, that he was dead, that he had crossed the line. Instantly, he began to regret his decision and he knew that there was no way out of it either. Apollyon couldn't be reasoned with and he wouldn't be outsmarted either. He could shoot anyone in the bar or anywhere in the Neatherealm and nobody would dare do a thing to him but, if the roles were reversed, not only would Shadow be drawn and quartered, the Wraiths would be thrown out of Sanctuary. It was a cruel double standard in an even crueler world but it was nothing to argue with for there could be no reasoning with it. Apollyon had not risen slowly but he had not jumped up either. He loomed over Shadow, who remained motionless, seated, half looking at his gun on the table and at Apollyon's shadow over himself. He could make a move but he doubted that even he could move fast enough to get his gun and shoot Apollyon. The consequences would undoubtedly end with his dead but at least he wouldn't die in vain, he would take out Apollyon with him and possibly keep the punishment restricted just to him. Who am I kidding, he thought to himself as he realized that his entire plan was garbage. He would simply have to accept his fate as a byproduct of his own foolishness and impatience.

"Your sacrifice is not of my concern," Apollyon told Shadow, a coldness about his voice. "Do your own dirty work but I suppose I should thank you, in some way for what you have provided me." Shadow couldn't answer him back yet, he was still having trouble accepting the fate that he had brought upon himself, even if it was beyond his control. "So I'll let you live."

Apollyon put his gun in his holster and walked away from the table, his coat catching the chair and almost knocking it over as he walked away from it. He made his way towards Dust, the brutal mammoth who sat on the opposite side, in the corner, where he only had to watch in front of him. It was strategic and he had been known to do such a thing. Had he seen Apollyon coming, he might have reacted in such a way that would have him out of the bar but by the time he noticed, Apollyon's shadow was on his face and there was nothing he could do and nowhere he could go. "Mind if I have a word?" Apollyon asked, politely, almost as if Dust had a choice. Before he could answer, Apollyon had sat down and already looked at the two men who had come in with Dust. "You two were just leaving," the men stood up and left the bar quickly, before their drinks could arrive, which Apollyon eyed. "Have your drink," he said to Dust, who eyed his own, afraid to go near it.

Despite Dust's stature and his general demeanor, he feared Apollyon. Everyone in the entire Neatherealm, Hunters included, feared Apollyon. He was the unrighteous hand of the benefactor and his death would bring a war against whoever was responsible so fast that they wouldn't have time to hide. Even disrespecting the man meant certain death. "Filthy, aren't they?" He asked as the waitress, the same one as before, stepped away. "It's like the dirtiest, most slovenly women came to this place and for what, to whore themselves out? Would you fuck her? Look at her, your dick would probably rot off just being inside of her. I doubt a condom could even protect you." Dust just stared at him, sizing him up, trying to figure out what to do and what Apollyon wanted. He was almost certain it was about both the stranger and Trilogy and he knew that he couldn't lie to Apollyon, he wouldn't be able to pull it off and see tomorrow.

"I wouldn't know," he said as he tried to steer the conversation away from whatever it was that Apollyon was there for and whatever it was that he would have to give away.

"You don't touch the whores here? Why do I not believe that? This whole city fucks them."

"I'm not into disease."

"I'm finding that hard to believe, Mister? Well I'm afraid I don't know your name."

"It's Dust."

"Dust? What's that supposed to be?"

"That's just what it is." The conversation didn't include any smiles but neither had it come to the tension required for blows yet. They both simply sized each other up and tried to get the upper hand. Apollyon knew that, hand-to-hand, he would probably lose and Dust thought the same thing, he would lose himself. "What do you want?" His tone upped the ante quickly.

"I'm here about a stranger."

"A stranger? Must be a lot of those here in Sanctuary, it is a safe haven after all."

"This one is a little more specific," Apollyon said as he smirked. "He was seen running around with your fearless leader, Trilogy is it?"

"I'm not really sure about much that Trilogy does. He's not my boyfriend."

"Surely you had to have seen something," Apollyon picked up the first drink on the table, a cold beer that he took a swig off, cringing as it went down his throat. "The beer here is quite awful. The whiskey. That's something decent but the beer. It's almost as if it were brewed in one of those hooker's twats." He put down the beer and shoved it aside. The other drink was the same thing and so was the one Dust had yet to touch. "Don't let it get warm now. You've got a lot to tell me."

"Like what?"

"Let's start with who was he?"

"I can't say I know. He just appeared."

"And now where is he?"

"I can't say I know that either. He just disappeared."

"With your fearless leader?"

"I don't believe so. Trilogy was recalled, that's all I know."

"Oh you know better not to lie to me, don't you?"

"Who said I was lying?" He took a drink of his beer but didn't cringe, used to the awful taste by now. "I'd find that to be in poor taste."

"As would I. Why was he here?"

"I didn't speak with the man."

"For someone who seems to know so much you don't know anything, do you?"

"I'm just a peon for the guys in Dragon City, here to do their bidding, to look after their stock and Trilogy seems to think I'd be best at it."

"Clearly," he said as he eyed a pimp who walked into the bar, his purple hat loudly announcing his presence. "You want to know what I think about Sanctuary?" He didn't give Dust a chance to answer his question as he began, "It's a cesspool for the rotting excrement of this society. I loathe this place and everyone inside of it. It is filthy and an abomination to everything that humanity has ever stood for since the age of reason. If it were up to me I would raze it to the ground and dance upon the ashes. So the fact that I have to come to this hell hole and sit here, talking to you about something ridiculous such as this stranger just makes me boil inside. Are you getting me?" Dust nodded. "Where'd he fucking go and who the fuck is he?"

Dust quickly realized that this was his only chance to avoid a death sentence. Apollyon gritted his teeth as he talked and his eyes backed up everything he said. He wanted to level the city of Sanctuary to the ground and if he had to sit there five minutes longer, he would start with the bar and Dust would be the kindle. "He was an old war buddy of Trilogy. All I know is that they went into the Middle Rim. I don't know anything else. He didn't talk much and whenever he did it was hushed. I couldn't hear him. He had girl with him. Pretty thing I don't know why."

"What did this girl look like?"

"Couple of inches shorter than him, maybe six. Young, in her twenties maybe. Long, dark brown hair. Brown eyes. Soft skin. Skinny and definitely with him for a purpose. She wasn't his arm candy for anything and she's no hooker."

"And you say she went with him?"

"Yeah. To the Middle Rim."

"How'd they leave?"

"I'm not sure. I didn't see them go, it was during the night."

"How long ago?"

"Six days ago." Apollyon stood up and looked down at Dust as he took another swig of his beer. "That's all I know."

"It better be or else I'll know exactly where to find you. I'll need a torch and you would do just fine." Apollyon turned around and left the bar, pushing past the filthy waitress, almost knocking her into the wall. Miscreant filth, he thought to himself as he passed by her.

Layarteb

19-09-2008, 02:57

Chapter VII
The Devil's Regrets

"Genocide is an attempt to exterminate a people, not to alter their behavior."

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Infernal/14-chapter07.jpg

Six days had passed since the three of them had first entered the Middle Rim and things had not improved for their fortunes since then. On the first night, the man had to fight, one-on-one with a Hunter, killing the beast in the end. On the second day, Trilogy was attacked by a wild dog but he managed to fight it off, all on his own. On the third and fourth days, it rained, only serving to make them more uncomfortable and lead to the possibility of eventual sickness. On the fifth day, though it dried off, a haze fell over the Middle Rim, severely limiting their visibility, causing Larisa, especially, to go into a frenzied panic as the horrific echoes of animals tapped ever so softly on her eardrums. She could only hear the noises, which made it that much more eerie. Finally, on the sixth day, Larisa had her accident. For the man it had been the Hunter and for Trilogy it had been the dog. For Larisa, it was a trap, elaborately laid.

The fog from the fifth day had not fully blown out but the visibility had increased. It was a winter fog. The rain had slightly warmed the ground and the air, simply because it had added a ridiculous amount of humidity but it would be short-lived. The fog was the end of it and it was on its way out, growing thinner by the hour. As the three of them walked through the soup, as it was affectionately called, they could hear the crackles of sticks under their feet. It echoed in the otherwise quiet forest. The previous day, the noises of hundreds of animals had driven Larisa to the edge of her sanity and she had to be slapped back into reality. Though it did not pride the man to do it, he had no other choice and when she realized what had happened, she apologized, more for her behavior. She wasn't angry that she had been slapped either and though it left a red mark on her cheek, it drew no blood. Her accident on the sixth day certainly drew blood.

It happened shortly after noon, as they crossed over a small, rickety bridge that spanned an almost frozen river. Not more than a few feet wide, the river was only a foot or so deep at that point and the wooden bridge was more for the scenic purpose than anything else. The area had once been a beautiful garden area used often by newly married couples for photography shoots. Now it was overgrown with weeds and its beauty was long gone. They crossed over the bridge carefully, not wanting to fall into the cold water below, which could cause hypothermia. Once on the other side, they kept to the path, hoping it would lead them away from the garden and to something more definitive. They could see, about a half mile away, a brick building, which served as a reception hall for when the garden and its surroundings was used for weddings and other life events. "This place looks like it could have been gorgeous?" Larisa said, eyeing the area through the thinning fog. "I mean look at it."

"Yeah, real nice." Trilogy said as he stepped off to the side and sat down on a bench that was crafted from concrete. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and put it in his mouth. "Almost like a dream." He said sarcastically as the weeds crawled around his feet. He lit the cigarette and relaxed a little bit, leaning back. The man joined Trilogy, the bench being big enough for four. They hadn't stopped for hours and both of them, as well as Larisa, needed some sort of rest. She didn't immediately sit down though, instead favoring to stroll around a little, looking around, for some unknown reason. Perhaps, in her head, she envisioned the whole garden as flourishing with bright, beautiful flowers of all colors and statues that were made of beautiful marble and stone. What statues remained were just made of concrete and many of them were falling apart or severely damaged, whether from nature or man.

