Mediuma

Rain padded gently on the windowsill of his opened window that evening. He had left the shop soon after receiving Telpyre's manual, and had set to work reading it the moment he had arrived home. Aden's back was beginning to ache slightly from his bent position as his eyes tried to make out the small characters and diagrams inked across the many rifled-through pages. His stomach growled once or twice for food that would not come, his meager dinner done and consumed hours before. With his newly-discovered miniscule budget, things would need to be rationed a little more closely, it seemed.

A single, exposed light bulb on the ceiling shed harsh light on the sheets of paper that would either make or break him in his new job. He wasn't even entirely sure if he had been hired yet, but if knowing fully the contents of this manual were to be his test, he was going to make damn sure that every effort on his own part was made to ensure his success. This really wasn't an opportunity he could afford to miss, not in the least.

He had always had a very keen memory, but the past week's pain-staking attention to the moment-by-moment play of each day had even further enhanced it, or so he felt. Words that before had been completely foreign to him he could now recite with the smallest suggestion, and detailed sketches of elaborate machinery he could envision in his mind as though the real parts were set out before him. He had not diverted his attention from his task for even a moment except to blink or rub his eyes, and for once his excruciating focus seemed to be paying off.

Just one more page, he kept telling himself time and time again. One last paragraph and I'll close it and get some rest. These benchmarks kept growing and growing until, to his surprise, he had arrived at the last page. A heavy sigh broke the silence of the room as those tired fingers flipped back to the beginning.

Again.

With the water beginning to quickly dissipate from her body in the heated sauna, Demi roughly with her hand clenched onto his shirt collar shoves him into the corner of the sauna. With only a single hanging light bulb flickering from above, Demi took a seat on the wooden bench directly across from him. Still in her black sports bra and shorts, she hugged her knees on the bench opposite of him while looking up at him.

“I know you don’t want to be here. That’s fine. I don’t want you here,” she stated sternly. “Lets just get this shit over with so I don’t ever have to see your face again. And since your stupid little water trick destroyed the documents, I guess we’re going to have to rely on you as far as navigating goes. I sure as hell hope you remembered everything,” she says with a firm tone. She then presses her back up against the wall and adds, “Oh – and just so we’re clear, I am not responsible for anything that happens to you.”

The sauna was completely empty except for the two of them and a used soiled towel that was discarded in the corner. Demi's breath was long and controlled. She tugged her hair free from her ponytail and let it fall to her sides. Her long teal hair was almost completely dry as it hugged at her curves. Demi rarely enjoyed having her night training cut short. In fact, she wasn't fond of getting any of her training interrupted - regardless of the time of day. 'Whatever it was that HQ needed better be fucking important,' she thought to herself.

Darkness.

All around him, there was darkness. A tendril of sunlight here, a static spark there, but these only served stop to his eyes from adjusting to the darkness. Even if they had, he doubted he would glean much. He felt as though he were in a mental fog, and something hot and sticky was covering the right side of his head. He started to move, but stopped at a peculiar sound. It was the sound of a lonely warning klaxon coming from the depths of the...

The what? Whatever he was in, it was spacious, and had a decent length, judging by the faintness of the klaxon -- or perhaps it just seemed that way. Things were still fuzzy, but he had to assume he wasn't suffering from an audio deprivation just now. If he wasn't deafened, or even possibly hallucinating the sound, then it seemed like he was in the ship.

The ship? The Nightwind.

It came back to him suddenly, horribly. Their supposed border skirmish had been far more than that. He had had barely five seconds' warning. The two ships accompanying the Nightwind had gone first. They had been considerably smaller bomber crafts, designed to deal out a heavy payload, but not take it. Almost simultaneously, a round had punched through each craft, detonating them the second their engines had ruptured.

The realization that they had run straight into an ambush hit him like a ton of bricks, but he had known there was no time. He had screamed three words -- "Brace for impact!" -- before a devastating rumble had gone through the ship, followed by a jarring explosion that had turned out to be the back half of the ship disintegrating and leaving the remainder in free-fall. The last thing could remember seeing, for just a moment, was Christina diving to the floor. After that, everything went black.

The realization was washing over him like an unexpected tide. Half his crew dead for sure, and it there was no doubt that most of the remaining members probably hadn't survived the crash. People he'd worked with constantly for a whole year; a family to him. And Christina...

And suddenly, the world was no longer black. As he reached with hands numbed with rage for the fire axe kept under the command console, the world began to go from black to red. Everything, the battered surfaces around him, the faintly moving figures about the bridge, all of it seemed to be taking on a reddish hue. The very air he breathed felt as though it were on fire.

The klaxon's lonely call was joined now by two voices. "...might be some survivors on the bridge. Should we waste 'em?" The voice was gruff, rugged, uncivilized. The man sounded like he took true joy in killing Roland's crew. He moved from his chair toward the bridge's entrance, the second voice falling on his ears but not registering.

"Nah, might make for good hostages."

A hand holding a flashlight emerged from the doorway, and Roland swung the axe through the doorway, his body following. Blood spattered across his face as a horror-struck female stared down at the handle of the weapon, the blade being out of sight owing to the fact that it was burried in the side of her neck, but Roland ignored her. He spun again, wrenching the weapon from her throat and brought it next into the side of her male counterpart's head, hard enough to slam it into the wall and partially collapse it. A fine spray of blood and brain matter splattered across his torso, but far from assuaging his rage, he felt nothing but the craving for more blood.

