Chapter 2-Koschei

Waking up, I'm astounded to feel the cold rush of air. If that was a nightmare, it's the worst I've ever had, but given the ground beneath me feels a hell of a lot like concrete and not like my bunk, I'm going to wager that it was not. The alley around me looks simultaneously old, yet in a fairly modern-looking architectural style, unlike anywhere I've been before. I glance both ways down the alley, trying to get some idea of where I am, as it's evidently not Syria.

Picking my pack up, I notice that it feels somewhat smaller than normal. Setting my rifle on its stock on the concrete beside me as a measuring tool, I can tell I'm a good twenty centimetres taller, and wider at the shoulders beside.

Given that's the least off putting thing I've experienced today, I elect to move past it. Inspecting myself, I'm wearing an old, Chechnya-vintage Azimut SS rig, in black, over a black wool turtleneck and cargo pants. Looking down at my feet, in place of my issued M92 boots, I have some discernibly nicer privately-bought boots. At least that's an upside: those M92s were god-awful.

Moving on to my kit, I open my Attack 2 rucksack, which appears to still be packed, and look through it. Inside, I've got my carrying case for my OKP-7, which I'm thankful for, though I don't remember putting it in there off my rig. The box of ammunition is still there, and still heavy, not something I look forward to lugging around with me. My 3 IRP meal boxes are still there, and underneath it all is something I've never seen before.

It's an oddly shaped golden object. At home, it probably would have fetched an extraordinary price with the beautiful carving and quality of the material. The main part is a large, hand-sized, coin-shaped piece, with a carving on either side.

On one side is an extremely detailed carving of a floating island, the stereotypical kind you would see in a fantasy movie or cartoon, looking like a massive iceberg with the top cut flat. The top is edged with beautiful mountains, covered in waterfalls, rivers, and other terrain. In the valley formed by those mountains is a futuristic-looking city, with buildings in a variety of shapes and sizes.

Weirdly, it looks almost like the water and vehicles are moving, and the more I stare the more I'm sure of it. Shaking my head to get that idea out of my head, I take a look at the other side. Much simpler in design, it features a teenager jumping from left to right, with what looks like a large komodo dragon with wings following closely behind. It looks oddly familiar, but racking my brain, I cannot for the life of me recall what the hell it is.

Checking out the rest of it, the object has a pair of protruding blades, spaced slightly apart from each other and facing outward, which do not look dull at all. Thankfully, I hadn't cut myself.

Chastising myself for being so careless, I carefully put it away, clear my rifle, fold the stock, and put it, concealed, in my ruck. After all, who knows where I am?

Walking to the end of the alley, I ensure I'm looking for anything helpful, but nothing makes itself evident. The entirety of this alley appears much the same, concrete walls, slick metal sliding doors with keypads, and occasional pieces of garbage. The whole of it, covered in a layer of grime that seems persistent and sooty. I'm sure that it's not good for your health, either, but the air is probably filled with it, unless nothing has never been cleaned, and there's nothing I can do about it.

The end of the alley only leads onto a bigger street, wide, with distinctly American-looking markings. Looking to the right, I can see a flying, almost Star Wars-like car barreling down the street!

Backing into the alley, I can feel the hot air from it breeze past me. What the hell is going on? None of this looks like anything I've ever seen before. I need to find someone to question about this, but I have no idea what language they speak. English? Russian? Chinese? Some other language that I don't even know about, or that hadn't existed when I was killed? I have to find out.

Deciding which way to go, I pick against trying to cross such a road, and to stay on my side of the road. Given that right is the way traffic is headed, I hope it's the way foot traffic works. The sky is definitely on the dark side, turning to night. Hopefully, I can find a place to stay soon.

Eventually, I can see a person, looking very classically American! Running up to them, I think over what to say, and try to get their attention.

"Good day, friend! Dobryy den, Sabbrat! What do you speak?" I yell to him as I run up.

Looking backwards at me, he quickly runs off, much faster than I can catch him with this heavy ruck, even with my stronger legs.

As he runs off, he yells back in English: "Common, you brickheaded mercenary!"

Slowing to a walk and catching my breath, I put that together. Thankfully, they speak English, though with a distinct accent and almost certainly some slang. Unfortunately, they appear to think I'm a mercenary, who do not seem to be especially appreciated by the populace.

The time to think about it runs out quick, as more and more people are around, as an obviously more populous main street, with many more of those hovercars, looms ahead. The people around give me a wide berth, consistent with their obvious opinion of what they think I am. Unfortunately for me, if mercenaries are so much more common than whatever government there is that anyone in military-looking kit is assumed to be a mercenary, I am unlikely to find help in official sources.

As distracted as I am by thinking about that, along with the blackness of the rapidly darkening night, I don't see the pair of actual mercenaries in front of me, distinctly not making way, and who I promptly walk into.

"Hey! What was that for!" yelled the one on the right, obviously the leader, a bit taller, and with an extra stripe on his sleeve.

"Watch where you're going!" came the similar call of his follower, a slightly shorter man, who was positioned slightly behind the other.

"What outfit are you with, moron?" said the leader, with the anger of someone who's had a long day, and refuses to be bothered further.

"I have no unit, my friend. Would you tell me yours?" I replied, in the most neutral way I could.