"Don't wander off too far, this place is perfect for booby traps and we don't know what's in that building."

"Then why are you sitting down?"

"Because the fog is going to make it too hard for anyone to see us and we're obstructed by that wall." He said to Larisa as she stepped behind him, through a sea of weeds. It wasn't more than a few seconds later when an ear-shattering, almost blood curdling scream echoed from where she was. Immediately, both Trilogy and the man sprang to their feet, weapons in hand. "Larisa!" The man shouted as he leapt over the bench and tried to look for her. She had only been ten to twenty feet away and he couldn't see her at all. "Larisa!" He shouted again, to no response. "Tril, keep a watch!" He yelled back as he stepped into the weeds and began to look around, carefully. "Larisa, can you hear me?" He called back out but he didn't any response from her. Worry began to take over him as he looked around in the weeds for her. He had only heard the single scream and that was it, silence had come over the land since then and he didn't know what to expect. Was she dead? Had she been taken? Was she wounded so severely that she couldn't speak? A million thoughts and scenarios ran through his head as he searched through the weeds. C'mon. Talk to me. He thought to himself as he called her name again, "Larisa. Where are you?" His pistol was in his hand and he was careful not to get too far away from his body with it, especially if someone was out there. He didn't need to lose it in a fight and become its target.

He kicked at the weeds, trying to find a body, their density being thick enough that he could trip over one without any prior warning. "Larisa, answer me." He called out again but still, he got no response as he snaked over to his left. He turned around and looked back at Trilogy, who was looking all around the area, trying to make sure that this wasn't an ambush scenario. "Larisa. Where are you?" He called out again, hoping that she would hear the sound of his voice and guide him to her position, wherever it was. "Larisa." He continued, searching through the weeks slowly and carefully, methodically checking every inch of ground as he continued into the thicket. Where are you? C'mon call to me. Talk to me. Tell me where you are. He thought as sweat began to drip from his forehead, his heart already racing at Indy 500 speeds and his adrenaline pumping through his veins at phenomenal speeds and volumes. "Larisa. Where are you? Call to me. Tell me where you are," he looked over to the right and saw nothing; he looked over to the left and saw nothing. There was nothing but weeds. The high walls of the garden were at least nine or ten feet high, high enough that she couldn't have climbed over them or even hoisted thrown over them. The weeds were at least three or four feet high themselves and the entire garden was almost impossible to search and, despite the winter frost, the vegetation grew.

"Hey," he heard a faint voice call and he wasn't immediately sure that it was hers. He needed to be sure that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him.

"Larisa? Where are you?" He had heard the voice from his far right and so he headed back that way, calling out to her as he did. There was no return this time and so he passed off the initial sound as possibly his own desperate mind playing a sick and twisted prank on him. Thirty seconds had passed and he didn't hear the voice anymore so he was almost sure that it was his mind when he suddenly heard it again, louder. He still couldn't tell if it was her.

"Help," the voice came and he walked towards it, kicking at the weeds to make sure that it wasn't a trap, that it wasn't someone calling out to him, especially since he couldn't recognize the voice. "Help," it came a third time and he decided that, whatever it was, it was definitely worth investigating, even if he couldn't recognize the voice.

"Larisa? Are you there?" He called out as he approached a part of the garden that was fenced in a black, wrought iron fence that stood about three and a half feet high. Inside of it, the weeds were particularly fierce and he could almost smell Larisa's scent on them as he hoped the fence, pistol in hand. "Larisa?"

"Help me." She called back and now he was sure that it was her. "Help me, I'm over here." She called back to him as he sped up his pace and walked into the fenced in area, which was only about ten by ten. "Help me." She said again, giving him her final position, which was almost at his feet by that point. The man stopped short when he saw where she was, which was good for him. Covered by a vast amount of weeds, many of which had been pulled apart by her, was a massive hole, about three feet across and at least five feet deep. "Help me," she said, looking up at him in the most uncomfortable, contorted position he'd seen.

"Were you pushed? Did you fall?"

"Yeah. I fell. Help me out, it hurts."

"Is there anyone else here?" He said, cautiously looking around and keeping both his pistol and guard up, seeing this as a possible ambush.

"No, no one is here."

"Are you sure?" He asked, scanning the area, listening for the sounds of any people.

"I'm sure, just get me out of here, I am in a lot of pain."

"Hold on," he said as he turned around and saw Trilogy, a lot further than twenty feet away. "Tril, I found her." He yelled out and Trilogy nodded, stepping towards them. She had to be at least fifty feet away and it was amazing that she had gotten away so fast without him noticing it. It was almost as if he had blacked out for a few seconds and that was why it felt as if she was so close. "Just stay there, don't move."

"I can't move you asshole!" She yelled at him, tears coming down her cheeks as the pain throbbed throughout her body. Trilogy, running over to the two of them, couldn't come fast enough, it seemed. "Hurry up!" She ordered but the man paid her little mind as he kept his guard up, scanning the area with his pistol drawn, safety off, sights bridged perfectly.

Trilogy, rushing over, kept his own pistol up and scanned the horizon. When he finally came alongside the man, he too looked down, into the hole, and saw Larisa's contorted body. "Damn," he said aloud as he looked her over, "that has to hurt."

"No shit it hurts. Get me the fuck out of here!" She yelled back at him as she winced from a shooting pain in her leg. She tried to move but the hole was too cramped for her to do so and, instead, she reached up with her hand, "Please get me out of here now," her voice begged.

"Watch around here, I'm not sure this was accidental. Someone's out here, I can feel it." The man said, holstering his pistol as knelt down onto one knee and looked her over, "Alright c'mon let's get you out of there." Larisa was sitting up but her right leg was pointed straight up, resting on the side of the wall and she was sitting on her left, which was twisted underneath her body. Her arms were rather free but she was a little slumped, which gave her a short reach, not nearly enough to reach out to him when he reached down to her. "Alright, I guess I'm going in. Hold on." He said after realizing he simply couldn't pull her up to her feet by her arm.

Larisa's body was finally beginning to hurt now. Shooting pains ran up her right leg from her ankle and her wrists were sore. Her hair was a mess and she had blood on her cheek. Her back hurt as well and her left leg was beginning to hurt from her ankle up, mainly because it was supporting the bulk of her weight. The man put both of his hands on the sides of the hole and lowered himself down, slowly, planting his feet next to her, careful not to step on her hands or legs. He couldn't bend over to help her either, the hole was too narrow for that, so he had to slide his body downward to get his hands underneath her. "Hold on," he whispered to her as he reached underneath her body and she put her left hand around his neck, to help herself get up, which was going to be more painful than she imagined. She would have to bend her right leg just to get to a standing position and it would only hurt more. "Ready?" She nodded, tears back in her eyes as he lifted her into the air, slowly and gently but it wasn't enough. She screamed as her right leg came back down from its awkward position and hit the ground below her when she got high enough, causing a recoil throughout her whole body. It was as if someone had jabbed an ice pick into her ankle and the pain was both sharp and fierce. "Shh, shh. You have to be quiet." The man whispered to her, trying to keep her from alerting the entire Middle Rim to her presence. He couldn't have been any gentler to her but the pain was just too much for her to bear as she was brought upright. Though she had put her left leg down without issue, she was hestitant now about her right leg, where the bulk of the pain was. "Can you stand on it?"

"I'll try," she said, bracing herself against his body and holding on to avoid falling over from being off-balanced. When her foot touched the ground, moments later, she yanked it back into the air as her whole face became as contorted as her body had been and she let out a quick yelp of pain. Trilogy quickly scanned the horizon, wary that her screams were carried in the silent winds of the Middle Rim. "No. I can't," she said as she pulled her foot back up and held onto the man for balance support.

"Okay, you probably sprained it or something. Dude, give us a hand here." The man said, looking up at Trilogy who knelt down and reached for her arm. He put his hand underneath her arm and helped her climb out of the hole, giving the man a hand next. Both of them sat down on the ground by the hole and the man looked at her. "Okay what's what?"

"Wrists and ankles," she said as she rotated her two wrists. Though they hurt, they moved fine. "Right ankle really hurts." She moved her left one without problems as he looked at her bleeding cheek, which had to have been struck by some part of her body on the way down.

"Alright you're fine otherwise, let's see that ankle," he looked down at her foot and slowly pulled off her boot and then her sock. Her foot was instantly cold to the touch and she winced as he pulled back her pants leg to see her ankle. The look on his face told it all. Her ankle was bruised badly and swollen, severely, too much for her even to walk. "Crap," he said aloud, realizing that they would have to stop for some time, he couldn't simply carry her the whole way to the center of the Neatherealm. "We've got to find some shelter," he said, realizing that he had supplies in his bag that could help with her injury. "You've got to put your sock and boot back on, no matter how painful, we've got to get out of here, we're too exposed." She nodded at him and slowly did so and, as she was about to get her boot on, he looked at her, "Quietly!" She shot him back a sinister look as she opened her boot as wide as it would go, slowly slipping it over the top of her foot and then up to her ankle, biting her tongue the whole time, the pain enough to make her want to pass out for a few minutes.

"You think?" Trilogy said as he eyed the building not far in the distance.

"What? We'll make it there, that's all we got. Here, take this." He handed her his pistol and took the M75A1 Submachine Gun off her shoulder, which stayed there even during the fall. "If you see something moving, shoot it!"

"How far is that building away?" She said, taking the pistol.

"About half of a mile and we're going to have to hurry little lady." Trilogy said back to her as he helped the man to his feet, who, in turn, helped Larisa to her feet.