He made his way down the corridor, noting that he could hear distant voices from some sort of medium close by. He turned into the storage room and was not entirely shocked to see the end of one of the Nightwind's cannons poking out of the floor. The voices drifted up from it, and he knew it to mean another pair were in the deck below, probably rummaging through the lower and larger half of the supply room. Without really thinking, he reached into a crate on his left and retrieved one of the small warheads the cannons were normally loaded with. He rapped it against the side, knowing this impact would trigger its activation. He then released it into the tube and walked mercilessly from the room, reaffirming his grip on the axe, only to hear a brief shout followed by a dull thud from the deck below.

He had arrived in the upper docking port, which appeared to be level with the ground, indicating the ship had dug quite a hole before coming to a stop. The sunlight from the open hatch illuminated two figures with their backs to him. They appeared to be in deep conversation.

"...can't reach anyone else. Do you think they're...?" A younger, scared young man, by the sound of his voice.

"Probably. You heard that explosion. Must've been fuckin' around with thagh!" The older man's sentence turned into a bloody yelp as the lower edge of the fire axe fish-hooked him and, with a mighty jerk from Roland, spun the man around before ripping most of his cheek clean off. Following throug, Roland spun once, swinging the axe down before jerking it back up into a devastating upper-cut that plowed into the stunned man's jaw. Roland turned on the younger man, making to decapitate, but the youth fired a desperate shot from a service pistol that found purchase in Darkin's shoulder. One hand slackened on the blade, causing it to twist and blunt-side the younger man, sending his weapon flying and his body sprawling to the floor.

A combination of the sudden pain of the bullet wound and the youth's terrified face brought Roland back to reality, or at least enough to realize the small benefit that might come from this encounter. Roland stood over him in all his horrific glory. Blood, flesh and brains covered his hands, head, and most of his torso. He first pointed the axe at the man, then at the still-open doorway.

"Go," he croaked, the coppery taste of blood entering his mouth as he spoke, "tell them what happened." The Uildernesse soldier didn't need telling twice. In a heartbeat, he had scurried out the door, the sound of twigs and branches snapping in the young man's wake long after Roland had made a retreat back to the bridge to search for survivors and attempt a call for help.

The bar Eleric now found himself in was rather different from his recent setting. Sipping a beer and fingering the still intact bank notes he was left with, the ex-soldier took the time to brood over the recent happenings. First, he gets contacted by some unknown party to kill the ex-mayor, in exchange for a huge sum of money, then he does it, perfectly, then he gets stabbed in the back, and doesn't get fully paid, courtesy of the tuxedo-wearing thugs and their shotguns. Now why ? He'd done the job, hadn't blabbed once, had so far no contact with anyone else, unless asking for a beer was considered as such, and he also felt eyes watching him, everywhere.

On the one hand, it could be because of his attire, what with the combat armour, rifle and radio, and the rest. But guys like him were still pretty common in Magiscolia, so there must be something else, must be. Or am I being paranoid ? That too had come up in his train of thought, being over-cautious, and seeing enemies where none were. Still, his motto was to never be too careful, he'd uphold that.

Taking another sip of his ale, Trancy's eyes swept across the room, noting all people from servers to bureaucrats to the rest, and the scum too. What should he do next ? He had no idea, technically, he didn't need to work for a while, the cash he'd earned from his latest job was more than enough for him to slack about for a bit, but Eleric never was one for the slo life, he lived life in the fast lane. "And I need some action ..." he muttered.

The woods were vast and it seemed like the trip was taking forever, which annoyed Crimson immensely. It didn’t help that she had to stop several times to let Star rest and of course eat. The two continued on their way until finally reaching the edge of Uildernesse and the nearby entrance to the city. Grinning widely, she spurred on her mare, encouraging it to pick up the pace. At the sight of the city, Fyre felt an immense amount of nerves twisting her stomach into a million different knots and the urge to rip out her innards was intense. Figuring the feeling would go away once she was actually in the city; Obsidian practiced her breathing techniques and found herself slowly calming down.

“Alright Star, this is where I leave you. Go back into the forest where you’ll be safe.”

Sliding down to the ground, she petted the mane of the black mare before shooing her away. Turning around, the lithe teenager walked into the city, taking in as much of the view as possible. The only reason she came into town was to get some supplies, but first Crimson decided it might be time to have a little bit of fun. So, it was with a slightly jaunty step that she headed towards one of the city bars. Well, it might have been the only bar, but she wasn’t completely sure. As she walked, Obsidian pushed her crimson streaked black hair out of her eyes, letting the strands drape across her shoulders down to her shoulder blades. Ebony orbs peered around cautiously; fully alert in case someone attempted to jump her. It wasn’t long before she reached the bar and it was with a heavy sigh that she pushed the door open and stepped inside. The lights were low, which gave her the opportunity to blend in with the shadows. That of course allowed her to watch people without being noticed. Heading further into the establishment, the she ignored the musty cigarette aroma and the fact that it reeked of stale booze. Mixed in with the two different fragrances was the scent of sex and after a quick glance around Fyre realized that there were prostitutes throwing themselves at extremely horny men.

Wow, isn’t that attractive.