"We're with the Malison Ring, and if you don't have a unit, what are you doing with all that? Are you trying to pick up a few extras with the respect we earned? Come here you airhead, and give it to us!" came the reply from the follower.

While the name rang a bell somewhere, they definitely didn't seem friendly. Deciding that risking it with these two wasn't worth it, I pushed through them, both smaller than me, and ran down the street, looking for somewhere to duck and hide. As I ran, I saw a young, homeless-looking teenager look up, and tripped one of them. As they turned to look at him, I ducked into an alley, behind a bin, and watched and listened.

"Hey kid! What are you doing? This is the last straw buddy!" said the leader.

"Hey, look over there!" said the kid, while something small and hard flicked out of the cuff of his pants, and landed on the edge of the road.

"Hold up kid!" said the smaller one, holding him, as the leader leaned over and picked it up.

"Looks like a money clip, got to be three or four hundred auzes in here, Chips." came the response from the leader when he finished looking at it.

What the hell is an Auz? And is money transported in clips?

"But it's mine! I saw it!" said the kid, who despite looking homeless, appears to have had enough money to throw that away for some reason.

"Looks like it has an ID tag. We'll have to give it back to the owner, so you can't have it, kid." came the response from the man named Chips, the follower.

"But…" sobbed the kid, as he grabbed the man's leg.

I would definitely have to talk to that kid, because something was up here. Between the positioning, the intentional-looking trip, and the throwing of some valuable amount of money, there must be a secret agenda here. What it is I don't know, but I would like to. Maybe he could even help me understand what was going on.

As I thought about it, the pair started walking off, looking around for me. Ducking into cover, I let them go by. Looking back around the corner, I could see the kid's mouth moving. Stepping out of the alley, I walked over to him.

"Hey, kid, thanks for the save. Spasibo." was how I decided to open it.

Spooked, the kid looked over. I could see his hand move, in a way that looked like he was telling someone to not interfere.

"You are welcome, but why were you running from them?"

"Got mixed up with them earlier. Who were you talking to?"

While his face had mostly set back to just scared street kid instead of spooked, he started at the realisation I had seen him communicating.

"Just my uncle Virge, why?"

Definitely odd. If he truly had an uncle, why was he out here alone?

"Oh? And where is this uncle?"

"Over at the spaceport. We got separated, and I gotta get the money to get over there. Those two took my best chance." he replied.

"Then why'd you throw it away? And how did you get that to launch like that? I don't see anything by your cuff. Also, tell the truth please. I'm not going to hurt you, and you have my word on that." I said, in an attempt to reassure him.

"Well, see, I had to try and pickpocket them. Is there any way you can take me back there? I have to go inside here, but I'll be back out." he said back, looking like he was planning something.

Deciding that was the best I was going to get for now, I agreed, and sat down in a dark corner of the alley to wait.

It took almost half an hour for anything to happen. Suddenly, a bunch of guys in the same gear as the pair earlier ran up, these ones armed. Sensing trouble, I stayed in cover, and opened my bag. Pulling out my AK-74M, I quietly unfolded the stock, loaded a magazine from my carrier, and pulled the charging handle as they opened the door. As they ran in, I unbuttoned my OKP-7 case, pulled it out, slid it on the rail and tightened the fastening levers. Turning it on, I got ready for trouble. If anything happened in there, I would have to intervene; the kid saved me, and I owe him.

Before I could do anything, a slight girl, in all black, and with a full-helmet respirator, walked in, spraying something. Catching a whiff, I felt instantly sleepy. Covering my face with my turtleneck, I waved my hand to blow it away, and kept watching.

As I was watching the door, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. An upper window opened, and a dark form went out. Aiming at it, I softly called up.

"Halt! Don't move, or you'll have holes!"

Then, a soft, slightly hissing reply.

"Don't shoot. I'm with the boy. I'm coming down now; please put your hand out."

Deciding to put faith in whoever was up there, expecting them to toss something down, I complied. Then, the whole form dropped. Raising my arm to cover my face, I felt an impact, pushing me to the ground and… nothing. Then, off my arm again, the same dragonlike creature from the gold object peeled off my arm. Mesmerised by the weird sight and feeling, I didn't even react. Suddenly, where it came from came to mind; it was Draycos, from that old series by that Star Wars author, what was that series' name… Dragonback! That's it! But if I'm here, and I definitely am, then I probably shouldn't let them know I know about them. Who knows what the result might be? All I could do is help. I would have to try and get the information in an organic manner.

"Alright, dragon, what's your name?" came my first question.

"Draycos, poet-warrior of the K'da. Now, please, let me back on, and get me next to Jack - the boy - discreetly."

"Sure, will do. Vo chto ya vvyazalsya?"

At that moment, the front doors opened again, and the girl came out, with the kid, Jack, on his back. As she walked by, I decided to let her know I was coming.

"Hey, don't turn around. I'm going to get in that car with you, beside Jack, to keep him safe. Do not leave until I am inside."

Without looking back, she nodded. As she put him in the right side of the back, I got into the left. A cheap-feeling interior, but serviceable. While she walked around, I reached over and touched Jack's hand, while he struggled to wake up, feeling the odd feeling of Draycos moving across. Then, while Jack tried to wake up properly, they were on their way.