"Alright, here's the plan. We're going to carry you between us. Hold your arms around our necks and make sure you hold onto that pistol. We're going to be moving pretty fast so that means you'll have to keep up and we can't stop. Whatever pain you have, you have to suck it up for the next ten minutes, you got it? Once we get in there," she finally nodded. "We're going to search it so we'll have to leave you on the ground floor, hopefully in a corner. You cover us and if you see anything you shoot it, got it?"

"Yeah. I got it."

"Good. Let's go!" She put her arms around their necks and put both of her feet on the ground, although she put all of her weight on her left foot, hoping almost with each step they took, their weapons at the ready. The man held Larisa's submachine gun with the safety off and Trilogy had his own weapon, an old, assault rifle that had once been the mainstay of the Imperial Layartebian Military. It was an M30A3 Carbine, chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO ammunition. The M30 had replaced the M4 and M16 assault rifles in the late 1970s, just after the establishment of the Empire. Worlds better than both weapons, the M30 was gas-operated and worked on a rotating bolt, just like both the M16 and the AK-47. It could fire in three different modes, semi-automatic, three-round burst, or fully automatic at a rate of nine hundred and fifty rounds per minute, cyclic. The two, primary variants were differed by their barrel length, eleven and a half inches for the carbine and sixteen and a half inches for the assault rifle. The assault rifle had a barrel only two inches longer than that of the M4 but it was three and a half inches shorter than the M16, which meant that it did not have the same muzzle velocity of the M16 but it offered still a great amount of punch and range. Deadly out to three hundred meters, the carbine variant was the preferred variant for most of the soldiers during its service life. The longer barrel model was deadly out past four hundred meters and both of them were fed by the same thirty-round magazine that fed both the M16 and M4. In addition, the M30 was equipped with a rail system that allowed the operator to mount optics, bipods, grenade launchers, lasers, flash lights, or handles even. Originally released at seven pounds, a lighter variant series was made using different components in the stock allowing for a weight reduction of a pound. Trilogy had this latter variant and he had it equipped with a sound suppressor, which was crucial in the Neatherealm since it hid the dangerous muzzle flash of the rifle, a front handle, and a flash light. He also had fitted an ACOG scope that gave four times magnification and it did not require batteries.

Both the man and Trilogy scanned every part of the horizon as they walked towards the building, almost at a joggers pace. Larisa was having trouble keeping up with them but she had no other choice. She just held on and did her best, making sure not to let go of the pistol, which she held in her right hand, the safety engaged on it just for good measure. She could flip it off quickly and fire if necessary unlike the man and Trilogy who ran with their fingers just outside of the trigger element, on the sides of their weapons. They could quickly just move their fingers to the trigger and squeeze off a round, both of them keeping their weapons on semi-automatic mode.

The first quarter mile was made relatively quickly and easily. They had stayed inside of the walled, garden area, using the high walls for protection but that was about as far as they would offer. An overgrown, ornately laid, stone pathway led the rest of the way from the gated and walled garden to the reception hall, which was only half covered by the fog. "Alright," they stopped at the wrought iron gate that closed off the garden, both Trilogy and the man eyeing the locking mechanism on the gate, which could easily be blasted away with a single bullet; although, at the expense of noise. "Okay we're about halfway there. Larisa, how you holding up?" He whispered.

"Fine," she said at a whisper, grimacing as she tried to catch her breath.

"What do we do about the gate?" Trilogy asked, not too fond with the idea of shooting it open.

"Larisa, hold onto Tril," the man said as he stepped away from the two of them and planted his body against the wall. "Move back," he said, continuing to whisper and he waited until the two of them had taken a few steps back before he made his move, which was simply to flip himself around and peak around the side of the wall. He edged up to the end of the wall and just put one eye over the it, looking out at the building, which lay eerily quiet and still. No, I don't like this. He thought to himself as she looked at the building, eyeing it for movement.

"What do you see?" Trilogy asked as he held his rifle close to him.

"I can't see a hell of a lot. Trade off, give me the rifle."

"Okay, here," Trilogy traded the weapon from him and the man crouched down, shouldering the assault rifle as he looked down the scope, directly at the building, giving him a much better view. "Anything?" Trilogy impatiently asked after a few seconds.

"No movement and I don't see any fortifications. No emplaced weapons either. It looks quiet. Maybe even empty. Or they're just waiting for us to get to their front door. We could sit here and watch it for a few more hours," the man suggested as he popped back from looking at the building, trading the weapons again.

"We can't really wait out here, we're more exposed, even with the high walls. We really can't run anyway."

"No. You're right. We've got to go. C'mon." The man said as he put his body back underneath Larisa's arm. They walked up to the gate and the man opened it by smashing his boot into the lock as hard as he could. The gate's lock, already rusty from exposure, shattered and the gate flung open, smashing into the concrete wall on the other side of it, denting it. "Let's move." He said as they exited the garden and sped down the path, as fast as they could, towards the building, Trilogy keeping his eyes on any targets in the distance, thanks to his weapon sight. The man, because he was dealing with iron sights only, focused on closer objects.

Underneath them, the crunching of sticks, twigs, and weeds echoed into the silent air as the fog dissipated slowly around them, the building becoming clearer and clearer with each step. Thus far it had remained completely quiet and they knew that, if there were enemies in the building, they would have opened fire already. Moving slowly because of Larisa's wounds, the three of them were easy targets for even amateurs, let alone hardened warriors of the Neatherealm. They could easily be picked off within a few milliseconds of each other by a single sniper or simultaneously with three or more people. It was both comforting and not to both Trilogy and the man that they had not been picked off yet. It was obviously comforting since they were alive and it perpetuated the impression and hope that the structure as abandoned. However, at the same time, it was only perpetuating what they felt was inevitable. They both believed that someone or something was stalking them in the area, the man more so than Trilogy, especially as they got closer to the building, looming ahead of them, growing in size as they got closer and the fog thinned.

Minutes were all it took for them to reach the building but it felt so much longer and their bodies had almost believed that it had actually been much longer. Tired from the slow jog to the building, Trilogy and the man put Larisa down, and she leaned against the building's exterior wall. "Go time," the man said as he and Trilogy pounded their fists and walked up to the door of the building. It was shut but not locked with any sort of chain. It was almost as if they were back in the war as they lined up on either side of the door, Larisa sitting down to the side, the pistol in her hand as she searching the horizon herself, covering their backs. The man gave a nod to Trilogy when he was in place and the two of them went into assault mode. Trilogy reared up and kicked in the door, hiding off to the side as they waited for a barrage of gunfire. Without stun grenades, this was a lot more difficult and only silence echoed from the building. The man nodded again and both of them entered, one right behind the other, weapons shouldered, checking everything in the door from the floor to the ceiling.

Layarteb

04-10-2008, 04:02

The ground floor of the reception hall opened into a vast, cavernous room, big enough for about two hundred people, comfortable. At one time, it was a gorgeous place but had, since then, decayed along with the rest of the Neatherealm. It had beautiful, ornate, marble floors, which lay stained, cracked, shattered, and ruined. Garbage was strewn everywhere and anything of value, which once included gold and silver statues, ornate tapestries, priceless paintings, and other works of art, a crystal chandelier, poetry from ancient kings and warriors, and artifacts fit for a museum were all pillaged away, with the rest of life. Raped and brutalized, the reception hall once stood as an annex of celebration in the corner of an unjust and harsh world. Now it stood only as a grim reminder of the joys life had, joys that simply didn't exist anymore, whether inside or out of the Neatherealm.

Both the man and Trilogy paid these histories no attention as they focused on securing the building for the three of them. They checked this corner, that corner, and everything in between. Quiet rocked the area, a comfortable and familiar but unnerving sound. They both felt the presence of another party, a figurative "third" party. It wasn't some unexplainable, spiritual presence, neither of them believed in as much, but rather a motion keen to any instrument honed specifically for combat. They were both honed for combat more treacherous and dangerous than most soldiers would ever dream of, let alone face.

They continued to use those specialized, now intrinsic instincts as they silently checked the first floor of the reception hall. For Larisa, wounded and outside, it felt as if only seconds had elapsed when the man popped his head out of the door and looked down at her without any expression on his face, "Clear here. Get in." He helped her into the room and shut the door behind her, pulling her to a near corner, her back nudged against a dark column, her whole body in the shadow it created. He bent down to her and checked her pistol, "Stay here and stay quiet. You see anyone not us, shoot them twice in the chest. Don't aim for their head, you'll miss. We're going through the rest of this place." She nodded and watched him right himself, Trilogy a blur behind him, looking all around while he covered the man.

The man whistled and Trilogy turned around, looking directly at him, their eyes meeting instantly. The man didn't waste time either, using only hand signals to order Trilogy to clear the far side of the building while he took the other side, the reception room being the in the center of the structure, splitting it into two, much smaller sections. Hallways led off from it, one side towards the kitchen and restrooms, the other to a pair of sitting rooms, the coat check room, and the stairs to the equally small second floor, which held only a pair of offices. The same desolation infected both sides of the reception hall, the garbage not ebbing, the decay getting progressively worse, to a degree.

The man and Trilogy both set off from the grand hall, the man towards the bathrooms and kitchens. The hallway was small, only a few paces long and he immediately took the left at the end of it, which led into the "L" shaped kitchen. Blocked from it by a pair of swinging doors that could open inwards or outwards, depending on the direction of the traffic, the man took in a deep breath and inched forward. He kept low and well below the two circular windows at shoulder height, which would show anyone coming into the door if someone else were coming towards them or even heading away.

