"Anatolius, we're glad you could make it," a lady behind the only desk in the room beckons him as soon as he enters. The place still looks like the bedraggled casino it once was hundreds of years ago.
"I am ready for my posting," there is a fleeting tone of hesitation in his voice, of forced composure. He is standing face to face with her now,
"Yes, I didn't think you'd be anything less."
This is the second time the man has dealt with Gloria Van Graff and her bald head- it practically makes him sick to his stomach every time he thinks of taking an assignment from a woman; nonetheless a woman who does crooked business as a manager. He has no choice. There will be no questioning the will of The Son of Mars, no desire. Not yet.
"You'll be a doorman along with Simon for the first week, as per your contract. If you excel we'll find something more challenging for you. Go see him to suit up and get put through the paces."
Without saying another word, Anatolius turns around and heads to the exit, leaving only murmurs amongst the guards in his wake.
Outside, Simon is waiting for him. He can barely see the dark skinned man as he emerges from the 'store'. He needs sunglasses.
"I guess you're the new guard everyone's been talking about."
He nods.
"Right, well, your reputation precedes you, so I'll just let you get started…" he leads Anatolius to an elongated silver-metallic case that could easily fit a small armory. On the top is a golden lion head. Simon bends down and unlatches the crate, revealing a formidable array of firepower- black signature combat armor and a slew of energy weapons.
Stripped down to his pale green tunic and dark pants, the man stows everything else except the pendant hanging from his neck into the container.
"Laser, or plasma?"
It didn't take the slightest hesitation for him to answer- plasma is simply a superior form of matter.
"Nice. Now I can flash my tri-beam.. haven't been able to in weeks."
"What now?"
His face straightens out, "The rules are pretty simple, even more so for a man like yourself. We guard the door. That's it. You're on that side, I'm on this side. Four to eleven. We don't wander around, we don't gamble, or throw caps at prostitutes. We don't drink. Save it for after work- here- we're professionals."
"I understand." He's in full Van Graff ensemble now.
"Heh, I like you already. Now take your place on the other side of the door."
.
.
.
The first hour proved to be the most boring posting Anatolius has ever undertaken…
By the second, they had only a single customer (a harmlessly lucky gambler), where Simon could at least show him the proper way to greet or turn away someone without blowing holes in their legs. The whole point is to screen and let pass those with money, deny drunks or chem addicts, and in the ultra-rare incidence; disallow anyone who is over a certain threshold of suspicion.
In other words; it's the easiest job in the dilapidated slums of Freeside that involves having a weapon.
Hour three: a clearly impoverished man stumbles in their direction as the sun dips below the decaying buildings. His face is haggard and unruly gray hair splashes across his shoulders in tangled knots, his gait unsteady by alcohol. A drunk.
"Eyyyy..- hic!" the inebriated fool sputters, standing there for a moment, "Ish this where I can get a zappy gun?"
Anatolius turns him away with ease; despite perhaps being good intentioned about entering.
The fourth hour ticks past in an indefinite, seemingly interminable existence. Twilight strikes the sun-bathed sky. The man let a few people in after screening and didn't have to turn down anyone, but business is less-than-average today. Wednesday apparently just isn't the day to buy high-tech guns.
"I've gotta ask, man," Simon subtly accosts him, shifting in his plated armor, "What's got an ex-Praetorian of the Legion doing a job like this? I saw what you did outside the Wrangler.. that was no small feat."
He smiles. Takes his time before answering, staring out at the half-destroyed buildings and torn up streets. The bodies are gone. A woman is lying half on the sidewalk half on the road- she isn't moving.
"When I was with them, I missed out on a lot of things. I'm trying to find out what those things are."
With the way he worded it; it wasn't entirely a lie.
"Yeah? Well this is a hell of a way to see the world." He senses sarcasm in his words, if good-natured.
"It's a start."
"Hah," he lets out, a friendly smirk pleating his face, "That's good enough for me. I feel safer with you than with the last person who got put on this bum posting…" the wind steadily picks up again.
"Something about her just.. it's like danger follows her around."
The man's ears prick up for a second,
"Her? Who is she?"
"Ah.." Simon curses, lost in thought, "Name's on the tip of my tongue. Great girl, don't get me wrong, I just had this feeling about her. Anyone who can walk in and out of the Lucky 38 on free reign is someone I wouldn't want to follow around. But someone Gloria would want on door duty."
Anatolius darts his gaze to the dark man. His tone and outward calm shift dramatically,
"Can you find out?"
"If you're so interested, I'll let you check our contract ledger yourself after the shift. Why you lookin' for her?"
"If it's her..." he looks down and studies the cracked pavement beneath his feet, hands white-knuckled underneath his gloves from gripping the plasma rifle too hard. Blood pressure spikes and a throbbing vein appears on his forehead. Hatred accrues within.
Looking back up he meets Simon's brown eyes with despondence in his own,
"There's some loose ends we need to work out."
He no longer wants anything to do with this job, or the Van Graffs, or any other group related to his mission.
He wants her. And there's only one person who could possibly fit her description.