Sitting down on a bar stool, Obsidian crossed one leg over the other while leaning against the counter. Dropping her hands down against the wood, the teen waved over the tender and ordered a shot of kamikaze along with a bottle of whiskey. Reaching into the pocket of her pants to retrieve her money, the stranger paid the man before shooting down the first item given. Sliding the glass to him, she popped open the bottle of whiskey and perked her ears for any tidbits of interest to her. Other than people complaining about the rise in crime and the exhaustion of the police, there wasn’t anything of importance. About to give up for the day and relinquish all hope that there wasn’t any news about the government’s plans, the foreigner finally picked up on something of use. Three men were sitting at the table directly behind her and though their voices were low, she picked up on everything they were saying. Shifting a little while still enjoying her drink, Fyre listened without making it obvious. The man dressed all in green including a hat and matching eyes seemed to be going on about how the government had this big secret plan. The other two men who were also wearing headgear though theirs were black seemed to be in an awful rush to shut him up and finish drinking. They not only wore matching hats but were sporting the same maroon jackets and pants, which was a bit creepy. Before getting the chance to scoot on over towards the trio, they threw money on the table and made their way out of the tavern.

Well that was rather interesting. I think I’ll stick around a bit longer and see if anyone else has anything intriguing to say.

Taking another swig of the whiskey, Crimson noted a blond haired man who appeared to be quite nervous. He was clad in an open green-grey trench coat, which matched the rest of his combat attire. That included the rifle and radio he was carrying at the moment. Arching a slender brow, she couldn’t help but overhear him muttering about needing some action. Unsure what side he was currently on, she hoped he wouldn’t take note of her weaponry. That of course was asking too much of the other natives because at the moment there were several men staring at her twin short sword housing vambraces, her jewel endowed fiery red staff, The Terpsichorean and the two .44 Desert eagles holstered on both thighs. Of course, her clothing was vastly different from his and for the first time, she felt odd in her tight fitting silky red t-shirt and black low-rider cargo pants. Of course that feeling didn't last long because there were whores that were dressed like absolute skanks, which made her feel a lot better.

“Action eh? How about buying a girl a drink and perhaps later on causing some shenanigans?”

((OOC: This is a post done by both Arrogance and myself.))

Lush, red lips wrapped around the but of the long white cigarette as she took a long drag. Feeling the toxins build up inside of her tingling Eden's organs with lustful intentions. With a drugged sense of relaxation the woman removed the death stick while exhaling the smoke from her burning lungs. Rubbing the burning but of the cig between her fingers the woman gazed up at the door to of Aria's Cafe' musing for a moment. Her blue eyes looked over to the flashing red 'OPEN' sign in the window to the end of her cig before dropping it. Eden wouldn't bother to put the flame out as she entered the small building simply because she didn't care.

The little bell above the door dinged loudly announcing Eden's arrival. This late at night the place seemed to be pretty empty save for a booth in the back that was filled with ten men all wearing black leather. Clearly they had to be a gang of some sort. Men never color coded each other's clothing unless they were gay, in the army, or in a gang it was just the way things were. The red haired woman rolled her eyes at the group before strutting over to the counter of the cafe. A hand slipped into the pocket of her black jacket while the other gripped the shoulder strap of her small purse as she waited. Finally the waiter approached Eden, "Can I help you?"

He folded the newspaper over as he heard that dinky bell chime and footsteps to follow. He matched the greasy filthy setting of the rest of the city just in his attire, alone. He had kept his eyes on the gang bangers in the back that had been ravenously eyeing the new girl, he hated this particular lot, maybe some childhood beef he took against these particular group of hoodlums.--

Well, well, Mier, look who we got here. He thought to himself, She does look mighty familiar he said with a quick size-up. His waitress walked by, laying the bill on the table, face down, while Miercoles slid it over towards him, not even bothering to look at it. Obviously the mob in the corner was looking at the same thing he was, a few of them shifting a dirty look towards him.He quickly broke eye contact and resumed reading his paper, keeping a watching eye on the new girl, and the gang across from her.

“Coffee to go.” She stated simply handing the man a couple bucks as he went to work. Her eyes shifted back to the booth feeling leering eyes sizing up her slender form. Most of them were watching the woman like an animal would its prey. “Bastards..” She muttered harshly to herself directly glaring at gang which insured an instant wave of snickers from the gang members. Eden just shook her head clearly annoyed with the attention. She wasn't from this area and it was painfully obvious for both her attitude and her clothing. Under the simple jacket was a well pressed, white buttoned up shirt, dark wash blue jeans, her long knives that were strapped on her back, and other weapons hidden on her form.

Looking away from the men Eden noticed another set of eyes watching her this time from a man who was sitting alone with a newspaper. /What the hell did he want?/ The thought was quickly dismissed though as the waiter returned with the coffee handing it to her along with some change. She smiled weakly at the man before quickly turning to leave the cafe'.Though Eden couldn't help, but also notice that when she was walking out the door the men at the booth were standing up...

Quickly descending down the front steps Eden turned casually down the pavement while sipping on her coffee. She wasn't hadn't even gotten to the end of the block when she heard the men outside. Eden sighed stopping in her tracks as she turned to face the group that were now approaching her. Various options flashed through the woman's mind as she watched the men. “Well this will be fun.” A light smirk crept up on her lips as they closed in. “Yes...?” Eden asked before the largest man in the group roughly grabbed the girl's arm going to drag her in the alley.

He watched as she left, but minded his own business, until he saw the gang members of various sizes follow her out the door. Miercoles tilted as far over as he could over the table to peer out the glass windows outside as he saw the gang members encircle the girl, the largest one grabbing her arm. She's one tough cookie... but.. he hesitated as he saw-- a few of the gangsters anxiously twiddling an aluminium baseball bat over their shoulders. The largest gang member grabbed the girls wrist, almost as if he were about to man-handle her he dragged her over to the alleyway. Mier stood up in his seat, knocking his chair over. Sure, the mobsters hadn't done anything to him, but he already disliked them, and seeing them prey upon a single female was more than enough excuse for him to have a reason to pound their faces in.