Crouching down, lower, the man put his body against the door but balanced himself so that he wouldn't fall over if someone came barreling through it, towards him. He would be able to weather the impact of the door, pushing it back and firing at those inside with his weapon. He used the silence around him to listen carefully into the kitchen and, at first, he heard nothing. Without windows, the kitchen was completely isolated just to these double doors, which were the only ways in and out of the enclosed space. Deciding not to leave himself too exposed, he raised his stance slightly and, keeping his weapon pointed forward, quickly ducked into the kitchen, hiding behind the first thing he saw, a large, double stove that was made out of steel. At one time it had been so clean and shiny that you could see your own reflection, with detail, but now it stood, covered in filth, grime, and dirt, battered from months and years of abuse and neglect from the Neatherealm.

The kitchen carried an eerie silence. There were no gunshots or screams when the man burst through the doors and took cover. Quickly, he checked in front of him, his back against the stove and most of the length of the kitchen. He had wound up in a tight spot. Behind him was most of the length of the kitchen and in front of him was the base of the "L" but he couldn't necessarily see around the whole corner. He couldn't check much without revealing his position and making himself vulnerable, especially from behind. Knowing that silence was often misleading, the man had a decision to make and he only had a few milliseconds to make it. He could remain where he was and check behind him or he could rush forward, exposing his position to the largest portion of the kitchen behind him, where there could be a dozen or more men, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. He knew that if he went forward, to the base of the "L" he would put himself in a corner that could easily be attacked and overrun, more so than if he were to just charge down the length of the kitchen. He had those two choices to make and, acting on his first impulse, he ducked around, to the left, going behind himself rather than forward. He kept his weapon up, scanning, keeping low as he darted down the length of the kitchen, checking over his shoulder every few steps. The kitchen ran the whole width of the building, at least eight to a hundred feet, plenty of room to hide yet after sweeping down the left side of the kitchen, it remained quiet, eerily so.

When he came to the end, the man found an overturned refrigerator, lying on its side, perfect for cover. He quickly turned around its edge, ready to blast anyone waiting there for him but saw that there was no one there. He utilized it for cover as he put his back against it and watched his sides. Carefully, he inched over to the opposite side and checked, just a quick glance to see if anyone was there but nobody was. He gave a second glance, just to be sure and inched back to the other side, to check it as well, in case someone was trying to sneak up from his rear. It was empty just the same and he realized that, for the most part, he had yet to see any signs that anyone was in the kitchen or even the building, per say. The place was, as much as he could see, empty. Careful not to drop his guard, he reached down and picked up a metal lid to a pot and flung it like a Frisbee across the room. Forty feet away, it struck part of a pot-holder rack and smashed onto the floor with a loud echo as it spun around and settled itself onto the quarry floor, which was stained and soiled so badly that its once, beautiful, red finish was now a dull brown. The man waited, listening for some signs of life, as the sound was enough to startle anyone. Larisa, back in the main room, jumped a little when the sound reached her.

Realizing that he was probably alone, the man finally stood up and glared across the room. Fucking empty. He thought to himself as he stepped forward, walking down the right side of the room, his ready still ready to be used. He crossed back to his original location quickly and gave a quick glance around the other side of the room, where the base of the "L" was and saw that it too was completely empty. He returned back to the doors and looked out through the window first, before exiting, just to make sure that there was no one waiting for him. He didn't want a welcoming party of enemies standing there, waiting to pump him full of lead. Slowly, he moved through the door and was back in the hallway.

The man walked up to the next door, the woman's restroom and stood with his back against the wall. Sliding forward, he prepared to assault the room. Instantly, a countless number of flashbacks rushed into his head. He thought back to his military days and of the number of rooms he had assaulted, too many to even count except that, rarely, had he ever been alone. This wasn't the first time but it had been a long while, a very long while. His instincts and training rushed back, pushing aside his memories and his own uncertainties as he pushed open the door and raised his weapon, holding the front handle tight, the sights bridged perfectly.

Layarteb

13-12-2008, 06:16

At first glance, the elegance of the bathroom remained, even in the withered state of the Neatherealm and the building itself. A second glance easily undid the beauty. The bathroom had been a vision of stately elegance years prior but now it had been reduced to a rotting cesspool of filth. White and black marble and granite had adorned the floor, walls, and countertop. Elegantly sculpted gold had made up the faucets and polish, glistening white porcelain had made up the toilets. Beautiful, black Silestone had divided the toilet stalls. It was a bathroom once kept so clean you could eat off it. Now, you wouldn't dare enter it. Unfortunately, the man had no choice. The moment he pushed open the door he regretted the situation he was in, having to push open the door, nearly fainting from the horrendous stench. Even months of neglect would have produced an environment that was at least minimally inhabitable but this environment was from years of neglect. Disgust, filth, and horror covered everything and anything in the bathroom from the floor tAt first glance, the elegance of the bathroom remained, even in the withered state of the Neatherealm and the building itself. A second glance easily undid the beauty. The bathroom had been a vision of stately elegance years prior but now it had been reduced to a rotting cesspool of filth. White and black marble and granite had adorned the floor, walls, and countertop. Elegantly sculpted gold had made up the faucets and polish, glistening white porcelain had made up the toilets. Beautiful, black Silestone had divided the toilet stalls. It was a bathroom once kept so clean you could eat off it. Now, you wouldn't dare enter it. Unfortunately, the man had no choice. The moment he pushed open the door he regretted the situation he was in, having to push open the door, nearly fainting from the horrendous stench. Even months of neglect would have produced an environment that was at least minimally inhabitable but this environment was from years of neglect. Disgust, filth, and horror covered everything and anything in the bathroom from the floor to the ceiling and back down again.

The history of the bathroom was parallel to that of the Neatherealm itself. Neglect was the ultimate culprit for both. At first, it was little things that led to progressive, systemic failures all across the board. Little things like a stoppage in the sewer led up to a small flood, which subsequently caused the metals to corrode to eventual structural failure. With each failure here and there, another one began. With the causing factors never fully going away, the situation got exponentially worse until it was as the man saw it.

Filthy was an understatement. The room was layered with a cushion of sewage on the floor, underneath an inch or so of water in certain parts. In other parts, the sewage was solid but it still smelled. Along the wall, about six inches from the floor was a dirty, black ring, showing that the level of the sewage and water had once been a lot higher. The mirror that had once run the length of the countertop had been destroyed. Jagged shards of the mirror lay all over the countertop and all over the sewage cushion of a floor. Pieces of the mirror stuck out of the sewage cushion like spikes in some places. Dried blood, brown from age, painted the walls in various spots and even on the ceiling in the back of the room, the outcome of someone being shot through the chin and through their brain. The splatters of blood told a foreboding tale of torture and death. It wouldn't take him long to search it if he wanted but he wasn't going to do that just yet. The four stall dividers had fallen onto the floor, their supports having rusted away. They had fallen down and splashed sewage all over the room. One of the falling dividers had even split a toilet in half, which only added to the horror of the floor, some of which somehow made it onto the ceiling, dried and seemingly soaked into the marble, which had even adorned the ceiling too.

Some of those tiles had fallen from the walls and splashed into the muck below. Tiles both on the floor and also the walls, the former being invisible due solidified sewage layer, were cracked from the falling debris and lack of heat. Despite being well insulted, the room had, several times, dropped below the freezing point. The expanding moisture in the marble caused them to crack thereafter. Without heat, the room simply could not fight off the effects of winter.

Less than one minute from opening the door, the man was out, back to the hall, his lungs clawing for fresher, cleaner air. The stagnation of the bathroom was caustic enough to have killed him had he stayed much longer. When he got to the hall he thought twice about opening the next door, which would have led him into the men's bathroom. He knew he'd find the same scene and that no one, not even a creature as grotesque as the Hunter could stay in such a place. Instead, he simply kicked in the door and, from the hall, surveyed an even more horrifying, filthy, and disgusting scene, if it were even possible.

He made his way for Larisa quickly but he said nothing. Instead, he just crouched next to her and cradled his weapon. The stench had seemingly clung to his clothes, his nostrils still burning, his eyes stinging. Tears fell down his cheeks and as tough, seasoned, and weather as he was, he fought back the urge to vomit. It welled up in his stomach and first, rumbling his abdomen. Acid curdled like sour milk in his stomach and sent a burning sensation up his throat as the pigment from his face began to evaporate, from his lips first. Larisa couldn't notice this in the darkness of the main floor but she did sense that something was wrong. He had never been a man of loquacious conversation during a situation akin to this one. The man looked over at her in the shadows of the corner and realized that despite the years of training and honing he did to his battlefield skills and inhibitions, he wasn't going to be able to will his nausea to simply go away. He was going to be sick.

Quickly and with precision, he stood to his feet and staggered a few steps away, towards the corner on the opposite side of Larisa. He got no more than fifteen feet away, which he covered in what seemed to be a fraction of a second and instantly doubled over, his legs buckling half way and his torso wrenching forward. Instantly, the upheaval from his stomach came flowing against the ways gravity intended and a hot, unnecessary substance came up his throat and forced itself out of his mouth as his face tensed up, his eyes bulging, his skin instantly turning red. The sound of his throwing up echoed in the cavernous hall and quickly reached Trilogy upstairs who was just checking the office to find it empty. He recognized the sound right away but he wasn't too sure what it was and he didn't know why anyone would be throwing up, not having seen the bathrooms. Immediately, he began to make his way downstairs, coming down in time to see the man righting himself, wiping his mouth. The man felt better almost instantly as his stomach relaxed itself and his throat began to cool down. "What's going on?" Trilogy asked and the man didn't immediately answer him. In the dark, Larisa shrugged her shoulders though Trilogy could not see her in the shadows where she had been seated. "You alright?" The man held up one thumb from across the room and it was barely visible in a sliver of light that cut across the room. "Then what's wrong?"

"Bathroom. Disgusting." He said between breaths, trying to slow down his heart rate and his breathing rate. "Horrible."

