The Oncoming Storm
Interlude I
Korse walks with his head held high through the whitewashed halls of Better Living Industry's main headquarters. After all, he has every right to be confident – he's the pride of the company, second in command to only the Reverends themselves. He enjoys his work, unlike most of his underlings; the reasons as to why that is have always been a mystery to him.
The view of the city today is most delightful, he thinks with a smirk. As grey and silent as ever.
The state of Battery City has remained quite constant since the inception of BLind in the latter half of 2016: an imbalance of power - and an almost complete control of the citizens - has lead to a subdued sort of peace.
Korse thrives in these conditions, as do his superiors, and it's not as if the scum that populate the rest of the city have any say in the matter. The rich have power, the poor keep quiet... life as it should be!
Yes, all is well in the life of this Exterminator. The rewards are rich, and he enjoys taking down the people who get in his way. It's especially fun to torture them beforehand; the more pain he inflicts, the more satisfying the whole process becomes.
There are few opportunities for him to just sit and bask in the glow of the tyranny these days – those forsaken Killjoys seem to be multiplying like rabbits, which is a minor annoyance. He often finds himself on the warpath with his elite S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W unit, and admittedly, the thrill of the chase is more than worth the lack of rest.
It just so happens this is one of those rare days where he does get a chance to rest, and anyone who disrupts is likely to be met with extreme contempt –
"Exterminator Korse. A word, if you please."
- ah. Perhaps he'll make an exception in this case.
"Of course, sire." That's the one thing he really dislikes about working here – having to respect authority. One wrong word, and there's every chance he'll be sent down to slave away on the production line... not particularly a good idea.
"We've received word that one of your Draculoid units has been eliminated in Zone 7. Were you aware of this?" the man, who happens to Reverend Vornn, says with an unreadable tone and an equally unreadable expression.
"I... I'm afraid I wasn't aware of this, sire."
"A shame indeed. We've also received word that this is the doing of the killjoy 'Jet Star'."
Korse looks through his mental catalogue of killjoys – it's difficult to remember so many insignificant names and faces. "... The one with the overgrown hair, sire?"
"That would be the one. But it seems he wasn't alone, and this is unacceptable. He is a nuisance enough alone, let alone with another ally. We have tasked you with finding and capturing this unknown accomplice." The Reverend watches with the slightest hint of amusement as Korse's face lights up. "However, we do not wish for him or her to be harmed just yet. We have our reasons."
"It will be done, sire." Korse says with a hint of disappointment at being robbed of a kill.
"I expect it to be done quickly, Korse." Vornn turns to leave, before adding as an afterthought, "oh, and this is top priority. Do not allow yourself to be distracted by other work." With a flourish only achievable by the rich and evil, he leaves just as quickly as he arrived.
Korse sighs.
So much for a day of rest. Let's get this show on the road, shall we?