He headed for the door, swinging it open as he slid his brass knuckles over his fingers, trailing them as they had moments before turned the corner. Just as he saw the gang members crowding around her, he seethed with uncontrollable anger and rushed head on into the crowd, screaming as he flung his fist directly toward the unsuspecting gangster whom grabbed her arm. The impact hit so hard the mobsters eyes rolled back into his head, half-concious on the first punch. But Miercoles didn't stop there, he kept swinging at the big man, not even all his punches hit their mark, some didn't even hit the man. But by now the gang bangers were pretty pissed off, and they started pulling out all sorts of weapons, from the baseball bat to crowbars, switch-blades, knuckles, you name it. Things were about to really heat up...

Eden was still smirking at the man as he dragged down the alley and she managed so far not to spill her coffee so that was a plus as well. But now the gang was surrounding the girl staring at her lustfully excited for this evenings entertainment. Eden merely stood her ground about to take another sip of her drink when a random blur came at the gangster holding her. The sudden movement made Eden fall with the men though thankfully the gangster had let go of her arm. As she landed the girl knew her coffee would be now a goner and so she tossed it away from her form and towards the circle of men. The steaming black liquid hit one of the gang members groin making the man topple over like a ton of bricks and drop his weapon.

The coffee attack along with the punching of the gang leader angered the men even more as they all moved forward on the two. They were in the same lot and perhaps she could even count the man as a friend? Yes a friend! My first one! Ha! The girl was so lost in thought at the moment that she didn't even notice that one of the men was reaching for the collar of her jacket. Once he grabbed it though Eden's blue eye's went wild and her body went suddenly into motion. Arching her back she violently kicked upwards going to smack her attack right in the jaw with the steal toe of her boot.

If Mier wasn't in such a maddened rage he would have realized that the girl was pretty good, and could hold her own. But he just kept punching the big guy, even when he fell over, even when his gang members came to his aide, he got on top of him and continued taking shots at his face, with every punch he spoke.



On the final punch he had realized what had happened, this guys face looked like a bowl of mashed potatoes, and a couple of his members had surrounded him. He stood up just in time to catch a baseball bat to the gut, nearly knocking the wind out of him. The other guy had knuckles, like him. Mier backed up, stumbling just enough to catch his breath this time hitting the outside of his forearm, and he returned, boy did he return hard. A single punch straight to the throat of the gangster with the bat had him reeling on the floor, choking and sputtering. Meanwhile the man with the knuckles threw a quick fist into his face, causing him to stumble back into the girl, almost losing his balance.

The man she hit with the boot went reeling backwards from the hit. Quickly Eden dropped her leg so she could jump up on her feet. It was too hard to fight on the ground. Tapping the heel of her right foot a small pointy blade popped out of the heel as another gang member lunged at her with his switch blade. Eden moved a bit to the side just in time to see the man slice through her jacket, shirt, and some of her skin. Wincing the woman stretched out the right palm of her hand concentrating as a ball of flame was launched at the mobster.

The gangster's eyes went wide as he quickly ducked out of the way his arm getting nicked with flames. The gang member behind Eden's current attacker wasn't so lucky though as the ball hit him square in the chest starting his leather clothes on fire.

Before Eden could think about trying again though she was suddenly bumped into! The girl stumbled to the side trying to maintain her balance. “BASTARD!” She screamed instantly turning towards her 'former friend' and kicking him square in the back with her right foot. Thankfully she decided not to hit him with the toe of her blade.

He was suddenly pushed forwards "AW, FUCK ME" he said as he went straight into the fist of the knuckle gangster. What the fuck, girl?! what's your problem?! He thought, as if he hadn't noticed the ball of flames she had just shot from her hand. He quickly gathered himself and then thrusts a hard knee right in between the legs of the hoodlum, he fell to the ground in a crumpled mass. Instantaneously he picked up the bat the one had pummelled him with and chunked it right into the gangster whom had ducked the fireball that she had shot, hitting him dead on, knocking him out.

Nice shot, very nice. There were still five gangsters left, but they seemed almost frozen, sure they had various weapons and such and were completely circumventing the man and the girl, whom were almost back to back; but it seemed as if their spirit had been broken, they were hesitating in their attacks. They had pummelled Mier, but he still kept throwing punches like nobody could believe, just as easily as he took direct hits from them. This guy was tough, and some of the mobsters were beginning to back off to find easier prey beginning to back off to find easier prey. "Had enough, yet?"

Eden didn't notice they were backing down. She wanted to beat up every man standing there just for the sheer hell of her. Her blood was fuming as she spun around again kicking another man in the back of the knees this time letting the hidden toe blade dig into the gangsters skin as he screamed out in agonizing pain. Reaching out the man landed a punch Eden's jaw knocking the girl back onto the ground and ripping the blade out of his skin.

The men seemed to have enough of the two even with the girl on the ground. Quickly they turned going to bolt out of the alley as fast as they could. The gangsters would look for easier prey later.

He wiped a bit of blood off his swollen cheek as he looked down at the girl on the ground, offering her his hand. "You alright?" he said, pulling off his brass knuckles. Just as the snivelling cowards bolted back into the street, leaving their comrades laying about in the alleyway, bruised and beaten, one was even smouldering, then it began to rain.

Eden looked over the men running away letting out a soft sigh before turning her attention to the guy who had helped her out. She studied his face for a moment before looking at his hand. "Yeah..." She paused feeling the rain starting to pour down on the two of them as she took his hand going to stand up. Eden tapped the heel of her boot as the blade sunk back into its hiding spot as she tried to calm herself down. Really the girl wanted to continue the fight in order to release the burning rage inside of her, but it was raining now. She looked the man over again ignoring her own bleeding side, "Why did you help?"