"Yeah? Do I have to look?" Trilogy stepped off the staircase and began to walk towards him at a comfortable rather than any sort of worried or quickened pace.

"They're fine. I just checked them both. How's upstairs?"

"Empty. Whole place is empty."

"Yeah. Same with the kitchen. There's nothing here really."

"Which is fine by me."

"Any exits?"

"Not upstairs. There's only one way up and that same way down. If we go up there we're trapped. There aren't even any windows. That's the fallback point, the absolute last point."

"Defendable?"

"Against small arms? Yeah. A couple of grenades? Not a chance in hell."

"Great," the man, feeling loads better walked back over towards Larisa, the pigment returning to his face. His lips went from ghost white to its normal shade of red. "And there isn't anything in sight. This is about it, until we can get her walking again. But it smells over here, let's get over into the coat room."

"How about her upstairs and we alternate watching? Get these doors shut, barricaded with whatever we have and then we'll work from there."

"Fine. Help me then."

"Hey uh? What?" Larisa finally asked, butting into the conversation almost as if she was being ignored the whole time. "Up the stairs?"

"You've got one good leg so that's enough. We'll brace you or I could just throw you over my shoulder and carry you up there like a hostage." Trilogy said with a snicker. He'd enjoy having her over his shoulder, his hand resting right on her ass as he supported her weight and kept her from falling off, of course.

"I'll limp," she said, almost as if she were sensing Trilogy's perverted thoughts. She reached up with her hands for help getting up and the man reached down first, before Trilogy could jet over and get in on the action, so to speak. Larisa's hands were cold, thin, smooth, graceful, and elegant to the touch. She didn't grip onto his like a vice grip and neither did he claw onto her. She was delicate, despite trying to put on a tough façade. She wasn't tough at all. How she managed to survive as long as she did amazed him. There was something about her that drew him to her but it wasn't some sort of physical attraction. It was more of a feeling of protection. He felt that if he could protect her, see her to where she sought out, that perhaps, despite all of the evil and all of the bad that the man had done, somehow he would be forgiven. Somewhere in the back of both his mind and conscience, this act of genuine kindness would be enough to redeem him from all of the acts of merciless evil he had committed throughout his life. He needed something to atone for his sins. Even if he wasn't a god-fearing, religion-believing man, he was still a human being, even if he felt more like an animal that even an animal would. He needed something to remind him that he was human, that emotions like caring, warmth, friendship, love even, were still alive in him. He needed to know that he wasn't dead inside and perhaps she would help him there.

He helped her to her feet, wary of her injured foot and braced her weight against his. Even her scent was a welcomed smell to him. Neither of them had bathed in a long time but she didn't smell like he did. Perhaps the stench of the bathroom was still on his clothes or in his nose but he couldn't stand his own smell. She on the other hand helped take that horrific stench from his nose, ceasing the burning sensation that his mind still thought was there, even if the smell really wasn't. "You okay?" He asked softly.

"Fine." He put her arm around his shoulder and his around her waist.

Trilogy joined in and helped, taking her on the other side and she put even less weight on her good leg, more of it going onto Trilogy and the man, her sandwiched between them. "Alright c'mon let's get her upstairs so that we can find something to barricade this place."

"Yeah." Trilogy agreed as he held her waist and she his neck. She didn't like the predicament and hated being near him. He smelled worse than the man did and it combined with the sort of perverted scariness that he emanated. Quickly, the two men practically picked her off her feet and brought her to the stairs and then up them, quick enough that she couldn't keep her foot on the ground long enough to do much good. The stairs were tricky though. They all had to be moving in unison or else they would lose their balance and then they would lose their balance and fall, possibly injuring all three of them, her worse. That couldn't be allowed to happen and so they took the stairs much slower than they took the level floor. Still, they ascended the first flight without incident, turned on the landing, and headed the opposite way, up the second and final flight of stairs, also without incident, to the top landing. There, they tracked down the small hallway to the main office and Trilogy shouldered through the quarter-opened doorway and into the darkened room inside. There was a comfortable couch in the corner and he led them over to it where he and the man helped Larisa get onto it. It hadn't been destroyed like the rest of the furniture in the office, somehow surviving neglect, animals, and looters.

"Go ahead and see what you can find for the door, I'll stay up here for now." The man said as he walked over, in the dark, towards a light switch on the wall. He could faintly see its outside from the light coming in through the door but he couldn't see much else. He nearly tripped over the remnants of a coffee table on the floor in front of him and he did bang his knee into the wall before he actually came to it. By the time he got to it, he realized that it would be of no use, there was no power in the Neatherealm except Sanctuary and a few other cities and those were powered only from within their borders. Stupid. He thought. He needed something to burn to get some light but he wasn't aware of what was in the office. The bathroom and the subsequent sickness had completely thrown him off his normal, consistent keenness. "And find us something to burn and eat. We need something, I'm running out of MREs here." He was referring to the stash of military rations that he had taken from the school before they left Sanctuary. They had enough for another week and a half or so but if they could stave off eating them it would be preferential. There wasn't a ton to eat except mostly wild animals, not many of them sticking around when a human being came around. Dogs were the most prevalent, dangers, and hardest to catch. One had to see one far off and try to shoot it before it got too close. Dogs always went for the neck of their prey and they were difficult to fight off, even with a weapon, let alone if one's weapon had been knocked away by the leaping and charging dog. They had become highly territorial and aggressive and ate whatever it was that they could catch and kill, even their own kind. "When you're back here coming up the stairs, remember the word or else I'll be shooting you."

"You better enjoy yourself." Trilogy said rather snidely but he knew that the man was serious. Trilogy didn't stay around for long, instead he made his way for the first foor, his mission in hand.

Upstairs, the man looked around the office for something to burn, switching on the flashlight that he had from Larisa. The office was a pigsty. Looters or animals or what had torn the office to shreds. The desk was hacked to pieces with something like an axe, paintings were ripped from the wall, frames left hanging in some cases. The ceiling had a gaping hole in it on the opposite corner and wires hung down in a twisted, wrangled mess. Garbage was strewn all over the floor and, above all else, there were claw marks on the walls and dried blood splatters here and there. It was obvious that there had been a big fight in the office, perhaps between some sort of large animal and a person, who knew. Whomever lost the fight though, lost in a horrific, painful way. Whomever won, had certainly not come out unscathed either. "It's a mess in here," Larisa said.

"You can definitely say that again. This whole place is out of my nightmares." The man said as he continued to look around the office, scanning the office for anything useful. There wasn't much there that he could use except the shards of desk and the papers but he wouldn't be able to start a fire there without having it spread out of control. There was going to be little he could do. "We can't start a fire in here."

"Why? It's cold."

"It'll spread. We'll wind up burning the place down." He said, laughing at the scene. "We can't."

"Well it's cold." She said, shivering on the couch, the only piece of furniture that survived the battle in the office. "How come this couch is okay?"

"No idea. Whatever reason who cares you're fine. Let me see that ankle." He said as he crouched down next to her and shined the light on her leg. She winced as she pulled her pants leg up from her right ankle and untied her boot. The pain shot up the bones of her leg and through her body. "Hurts?"

"A lot." He helped her pull her boot off, slowly and carefully but there was no way to avoid the pain that her injury caused. Her foot was cold, even through her thick, warm sock, which he had to pull off her foot. There was no way to avoid the pain. "Ouch!" She screamed as her whole body tightened up as he slid it off her ankle She continued to wince as he slid it off, to reveal a very badly bruised ankle. Swollen and turning red, her ankle hurt to the touch. Her skin was overly sensitive, the bruising only getting worse. "That's bad."

"Not too bad. It's a minor sprain it just hurts like hell. I don't have any ice unfortunately. I've got a bandage but that's about it. We've got to get the swelling down." He turned around his bag around and opened it, reaching inside to find an elastic bandage. He pulled it out, unwrapped it and lifted her leg slightly. He began to wrap it around her leg, starting at her toes and working his way up her leg to mid-calf, keeping the pressure even the whole way up her leg. He looked over it when he was done, locking the end of it so that it wouldn't come loose. "Alright. Pay attention to your foot. If it gets too cold we've got to loosen the bandage. Is it too tight?"

"No. It's fine but my toes are already cold. It's freezing in here." She continued to shiver as the cold inside the room licked her now exposed skin.

"If it's starts tingling or feeling like it's getting numb you let me know right away and then I'll loosen it. I don't want to cause more damage than you already have. It's not terrible but it isn't going to be good for at least a day, maybe two. We've got to get it above your heart. Let me get you something to raise your leg up, stay here." He stood up and handed her back the pistol. He had taken it from her when he and Trilogy helped her up the stairs. "Remember what I said before." She nodded and he stepped out of the office and walked down the stairs, the submachine gun in his hands tightly grasped, just in case someone was lurking around one of the corners. He walked carefully and quietly, his finger hovering over the trigger, ready to squeeze if someone appeared in his sights. There was nothing but garbage everywhere, nothing had changed in the half hour since he left the first floor with her.

He made his way for the kitchen, hoping to find something in there that he could use to prop up her leg comfortably. He busted into the kitchen with force, scanning the room again. There were pots and pans but nothing was high enough until he got to the far end of the room again, near where the refrigerator had been toppled onto the ground. There, in the corner, was a large pot, big enough to cook up at least three gallons of sauce or soup. Perfect, he thought as he looked it over an picked it up from the floor. "Something else," he whispered to himself as he looked around the room and looked for a towel or something soft to put over the pot to make it comfortable. Bingo! He shouted inside of his head as he saw a pair of dirty and disgusting kitchen towels sitting on the countertop. He got close to them and saw that, regardless of how comfortable it could make the pot, he wasn't going to touch them. They were covered in filth and grime, probably from the bathroom, who knew.

He decided that she would just have to suffice with the pot itself. Quickly, he held onto it with his left hand and kept the submachine in his right, ready to shoot, even though he was holding the pot. He dashed across the hall and to the stairs, ascending them in leaps and bounds, approaching the top cautiously aware that he left Larisa a pistol. "Hey, don't shoot. It's me."

"Fine." She said from down the hall, holding the pistol still. He walked into the office and held up the pot to her with the flashlight. "What's that?"

"What you're going to rest your foot on, now put on your sock. Can you get your boot back on?" He put the pot on the ground upside down and sat on it. It was cold, he could feel it through his pants but everything was. It was winter and without power or water there would be no heat.

She slid her sock on, carefully, wincing at the pain. It went on easy enough though, stretching with her swolen ankle. Then, she picked up her boot from the floor and opened up the laces as much as she could. Slowly, she slid it onto her foot and lifted it up her ankle and over her foot. It hurt her as she did it but she got her whole boot onto her foot and smiled with the accomplishment. "Yeah. It hurts."

"Good. It'll keep your foot warm. This pot is cold." He said as he pulled it up from the ground and rested it on its side on the couch. "Lift your leg up," he said as she did. He rolled it underneath her leg and watched as she carefully lowered her leg, resting her leg on it, raising it well over her heart. "Sit back, keep it elevated. This is about all we have to work with here."

"It's okay." She said as she laid back and tightened her hands over her body, to keep her warm. She rubbed her arms, it was cold, very cold. "I just wish we could do something about the cold here."

"Nothing without burning the place down and the first floor is too exposed. This place is way to nice a place to stay for us to be exposed."

"Nice? It's a shithole."

"A big, open shithole with a second floor. Even without windows it's defensible. A perfect place to make a last stand, so to speak." He looked around the office once again and eyed Larisa lying on the couch. "Comfortable?" He asked.

"Sorta. It's just cold that's all." She said, continuing to shiver. "It's also a little wierd too."

"What do you mean?" He was curious by what she meant.

"This place and everything. I'm just nervous that we're not going to get to where we're going. I want to get there, safe and alive."

"I want you to get there that way too. Why wouldn't you?"

"Trilogy. I don't trust him."

"You don't?" He asked. He knew why she didn't but he wanted to know if she knew why.

"No. I don't. Do you?"

"Fuck no. I wouldn't trust him with a corpse. He's a piece of shit, that's why I sent him away and we're here. Fucking jackass that he is."

"What'd you two do during the war?"

"What do you mean?" He asked as he sat back on the ground, turning off the flashlight and putting it down beside him and the submachine gun. He was ready to fire at anyone who walked down the hallway and he would see them before they saw him but, for now, he would relax a little.

"What did you two do? What was your unit responsible for?" She asked, quite inquisitively, even if she wasn't going to like the answer.

"A lot of bad things. You don't want to know."

"Tell me, I'm curious." She said, trying to pry the answer from him.

"We were a specialized unit. There were only five of us in the unit and we worked with a lot of conventional forces during the war but we were a specialized force. We had priorities that were above those of the conventional forces."

"What were they?"

"You aren't going to like them. At all."

"Well it was a war. Right?"

"Yeah. A brutal war, the worst I'd ever seen and I've seen plenty of them. Too many to want to recount."

"So what was it then? What'd you do?"

"We did a lot of things per say. Reconnaissance, artillery spotting, flanking maneuvers, and so on and so fourth."

"How was that bad? Unless, there's more? More that you aren't telling me."

"We did some other things too. Assassinations, snatch-and-grab, bombings, executions, interrogations."

"Torture?"

"We were quite skilled in the art of torture."

"What was it then that Trilogy did that made him so horrible? And Williams? Well you told me about him."

"Yeah. Williams, Trilogy. Williams you know what he did. Trilogy happened to have a fetish with explosives and fire. The kind of fetish that one wouldn't want to talk about at a dinner party."

"What like?"

"Well Trilogy over there. We caught this girl, she was maybe sixteen or seventeen, and her brother. They were running messages to and from a few commanders that we were targeting, commanders who were double agents. The boy, he musta been fourteen or thirteen. Well we caught them running through a forest area with a message so we intercepted them, tied them to a tree, and interrogated them. Trilogy, he stripped the girl naked to humiliate her. The boy, we cut out one of his eyes, punched the other one until it was completely shut from swelling.

"They didn't know a whole hell of a lot. All they knew was that if they carried messages from one commander to the other, their family, who had been captured by the one commander, wouldn't be harmed. What choice did they have you know?" She nodded but kept quiet still. "So rather than let them go, Trilogy decided that we should give them a surprise. We filled up a soda bottle with some gasoline and Trilogy, he shoved it, err, in the girl's. Okay you get the picture. Then, he put a Claymore in front of her, it's a mine. He took the boy and made him watch while he abused her. She was begging for death when we finally obliged. He made her brother do horrible things when he set off the mine. It blew them both to pieces no bigger than a fingernail. That's what he did."

"And you?"

"I didn't stop him."

"Why not?"

"I didn't stop any of them. It was part of the mission. You see, I couldn't." Just then he heard footsteps at the bottom of the stairs. Instantly, he quieted himself and lifted the submachine gun, pointing it towards the top of the stairs. He looked at Larisa and whispered to her, "Silence. Get that pistol ready." Larisa raised it from her lap and pointed it forward, towards the top of the stairs. The footsteps continued, slowly, quietly. Nobody said anything and the man knew that someone was definitely coming for them.

"Monkey," a voice called out from the steps. That was the codeword that the man and his unit had devised for situations just like this.

"Whale." The man said as he lowered his weapon and whispered to Larisa, "Lower it."

"Good don't shoot." Trilogy said from the steps, coming closer to the top of them with each step. "I got something."

"What?" Trilogy appeared at the top of the steps after a few moments but he wasn't carrying anything.

"A garbage can cut in half and a dog. They're down at the bottom give me a hand."

"Perfect!" The man said as he stood up and noticed Trilogy turn back around and walk down the steps. "Keep that pistol, if you don't see me come up first you shoot, okay?"

"Okay." She was scared, nervous that this was, possibly, a trap. The man shouldered the submachine gun and headed for the steps, descending them quite quickly. At the bottom he saw the carcas of the dog and the sawed off garbage can but no one else. It wasn't a trap, as it would seem but he still didn't trust the situation very much. "Alright, gimme that and follow me." He said as he picked up the garbage can and walked up the steps, keeping himself in the front so that Larisa wouldn't shoot. He just hoped that she would hold off on squeezing the trigger long enough for her to see his face. Carrying the garbage can, he wasn't able to do much with the submachine gun so he called up to her, "Larisa, don't shoot. Alright?"

"Okay." She yelled back, keeping the pistol aimed down the hallway, just in case. Twenty minutes later, they had a small fire going in the office and the man was skinning the dog, trying to get off pieces of it that were good enough to cook and eat. It wouldn't be good eating at all but it was food that they didn't have to pull from their own supplies. The man traded off with Trilogy for watching the building on and off throughout the course of the night. It was a long night that didn't bring anything pleasant. The temperature plumetted overnight to well under the point of freezing and a bitter wind came with a fierce ice storm that dropped freezing rain and hail all over the area. The building was pounded by the small hail pellets all night long and ice covered everything within just a few hours as the storm progressed from its trecherous ice to a sleet mix. It wouldn't be good for anyone in the morning and even if her ankle were healed by then, it wouldn't be safe for her to go out at all. They were going to be stuck in the building for an extra day.o the ceiling and back down again.

The history of the bathroom was parallel to that of the Neatherealm itself. Neglect was the ultimate culprit for both. At first, it was little things that led to progressive, systemic failures all across the board. Little things like a stoppage in the sewer led up to a small flood, which subsequently caused the metals to corrode to eventual structural failure. With each failure here and there, another one began. With the causing factors never fully going away, the situation got exponentially worse until it was as the man saw it.

Filthy was an understatement. The room was layered with a cushion of sewage on the floor, underneath an inch or so of water in certain parts. In other parts, the sewage was solid but it still smelled. Along the wall, about six inches from the floor was a dirty, black ring, showing that the level of the sewage and water had once been a lot higher. The mirror that had once run the length of the countertop had been destroyed. Jagged shards of the mirror lay all over the countertop and all over the sewage cushion of a floor. Pieces of the mirror stuck out of the sewage cushion like spikes in some places. Dried blood, brown from age, painted the walls in various spots and even on the ceiling in the back of the room, the outcome of someone being shot through the chin and through their brain. The splatters of blood told a foreboding tale of torture and death. It wouldn't take him long to search it if he wanted but he wasn't going to do that just yet. The four stall dividers had fallen onto the floor, their supports having rusted away. They had fallen down and splashed sewage all over the room. One of the falling dividers had even split a toilet in half, which only added to the horror of the floor, some of which somehow made it onto the ceiling, dried and seemingly soaked into the marble, which had even adorned the ceiling too.

Some of those tiles had fallen from the walls and splashed into the muck below. Tiles both on the floor and also the walls, the former being invisible due solidified sewage layer, were cracked from the falling debris and lack of heat. Despite being well insulted, the room had, several times, dropped below the freezing point. The expanding moisture in the marble caused them to crack thereafter. Without heat, the room simply could not fight off the effects of winter.

Less than one minute from opening the door, the man was out, back to the hall, his lungs clawing for fresher, cleaner air. The stagnation of the bathroom was caustic enough to have killed him had he stayed much longer. When he got to the hall he thought twice about opening the next door, which would have led him into the men's bathroom. He knew he'd find the same scene and that no one, not even a creature as grotesque as the Hunter could stay in such a place. Instead, he simply kicked in the door and, from the hall, surveyed an even more horrifying, filthy, and disgusting scene, if it were even possible.