A steady stream of blood dripped from his cheek as the rain poured down, matting his hair. With a smile he glanced over at the fallen cup that had been knocked over in the fray, he motioned over to the cafe and said to her "Come on, I'll buy you a coffee and we'll talk about it in there." Besides, in his blind fury he forgot to pay his tab.

Eleric observed the latest arrival, a girl packed with weapons. He heard her order too, even saw her down the kamikaze in one swig. Well, she's tough ... he thought, just asshe started downing some whiskey. Her gaze darted about all over the place, even eyeing him, though he did his best to hide his gaze behind his hair.

“Action eh? How about buying a girl a drink and perhaps later on causing some shenanigans?” he heard her say. Smiling, he looked up at her, and then at the barkeep, "Two rounds of kamikaze, a lager and a coke/whiskey, please ..." before motioning for the girl to come. "You're lucky it's pay day for me, otherwise it would've been you paying ..." he said, just as a waitress came by with his order.

Taking one of the shot glasses, he pushed the other one towards her. "Here goes, one, two, three ..." and they both downed them, bringing the small glasses back onto the table. "So, what type of shenanigans do you have in mind ? You're not from around here are you, by the way ?"

He returned to the shop the following morning with his mind filled to the brim with terms and images, and for the first time in so long, a self-assured glint escaped from the cold, lifeless pits of those grey eyes. As soon as his first task was posed to him by the old Telpyre, however, he discovered dejectedly that one night of studying had not made him a master at his craft. While he now knew the theory behind the practice, he had yet to throw those same reigns about the practice itself. What had appeared in a diagram to be a simple screw refused repugnantly in his hands to turn. What had seemed an easy task in itself, the soldering of metal plates onto the shell of one of the mighty crafts, seemed a painstaking, almost artistic task.

Time passed quickly that morning, however, and before he knew it noon had arrived. Wiping his slightly damp hair out of his face with his arm (his hand too greasy and coated in oil for him to risk moving it with that), he sat back and breathed deeply. There was no doubt about it, this was going to be hard. Still, his trials and pains of the very recent past were still fresh on his mind, crowding it once more as soon as his attention had left his work. If he had been able to wade through those to reach his current status, there was little doubt left in him that his current hurtles would seem tame, even simple in comparison. What he had before him was a test of body, not of mind, as the last had been. Where before he had been forced to wrestle his vague, omnipresent desires, urges and fears into submission, now his only task was to carefully and gradually temper his limbs and digits into the tools they would need to be. It would all happen on its own.

After a quick lunch, Aden leapt back into his work, suffering the fatigue of that body in exchange for the peace it granted his conscience. Assignment after assignment was completed with barely a break in between, and when he finally stopped early that evening, his every finger aching from the meticulous, repetitive movements, his arms sore from being held so statically aloft without chance or hope of rest, he was, in a word, glowing. The esteem his progress had instilled in him was unimaginable, and he was almost indistinguishable from the week, the days, the hours before. If with nothing but pure force of will, Aden Moltese was determined to reclaim his life.

From across the shop, Icarus watched his Dedalus, the old man at his labors, working tirelessly on the craft that would carry him from his prison and unite him with the skies. Those gargantuan wings, Aden mused, had better be made from something more durable than the mythic, flaxen wax, or he had a most unfortunate destiny to face.

What an amazing thing, life was. Dominique really didn't believe his life could ever be this great. The young officer's body lay on his sleek police cruiser's hood, his thoughts almost in a state of extacsy. A delicate hand moved under his chin, sliding up to his cheek, while sweet lips kissed his other. Opening his eyes, someone purely angelic wrapped them self around him, their sky blue eyes staring back down at him. Long, blood red hair tickled his face as she came closer to him. "Dee.. I have something to tell you."

"Oui, ma mignonette?"

"Wake up."

"Wha?"



His eyelids lazily pushed open as he slowly woke. Everything around him was pitch black, which increased his paranoia when he came to. The teen couldn't remember what happened at all really, hadn't a clue why he was laying in the dark, or why red goo was escaping from various parts of his body. Lack of light was rather bad in a situation like this, due to not visibly seeing the extent of his injuries. Dominique felt around his pants pockets, looking for the glow sticks he kept on the side of his leg. Finding the chemical tube, he pulled it up to his chest and smacked it off of his black flak vest. With a cracking sound, the tube illuminated orange, making the area around him light up. His actual clothing was full of rips where shards of metal grazed his skin. Although he was wearing a gray t-shirt, his arms weren't too beat. "Did we crash?"

Dominique knew he was going to have to tend to quite a few injuries today. Before heading off to check the damages, he cleaned his cuts and wrapped bandages around his arm's, parts of his legs, and around his forehead like a headband. His question wasn't completely answered until he walked around the corner and laid his eyes on the carnage. corpses were scattered all over the place. What sickened him the most was the fact he couldn't help a damn one of them. What good is that red cross on his back if he can't save his teammates?

Wading through gore and debris for 30 minutes was close to eradicating his morale. Stepping onto the bridge, his eyes opened wide. "CAPTAIN!" As hysteric as he was, the boy was ready to cry. "Si-Sir...every..everyone is...is..dead.."

He woke up that afternoon staring at the same filthy ceiling he opened eye to every morning. His apartment, full of drug addicts and the like, it was in one of the more run-down areas of town. Miercoles didn’t bother looking in the cupboards for something to eat, he knew they were just as bone-dry as they had been the day before, just like his wallet. This same nagging presence always bit at him every morning right after he woke up, and then that night right before he went to bed, whatever helps you sleep at night, right?