He made his way for Larisa quickly but he said nothing. Instead, he just crouched next to her and cradled his weapon. The stench had seemingly clung to his clothes, his nostrils still burning, his eyes stinging. Tears fell down his cheeks and as tough, seasoned, and weather as he was, he fought back the urge to vomit. It welled up in his stomach and first, rumbling his abdomen. Acid curdled like sour milk in his stomach and sent a burning sensation up his throat as the pigment from his face began to evaporate, from his lips first. Larisa couldn't notice this in the darkness of the main floor but she did sense that something was wrong. He had never been a man of loquacious conversation during a situation akin to this one. The man looked over at her in the shadows of the corner and realized that despite the years of training and honing he did to his battlefield skills and inhibitions, he wasn't going to be able to will his nausea to simply go away. He was going to be sick.

Quickly and with precision, he stood to his feet and staggered a few steps away, towards the corner on the opposite side of Larisa. He got no more than fifteen feet away, which he covered in what seemed to be a fraction of a second and instantly doubled over, his legs buckling half way and his torso wrenching forward. Instantly, the upheaval from his stomach came flowing against the ways gravity intended and a hot, unnecessary substance came up his throat and forced itself out of his mouth as his face tensed up, his eyes bulging, his skin instantly turning red. The sound of his throwing up echoed in the cavernous hall and quickly reached Trilogy upstairs who was just checking the office to find it empty. He recognized the sound right away but he wasn't too sure what it was and he didn't know why anyone would be throwing up, not having seen the bathrooms. Immediately, he began to make his way downstairs, coming down in time to see the man righting himself, wiping his mouth. The man felt better almost instantly as his stomach relaxed itself and his throat began to cool down. "What's going on?" Trilogy asked and the man didn't immediately answer him. In the dark, Larisa shrugged her shoulders though Trilogy could not see her in the shadows where she had been seated. "You alright?" The man held up one thumb from across the room and it was barely visible in a sliver of light that cut across the room. "Then what's wrong?"

"Bathroom. Disgusting." He said between breaths, trying to slow down his heart rate and his breathing rate. "Horrible."

"Yeah? Do I have to look?" Trilogy stepped off the staircase and began to walk towards him at a comfortable rather than any sort of worried or quickened pace.

"They're fine. I just checked them both. How's upstairs?"

"Empty. Whole place is empty."

"Yeah. Same with the kitchen. There's nothing here really."

"Which is fine by me."

"Any exits?"

"Not upstairs. There's only one way up and that same way down. If we go up there we're trapped. There aren't even any windows. That's the fallback point, the absolute last point."

"Defendable?"

"Against small arms? Yeah. A couple of grenades? Not a chance in hell."

"Great," the man, feeling loads better walked back over towards Larisa, the pigment returning to his face. His lips went from ghost white to its normal shade of red. "And there isn't anything in sight. This is about it, until we can get her walking again. But it smells over here, let's get over into the coat room."

"How about her upstairs and we alternate watching? Get these doors shut, barricaded with whatever we have and then we'll work from there."

"Fine. Help me then."

"Hey uh? What?" Larisa finally asked, butting into the conversation almost as if she was being ignored the whole time. "Up the stairs?"

"You've got one good leg so that's enough. We'll brace you or I could just throw you over my shoulder and carry you up there like a hostage." Trilogy said with a snicker. He'd enjoy having her over his shoulder, his hand resting right on her ass as he supported her weight and kept her from falling off, of course.

"I'll limp," she said, almost as if she were sensing Trilogy's perverted thoughts. She reached up with her hands for help getting up and the man reached down first, before Trilogy could jet over and get in on the action, so to speak. Larisa's hands were cold, thin, smooth, graceful, and elegant to the touch. She didn't grip onto his like a vice grip and neither did he claw onto her. She was delicate, despite trying to put on a tough façade. She wasn't tough at all. How she managed to survive as long as she did amazed him. There was something about her that drew him to her but it wasn't some sort of physical attraction. It was more of a feeling of protection. He felt that if he could protect her, see her to where she sought out, that perhaps, despite all of the evil and all of the bad that the man had done, somehow he would be forgiven. Somewhere in the back of both his mind and conscience, this act of genuine kindness would be enough to redeem him from all of the acts of merciless evil he had committed throughout his life. He needed something to atone for his sins. Even if he wasn't a god-fearing, religion-believing man, he was still a human being, even if he felt more like an animal that even an animal would. He needed something to remind him that he was human, that emotions like caring, warmth, friendship, love even, were still alive in him. He needed to know that he wasn't dead inside and perhaps she would help him there.

He helped her to her feet, wary of her injured foot and braced her weight against his. Even her scent was a welcomed smell to him. Neither of them had bathed in a long time but she didn't smell like he did. Perhaps the stench of the bathroom was still on his clothes or in his nose but he couldn't stand his own smell. She on the other hand helped take that horrific stench from his nose, ceasing the burning sensation that his mind still thought was there, even if the smell really wasn't. "You okay?" He asked softly.

"Fine." He put her arm around his shoulder and his around her waist.

Trilogy joined in and helped, taking her on the other side and she put even less weight on her good leg, more of it going onto Trilogy and the man, her sandwiched between them. "Alright c'mon let's get her upstairs so that we can find something to barricade this place."

"Yeah." Trilogy agreed as he held her waist and she his neck. She didn't like the predicament and hated being near him. He smelled worse than the man did and it combined with the sort of perverted scariness that he emanated. Quickly, the two men practically picked her off her feet and brought her to the stairs and then up them, quick enough that she couldn't keep her foot on the ground long enough to do much good. The stairs were tricky though. They all had to be moving in unison or else they would lose their balance and then they would lose their balance and fall, possibly injuring all three of them, her worse. That couldn't be allowed to happen and so they took the stairs much slower than they took the level floor. Still, they ascended the first flight without incident, turned on the landing, and headed the opposite way, up the second and final flight of stairs, also without incident, to the top landing. There, they tracked down the small hallway to the main office and Trilogy shouldered through the quarter-opened doorway and into the darkened room inside. There was a comfortable couch in the corner and he led them over to it where he and the man helped Larisa get onto it. It hadn't been destroyed like the rest of the furniture in the office, somehow surviving neglect, animals, and looters.

"Go ahead and see what you can find for the door, I'll stay up here for now." The man said as he walked over, in the dark, towards a light switch on the wall. He could faintly see its outside from the light coming in through the door but he couldn't see much else. He nearly tripped over the remnants of a coffee table on the floor in front of him and he did bang his knee into the wall before he actually came to it. By the time he got to it, he realized that it would be of no use, there was no power in the Neatherealm except Sanctuary and a few other cities and those were powered only from within their borders. Stupid. He thought. He needed something to burn to get some light but he wasn't aware of what was in the office. The bathroom and the subsequent sickness had completely thrown him off his normal, consistent keenness. "And find us something to burn and eat. We need something, I'm running out of MREs here." He was referring to the stash of military rations that he had taken from the school before they left Sanctuary. They had enough for another week and a half or so but if they could stave off eating them it would be preferential. There wasn't a ton to eat except mostly wild animals, not many of them sticking around when a human being came around. Dogs were the most prevalent, dangers, and hardest to catch. One had to see one far off and try to shoot it before it got too close. Dogs always went for the neck of their prey and they were difficult to fight off, even with a weapon, let alone if one's weapon had been knocked away by the leaping and charging dog. They had become highly territorial and aggressive and ate whatever it was that they could catch and kill, even their own kind. "When you're back here coming up the stairs, remember the word or else I'll be shooting you."

"You better enjoy yourself." Trilogy said rather snidely but he knew that the man was serious. Trilogy didn't stay around for long, instead he made his way for the first floor, his mission in hand.

Upstairs, the man looked around the office for something to burn, switching on the flashlight that he had from Larisa. The office was a pigsty. Looters or animals or what had torn the office to shreds. The desk was hacked to pieces with something like an axe, paintings were ripped from the wall, frames left hanging in some cases. The ceiling had a gaping hole in it on the opposite corner and wires hung down in a twisted, wrangled mess. Garbage was strewn all over the floor and, above all else, there were claw marks on the walls and dried blood splatters here and there. It was obvious that there had been a big fight in the office, perhaps between some sort of large animal and a person, who knew. Whomever lost the fight though, lost in a horrific, painful way. Whomever won, had certainly not come out unscathed either. "It's a mess in here," Larisa said.

Layarteb

05-02-2009, 02:23

"You can definitely say that again. This whole place is out of my nightmares." The man said as he continued to look around the office, scanning the office for anything useful. There wasn't much there that he could use except the shards of desk and the papers but he wouldn't be able to start a fire there without having it spread out of control. There was going to be little he could do. "We can't start a fire in here."

"Why? It's cold."

"It'll spread. We'll wind up burning the place down." He said, laughing at the scene. "We can't."

"Well it's cold." She said, shivering on the couch, the only piece of furniture that survived the battle in the office. "How come this couch is okay?"

"No idea. Whatever reason who cares you're fine. Let me see that ankle." He said as he crouched down next to her and shined the light on her leg. She winced as she pulled her pants leg up from her right ankle and untied her boot. The pain shot up the bones of her leg and through her body. "Hurts?"

"A lot." He helped her pull her boot off, slowly and carefully but there was no way to avoid the pain that her injury caused. Her foot was cold, even through her thick, warm sock, which he had to pull off her foot. There was no way to avoid the pain. "Ouch!" She screamed as her whole body tightened up as he slid it off her ankle She continued to wince as he slid it off, to reveal a very badly bruised ankle. Swollen and turning red, her ankle hurt to the touch. Her skin was overly sensitive, the bruising only getting worse. "That's bad."

"Not too bad. It's a minor sprain it just hurts like hell. I don't have any ice unfortunately. I've got a bandage but that's about it. We've got to get the swelling down." He turned around his bag around and opened it, reaching inside to find an elastic bandage. He pulled it out, unwrapped it and lifted her leg slightly. He began to wrap it around her leg, starting at her toes and working his way up her leg to mid-calf, keeping the pressure even the whole way up her leg. He looked over it when he was done, locking the end of it so that it wouldn't come loose. "Alright. Pay attention to your foot. If it gets too cold we've got to loosen the bandage. Is it too tight?"

"No. It's fine but my toes are already cold. It's freezing in here." She continued to shiver as the cold inside the room licked her now exposed skin.

"If it's starts tingling or feeling like it's getting numb you let me know right away and then I'll loosen it. I don't want to cause more damage than you already have. It's not terrible but it isn't going to be good for at least a day, maybe two. We've got to get it above your heart. Let me get you something to raise your leg up, stay here." He stood up and handed her back the pistol. He had taken it from her when he and Trilogy helped her up the stairs. "Remember what I said before." She nodded and he stepped out of the office and walked down the stairs, the submachine gun in his hands tightly grasped, just in case someone was lurking around one of the corners. He walked carefully and quietly, his finger hovering over the trigger, ready to squeeze if someone appeared in his sights. There was nothing but garbage everywhere, nothing had changed in the half hour since he left the first floor with her.

He made his way for the kitchen, hoping to find something in there that he could use to prop up her leg comfortably. He busted into the kitchen with force, scanning the room again. There were pots and pans but nothing was high enough until he got to the far end of the room again, near where the refrigerator had been toppled onto the ground. There, in the corner, was a large pot, big enough to cook up at least three gallons of sauce or soup. Perfect, he thought as he looked it over an picked it up from the floor. "Something else," he whispered to himself as he looked around the room and looked for a towel or something soft to put over the pot to make it comfortable. Bingo! He shouted inside of his head as he saw a pair of dirty and disgusting kitchen towels sitting on the countertop. He got close to them and saw that, regardless of how comfortable it could make the pot, he wasn't going to touch them. They were covered in filth and grime, probably from the bathroom, who knew.

He decided that she would just have to suffice with the pot itself. Quickly, he held onto it with his left hand and kept the submachine in his right, ready to shoot, even though he was holding the pot. He dashed across the hall and to the stairs, ascending them in leaps and bounds, approaching the top cautiously aware that he left Larisa a pistol. "Hey, don't shoot. It's me."

"Fine." She said from down the hall, holding the pistol still. He walked into the office and held up the pot to her with the flashlight. "What's that?"

"What you're going to rest your foot on, now put on your sock. Can you get your boot back on?" He put the pot on the ground upside down and sat on it. It was cold, he could feel it through his pants but everything was. It was winter and without power or water there would be no heat.

She slid her sock on, carefully, wincing at the pain. It went on easy enough though, stretching with her swollen ankle. Then, she picked up her boot from the floor and opened up the laces as much as she could. Slowly, she slid it onto her foot and lifted it up her ankle and over her foot. It hurt her as she did it but she got her whole boot onto her foot and smiled with the accomplishment. "Yeah. It hurts."

"Good. It'll keep your foot warm. This pot is cold." He said as he pulled it up from the ground and rested it on its side on the couch. "Lift your leg up,"[/.i] he said as she did. He rolled it underneath her leg and watched as she carefully lowered her leg, resting her leg on it, raising it well over her heart. [i]"Sit back, keep it elevated. This is about all we have to work with here."

"It's okay." She said as she laid back and tightened her hands over her body, to keep her warm. She rubbed her arms, it was cold, very cold. "I just wish we could do something about the cold here."

"Nothing without burning the place down and the first floor is too exposed. This place is way to nice a place to stay for us to be exposed."

"Nice? It's a shithole."

"A big, open shithole with a second floor. Even without windows it's defensible. A perfect place to make a last stand, so to speak." He looked around the office once again and eyed Larisa lying on the couch. "Comfortable?" He asked.

"Sorta. It's just cold that's all." She said, continuing to shiver. "It's also a little wierd too."

"What do you mean?" He was curious by what she meant.

"This place and everything. I'm just nervous that we're not going to get to where we're going. I want to get there, safe and alive."

"I want you to get there that way too. Why wouldn't you?"

"Trilogy. I don't trust him."

"You don't?" He asked. He knew why she didn't but he wanted to know if she knew why.

"No. I don't. Do you?"

"Fuck no. I wouldn't trust him with a corpse. He's a piece of shit, that's why I sent him away and we're here. Fucking jackass that he is."

"What'd you two do during the war?"

"What do you mean?" He asked as he sat back on the ground, turning off the flashlight and putting it down beside him and the submachine gun. He was ready to fire at anyone who walked down the hallway and he would see them before they saw him but, for now, he would relax a little.

"What did you two do? What was your unit responsible for?" She asked, quite inquisitively, even if she wasn't going to like the answer.

"A lot of bad things. You don't want to know."

"Tell me, I'm curious." She said, trying to pry the answer from him.

"We were a specialized unit. There were only five of us in the unit and we worked with a lot of conventional forces during the war but we were a specialized force. We had priorities that were above those of the conventional forces."

"What were they?"

"You aren't going to like them. At all."

"Well it was a war. Right?"

"Yeah. A brutal war, the worst I'd ever seen and I've seen plenty of them. Too many to want to recount."

"So what was it then? What'd you do?"

"We did a lot of things per say. Reconnaissance, artillery spotting, flanking maneuvers, and so on and so fourth."

"How was that bad? Unless, there's more? More that you aren't telling me."

"We did some other things too. Assassinations, snatch-and-grab, bombings, executions, interrogations."

"Torture?"

"We were quite skilled in the art of torture."

"What was it then that Trilogy did that made him so horrible? And Williams? Well you told me about him."

"Yeah. Williams, Trilogy. Williams you know what he did. Trilogy happened to have a fetish with explosives and fire. The kind of fetish that one wouldn't want to talk about at a dinner party."

"What like?"

"Well Trilogy over there. We caught this girl, she was maybe sixteen or seventeen, and her brother. They were running messages to and from a few commanders that we were targeting, commanders who were double agents. The boy, he musta been fourteen or thirteen. Well we caught them running through a forest area with a message so we intercepted them, tied them to a tree, and interrogated them. Trilogy, he stripped the girl naked to humiliate her. The boy, we cut out one of his eyes, punched the other one until it was completely shut from swelling.

"They didn't know a whole hell of a lot. All they knew was that if they carried messages from one commander to the other, their family, who had been captured by the one commander, wouldn't be harmed. What choice did they have you know?" She nodded but kept quiet still. "So rather than let them go, Trilogy decided that we should give them a surprise. We filled up a soda bottle with some gasoline and Trilogy, he shoved it, err, in the girl's. Okay you get the picture. Then, he put a Claymore in front of her, it's a mine. He took the boy and made him watch while he abused her. She was begging for death when we finally obliged. He made her brother do horrible things when he set off the mine. It blew them both to pieces no bigger than a fingernail. That's what he did."

"And you?"

"I didn't stop him."

"Why not?"

"I didn't stop any of them. It was part of the mission. You see, I couldn't." Just then he heard footsteps at the bottom of the stairs. Instantly, he quieted himself and lifted the submachine gun, pointing it towards the top of the stairs. He looked at Larisa and whispered to her, "Silence. Get that pistol ready." Larisa raised it from her lap and pointed it forward, towards the top of the stairs. The footsteps continued, slowly, quietly. Nobody said anything and the man knew that someone was definitely coming for them.

"Monkey," a voice called out from the steps. That was the codeword that the man and his unit had devised for situations just like this.

"Whale." The man said as he lowered his weapon and whispered to Larisa, "Lower it."

"Good don't shoot." Trilogy said from the steps, coming closer to the top of them with each step. "I got something."

"What?" Trilogy appeared at the top of the steps after a few moments but he wasn't carrying anything.

"A garbage can cut in half and a dog. They're down at the bottom give me a hand."

"Perfect!" The man said as he stood up and noticed Trilogy turn back around and walk down the steps. "Keep that pistol, if you don't see me come up first you shoot, okay?"

"Okay." She was scared, nervous that this was, possibly, a trap. The man shouldered the submachine gun and headed for the steps, descending them quite quickly. At the bottom he saw the carcas of the dog and the sawed off garbage can but no one else. It wasn't a trap, as it would seem but he still didn't trust the situation very much. "Alright, gimme that and follow me." He said as he picked up the garbage can and walked up the steps, keeping himself in the front so that Larisa wouldn't shoot. He just hoped that she would hold off on squeezing the trigger long enough for her to see his face. Carrying the garbage can, he wasn't able to do much with the submachine gun so he called up to her, "Larisa, don't shoot. Alright?"

"Okay." She yelled back, keeping the pistol aimed down the hallway, just in case. Twenty minutes later, they had a small fire going in the office and the man was skinning the dog, trying to get off pieces of it that were good enough to cook and eat. It wouldn't be good eating at all but it was food that they didn't have to pull from their own supplies. The man traded off with Trilogy for watching the building on and off throughout the course of the night. It was a long night that didn't bring anything pleasant. The temperature plummeted overnight to well under the point of freezing and a bitter wind came with a fierce ice storm that dropped freezing rain and hail all over the area. The building was pounded by the small hail pellets all night long and ice covered everything within just a few hours as the storm progressed from its treacherous ice to a sleet mix. It wouldn't be good for anyone in the morning and even if her ankle were healed by then, it wouldn't be safe for her to go out at all. They were going to be stuck in the building for an extra day.

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