Shoulda looted those bums, he thought in reference to the hooligans he pummeled with his bedfellow last night. He looked over at her, she was still rolled over, cover over shoulder, asleep, or at least she appeared to be. He shifted setting his feet against the flooring of his apartment, then walked to the kitchen, not to find food, but to grab his phone, it was time he get some work, and there was only one person he knew to call for this.

Miercoles had known about the uprising insurgency in the city, however he had never particularly joined anything other than minor activities, luckily he knew one fellow whom he could contact, a quaint old friend he hardly even kept in touch with; he dialed his phone.

“Hello? Can I speak to Piers.”

The hellish red glow of the glowsticks he'd scattered across the bridge masked, somewhat, the fact that he was, in fact, covered in blood. His rage had abated considerably since discovering Christina was not dead, merely unconscious, but this was little comfort to him. Four people had survived the crash -- four, of dozens. Himself, Christina, one of his engineers, and the new kid. He hadn't tried to wake anyone up, had only checked for vitals; to bring someone back to this hell was not something he wanted to do. He had hoped to be able to offload everyone before they came to.

He nearly threw the axe at the kid when he burst in. Had he not been reflecting on the day's events, had he been more attentive, he might well have. As it was, he had reigned in his reflexes before he so much as lifted the weapon, responding in turn, "I know, kid." He nodded forward, toward the epicenter of the scattered glowsticks, where the bodies of Christina and his engineer, Charles, lay. "Do what you can for 'em."

Without waiting for a response, he pulled his phone from his pocket, marveling at the fact that it was still in tact, and punched in the number he knew well enough. Cyrus' voicemail picked up. "It's Roland. Something bad's happened, and it might be a lot worse. Get anyone you care about out of the city and meet me at the Nightwind's ruins." He gave him the last coordinates from the navigational computer and hung up.

He lit a cigarette, his hands shaking slightly and a fresh stab of pain finding its way to his heart as he thought about how loyal his crew had been, even down to the small fact of not reporting him.

They had taken dozens from him, and he had taken a mere five. He was going to even the score.

Today would have to be the day, said Hillel to himself as he dragged himself out of bed. If he waited any longer, the corporate merger he sought to prevent might get too far along to be reversible. He didn't know a great deal about business dealings; he just assumed that an assassination would put a damper on MedTek's plans. After all, who would want to make a corporate merger that put their life on the line? Nobody, he hoped.

He dragged himself to the shower. He was not a morning person, and barely felt alive without a cool shower to wake him up in the morning. Yet, some might say this was when he was closest to being "alive." The aches and pains that he normally didn't think twice about, right now were in the forefront of his mind. He stripped himself down and climbed into the glass shower, feeling the cool water washing the grime and death from his body. He looked down at himself, looking at his deep scars through the thin steam. It suddenly occurred to him that he'd forgotten to do something. He steeled himself and pulled back the shower curtain, grasping around the counter for a moment before he found what he wanted.

He ran the small razor blade across his stomach carefully...once, medium length, for the councilman...twice, a longer one, for the security guard...and a very small third one, for the receptionist. The scars were like notches in a cutlass, to count each kill it had claimed. It...yes, that's what he was, weapon meant for killing and nothing more. Not "he." It.

He broke the hypnotic trance that the blood running down his scrawny stomach had created. He washed the blood smears from his body and stepped out of the shower, drying and dressing himself.

-------------

"The usual, sir?"

"Yeah. Coffee, pancakes, bacon. Burn the bacon."

The waitress nodded, scribbling some shorthand notes on her pad of paper and walking back towards the kitchen. He'd been coming to this diner since he came to Magiscolia years ago, and he knew all these ladies, but they didn't know him by name., only his scarred face and his usual orders.

"Here's your coffee, sir." This girl, though, was new, he hadn't seen her around here before. Even if he wasn't already sure, he could tell by the way she'd made sure to lean over while giving him the coffee, showing off her cleavage in an attempt to gain more of a tip from him. All the girls had tried this at least once, some multiple times. It was unfortunate for them that the chemical conditioning had rendered him unable to physically respond to a woman's charms. Such pleasures were irrelevant for a human weapon.

He wondered dimly if she would have taken an interest in him if they'd met on the street. Doubtful, he thought. He didn't need a lover anyway. The only person he could remember coming close to loving was Dr. Wellington. He cared for him like a weapon ought to be. It was thanks to his care that Hillel had survived Welder's Disease with minimal side-effects, and had remained a powerful weapon. The man had known all about what he did with his nights, his contract killings and bounty hunting. He didn't care, he didn't judge. He just kept him in working order, kept him in perfect killing condition. He was what he believed any weapon needed; someone to maintain him. He glanced down at his briefcase; he hoped that the rifle inside felt the same way about him as he had about Dr. Wellington. He would find out what happened to the doctor...he would make MedTek pay for taking away the one person he loved.

Long, black, winding roads took her for miles through dimly lit towns between expansive fields of tilled soil. Sylvia Telpyre had been driving for two hours up to this point, and her legs were starting to ache. She rarely ever left her father alone at night and a few strings were tugging at her heart as she drowned herself in her thoughts, wondering what he must have thought when he saw her note. She hoped that he would be satisfied with the lasagna that she cooked for him before she left. She thought back to the large casserole dish that she had left in the refrigerator so that Cyrus wouldn't be without her home cooking for one night. A pink note was taped to the top of the lid of the dish with directions on how to reheat dinner.

Stick this in the oven for a half hour on 450.
I love you, daddy.
~Your Favorite Daughter

Sylvia smiled to herself. Her father had always been there for her, and she vowed to always take care of him. He would always be the number one man in her life. She hated to leave him alone, but felt that this was something she had to do.

It had been a while since Sylvia had seen any lights anywhere, so when she saw the bright lights of a convenient store ahead, she squeal with excitement, cutting her wandering thoughts short.

"About time!" she yelled to herself, desperate to get out and stretch.

Her car splashed through a massive mud puddle as it pulled into the empty lot and straight up to the front door. She unbuckled her seat belt and stepped out of the car, stretching her arms to the dark star-specked sky to get all her muscles back where they belonged. She turned away from her car and fell back against it, taking a moment to breathe in the fresh air before proceeding into the establishment. Her head always on a swivel, Sylvia observed her surroundings, her light hair flipping loosely around her face each time she turned her head. It appeared that this service station didn't get a whole lot of business. There were no deep oil stains in the parking spaces and the gas pumps were barely worn, yet the building itself had years of wear and tear showing. Sylvia shrugged off the strange thoughts that were trying to invade her mind. She stretched one last time before stepping away from her car and into the convenience store.

The clerk immediately eyed her suspiciously, scanning her from head to toe. He made no attempt to hide his instant contempt for the woman. The man looked to be in his 30's, wearing a white polo shirt and khaki pants, no doubt a required look for the job. His hair was messy, almost as if the man had been sleeping on the floor just before Sylvia walked in. Sylvia tried to ignore the glares and proceeded to the back of the store to the restroom. With every click the heels of her boots made on the floor, she could feel his eyes burning into her back, as if he was daring her to make a wrong move. Shutting the door of the restroom as she stepped inside was the most relief she'd had all day.

After a few minutes, she emerged from the bathroom, her mouth watering for the snacks that she had seen on her way in. She grabbed a bag of chips and a soda from the cooler and proceeded to walk to the checkout, but the clerk was not there. She set her sundries on the counter and looked around the store; perhaps he was stocking a shelf somewhere? After he still had not returned when the minute hand of her old tarnished watch hit the six mark, she decided to give up and get back on the road.

Sylvia stepped out of the convenient store to find the cold metal of the barrel of a small pistol digging straight into the middle of her forehead.

"You work for them, don't you?" The clerk's voice was surprisingly calm. His dark brown eyes fixated on Sylvia's expression, waiting for her face to speak for her.

One of Sylvia's hands remained at her sides, while the other carefully tried to reach for her gun. "N...No. I'm just passing through. On my way to my--"

"LIAR!" belted the clerk, his demeanor the polar opposite as the moment before. "You have an access sticker on your car!"

Damnit, she thought. I meant to take that off before I left...

"It is true then. Your silence says it all. I do the Uildernesse a favor by--"

A swift kick to the groin with pointed boots brought the clerk to his knees, his gun carelessly tossed aside as he fell grasping at his pants. Sylvia picked up the gun and stepped towards her car. She tossed the small pistol into the back seat through the open window and pulled open the driver door, muddy water still dripping down the white paint.

"I'm really sorry." She crouched into her car and pulled out her First Aid Kit. Setting it on the hood of the car, Sylvia slung it open and pulled out and ice pack. She tossed it back to the fellow curled up on the damp ground and returned the kit to her car. With a final salute to the clerk, she stepped into her car, started the engine, and peeled out of the parking lot back towards home.

The moment she was out of range of the convenience store, Sylvia turned on her stereo, blaring the radio station that it was already set to. She didn't care to hear the sounds of the road now. She just wanted to get home. What was I thinking going straight into the lion's den?

After an hour and a half of driving, Sylvia stopped on the side of the road and got out of her car. She stretched and yawned, realizing that with the rising sun came morning. Having a gun to her head just a couple hours before caused her to forget how late she was out. She leaned into the open driver-side window of her car and dug through her purse in the passenger seat with one hand. Extracting her cell phone to check for the time, Sylvia flipped it open to find she had a new message. She had missed a call from her father.

Her mouth fell open upon hearing his desperate message. Roland...

Sylvia jumped back into her car and revved the already running engine. She slammed the car into drive and sped off down the road towards the hospital. They had given her a helping hand and sponsored her when she opened her clinic. Surely they would allow her to borrow one of their airships and a pilot for an emergency. After making a few urgent phone calls, Sylvia had an airship and pilot secured. She quickly dialed her father's number as she sped down the road, desperate to let him know she was on her way.

Uncrossing the one leg, she slid the other one over in its place, now leaning a little bit the other way. It didn’t take a genius to realize he was attempting to hide himself, though it didn’t really bother her. No, what bothered her was the thought of officers busting in and arresting her for some bogus charge. Forcing herself to relax, Crimson grinned as the stranger bought her another shot of her precious kamikaze. The boy sure knew how to get to heart… through her stomach. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean he had won her heart, but if he kept buying her drinks, he might win something.

"You're lucky it's pay day for me, otherwise it would've been you paying ..."

Shrugging, the slender adult slid to her feet, making her way over to where he was currently sitting. Sliding down beside him, her left leg immediately crossed over on top of the right. It was more habit than anything else and allowed her to focus on the more important things such as drinking. Wrapping her fingers around the small shot glass, Fyre downed it at the same time as the man, resisting the urge to slam the glass on the table, per usual. Returning to her whiskey, Obsidian took several swigs while he inquired to what she had in mind in regards to shenanigans. About to answer, she hesitated as he inquired about where she was from. How much should she tell him? She pondered on that for a few minutes before finally responding.

“No, I’m not from around here. As for what I had in mind… I hadn’t thought that far. I just overheard you mentioning that you wanted some action and felt I was the girl to help you out with that.”

Sliding a few fingers through her hair, Obsidian leaned back and stretched. Yawning widely, she glanced around at the patrons once again, still slightly uptight. The waitress walked back by and Fyre ordered another bottle of whiskey since the one she was currently drinking was empty. Taking a large swig, she swallowed and thought about what could be done that wouldn’t get them arrested. Mulling it over, she smirked while drinking more of her Jack Daniel’s.

“You from around here?”

Eleric smiled as the girl he was with downed yet more drink. Legless in the next hour if she keeps up that pace ... he thought. He knew she'd remain somewhat, distant, at his question, an air about her that she had something to keep. Keeping up the feminine mystique he thought. In any case, she was a welcome break from worrying about his latest kill.

"Yeah, been in Magiscolia all my life, from kid to trooper, to merc now ... Name's Eleric, yours ? I mean, after all, a good talk is always better when we know the person we're actually talking to !" He flashed her a smile, looking at her, before taking another swig of his beer.

Continuing, he added: "Well, if you feel like the girl to stop my boredom, then you better divulge some idea of what crossed your mind ... Either that, or you're as desperate as me !"

Wiping his mouth, he let the bitter taste of the beer slowly subside as he pondered over this girl's appearance. She was indeed a welcome break, but was she looking for just some fun, or did she feel the seriousness that Trancy had hid behind his words ? Only time would tell.

Callan Mentadaxes had had just about enough of CEO Larsten's interference. Enough. He picked up the phone and called Advertising.

"Listen, Dana, go ahead and begin advertising our services to the airship pilots. Don't waste their time; tell them we've got the furnaces to smelt quality metal components, lightweight composites, heat-resistant reactor plating, armor. I'll approve the spending out of the Operations budget... Yea, Larsten's gonna be pissed, but I'll take the heat and I'm positive the Howells will back me... Thanks, Dana. I owe you a quality dinner... I appreciate that... Well, someone needs to do something. We've got hard working employees and a quality forge and machining shop on our hands... It's not like the market is bad, after all; who else can offer serious industrial support? It's about time this company got moving again... Three years! You would think the plague ate our machinery, from the contracts Larsten has taken on! Anyway, thanks again."

Let the shit hit the corporate fan now.

He shook his head. I don't get it. Why stop up production for some hypothetical deal with MedTek? There wasn't a deal, there couldn't be a deal. They make drugs and we make polycarbon steel.

Callan sighed. More work than he'd hoped for. Reaching for the phone, he dialed the Howell's contact. I'd better have the family on my side before this even starts.

The young man muttered the words idly, his dirty, brittle fingers moving over the beads of the necklace in his hands. He was not usually one for religious devotions, but since he had joined the war it was the only thing that calmed him down those days, and stopped the flames of his heart from spurring his body into regrettable, bloody action. Seated impatiently on a tree stump, his almost childish features illuminated by the faint flicker of the campfire, he seemed to be the only one awake. His eyes caught the glint of that firelight on his rifle, and that glimpse assured him more than any amount of prayer could.

Almost as an insult to those thoughts, he heard a trampling through the brush around them. Twigs snapped and saplings were slapped aside, and above it all he could hear the worried whispers of men's voices. Just as he was reaching for that gun he heard the call, and knew it was all right. Two men emerged moments later, dressed in the usual camouflaged uniforms of Uildernesse soldiers. They saluted the young men, and he stood and returned the salute. They were out of breath, one bending over with his hands on his knees to steady himself after the apparent mad dash that had brought them there.

"Sir," he spoke between gasps for air. "Sir, as you know we engaged a Magiscolian airship this morning that had entered our territory. Its original intentions were unknown, but as we advanced on it, the ship opened fire, and so we saw fit to shoot it down. Afterward, our troops prepared to enter the ship once it had crash-landed. This is where this man's story comes into play." He motioned to the soldier beside him. He could not have been older than nineteen, his features white as a ghost and his expression slack and without feature. The young man nodded for this mere boy to speak.

"Sir," the boy started slowly, "Your father lead our detachment into the ship." A lump formed in the young man's throat which he tried, to no avail, to swallow. "We had presumed the crew was dead on impact, but proceeded with caution. We came across little opposition at first, and that we cut down without a problem. But..." The boy stopped for a moment, the young man patiently waiting for him to finish the story to which he already knew the ending, a feeling of numbness extending from his head to the rest of his body. "But out of the darkness... it was like a fiend... a monster. He had an axe... your father was slain." The young man nodded absent-mindedly, the boy's last words falling on deaf ears.

The other soldier sighed. "I'm sorry, Hammon," he spoke softly, but the young man shook his head.

"Before dawn I want all troops in the vicinity gathered who are able to fight," his voice was suddenly quick and alive again, a testament to the fires of his heart that churned with iron vengeance. "At daybreak we're going to move out. You, boy, will lead us to the airship. As the rising sun sheds light on this monster of yours, we will be the ones to slay him. My father would never accept that Magiscolian trash on our fertile lands. They still do not realize that we are not the oppressed people we once were, and that now they must answer for every action slung upon us." He said no more after this, and the two soldiers saluted once again and retreated, on their mission.

Hammon bit his lip tenderly, fighting back the tides that threatened to burst from his eyes. No, his father would not have approved of that. Gripping those beads painfully in his hand, he stared into the fire. The morning would only bring the beginning. After the airship, Magiscolia itself would be his target.