A/N: Thanks, MoonOfPluto! Van Kreike is going to be taking a slight backseat for the time being as the story focuses on the gang, but him (and some friends) will be making a return soon…
I've had a slightly hectic schedule recently, otherwise would have gotten this out quicker.
The next two hours passed in a bizarre, semi-drunk haze. Moriarty could tell that the Hessians were perplexed, bewildered even, by the appearance of these two strange men. If it wasn't for the fact that many were already drunk, it would have been a much tougher sell. But the liquor, in addition to the stories told by Fring and Moriarty (and verified by Jimmy, who had evidently been something of a crime reporting addict in his past life) made things easier. They were an easy, affable group, far removed from the monster caricatures that the people of Pangaw had bestowed upon them. They ran the age gamut between twenty and sixty. Many had tattoos and the types of look normally associated with Hell's Angels, from thick beards, to long, lank hair, and scars. They bantered with each other mercilessly but in good humour, and Moriarty's keen sense of human nature told him that each of them would die for the other. They were approximately forty strong, and would present a sizeable force once they hit the road.
Moriarty, for his own part, got slightly drunk, and tried some of the Duke's raw ether. He stayed up drinking with Fring, Mo and the Duke after the rest of the crew had gone to bed, the headache already setting in slightly.
"What are we gonna do?" asked Mo, slurring his words slightly. "Once the hangover dies down, I mean. What's the plan, guys?"
"We were thinking of setting up a presence in Nuevo," said Moriarty. His head was clearer than he thought once it got into strategic mode. "Arriving in force, and taking over one of the gangs. We find out how to use our numbers and our brains to make the most money, and we do it." He looked at his new road captain quizzically. "Mo, I have to ask, where did you get that phenomenal accent?"
"This is a native Cadarian accent, Jim," he replied. "I was born here, you see, and we get our accent from exposure to loads of different people. I grew up surrounded by 'death immigrants'. Americans. Brits. Irish. Scottish. Japanese. All sorts, really, because all sorts come to Cadaris. So native Cadarian accents are a weird love child of different speech types. And because of this, every accent is one hundred percent unique."
"Fascinating," said Fring. "Were your parents born here as well?"
"No," said Mo, sadly. "They're Afghans. They died on their wedding day, in 1980. A Soviet airstrike hit their Nikah and they died at the exact same time. Because they died at the same time, they woke up quite close to each other in the Elysian Fields."
"I'm sorry," said Moriarty.
"Don't be," the road captain said, brightly. "They're really happy here. They had me a year after they arrived. They live in a little town further north. I don't see them that often but they're happy."
"What about you, Duke?" Moriarty asked. "You seem really familiar to me, but I don't know your story."
"I was a journalist back on earth," said the Duke, who seemed remarkably less drunk than the others despite having clearly consumed more. "Back in the sixties, I followed the Hell's Angels on an assignment, and I've always been fascinated with the biker subculture. When me, Mo and some others founded the Hessians, I chose a biker gang as the archetype."
"Did you choose the name?" Fring asked.
"No, that was Culver, the big guy who passed out after his first amyl. He's a big history buff. I didn't have a clue who the Hessians were in the Revolutionary War, but Culver knows all that shit."
"How'd you die?" asked Moriarty. The Duke paused, took a drag of his holder-cigarette, and shook his head.
"Nah," he said. "Ya wouldn't believe me."
"Try us," said Fring.
"Alright," he said. "But this is the God's honest, you understand? The Protector's honest."
"Of course," Fring replied.
"I shot myself. I was a suicide. I had a lot of horrible medical conditions, and I couldn't take the pain anymore."
"You've got our sympathies, but why wouldn't we believe that?" said Moriarty.
"Because…well, don't you guys know? Suicides start the cycle again. They don't wake up as themselves." Seeing the blank expression on their faces, he continued: "Let me explain. When you two died, you woke up in the Elysian Fields as yourselves, right? But if you die of old age, you come back as a new born baby. People aren't supposed to keep aging indefinitely, they reach the end of their natural life and they come back to another world as a newborn baby. All lives have a natural expiration date. That newborn baby you become? They either reach that expiration date in one lifetime or die before it, in which case they wake up in the Elysian Fields, or in another world down the way. That's what we call 'the cycle', and it's the Protector's gift to us."
"Right, but how does that effect suicide?" Moriarty asked.
"Because for some reason…and literally no-one knows why, committing suicide ends your natural lifespan and you return as a baby on the next stage of the cycle. It makes no sense whatsoever."
"How do you know this?" Fring asked. "Surely these people don't retain their memories once they're a kid."
"Ninety-nine percent don't," said Mo, adding to the conversation. "But just like on your old earth, there are people who remember past lives. The majority of people who say they do are full of shit, or have got schizophrenia. But there are people who seriously remember their past lives. Down at Founder's Hill, that's where the Lord Protector rules from, there's an institute that, among other things, catalogues the deaths of the reborn and the past lives of the newborn. Guess what? Absolutely no reborns died of suicide, and the number of newborns who had is huge."
"Doesn't this institute know about you?" Moriarty asked the Duke.
"No, they stopped their suicide research around a year ago. It wasn't good for the newborns, because once you remember that you killed yourself, you start remembering why. They were using so many resources providing counselling to the newborns, that they thought they might as well declare a certainty."
"D'you have any ideas on why you didn't come back as a newborn?" Moriarty asked.
"Not a fuckin' clue," said the Duke, angrily. "And, you know what? Since I've got here, I've had two obsessions. Making the Hessians the best they can be, and finding out why I didn't cycle."
"You know what, Duke?" said Moriarty, and a grin crossed his face. "I told you earlier that I'd be able to help out with one of those. Now I think I can help you with both. You see…I'm a suicide, too."
The big boss regarded him with suspicious eyes, looking for a joke. He took another drink. "No shit? What happened? Did you get depressed?"
"No," he said, casually. "Not depressed. It was part of a puzzle. I had to…well, I had to win a battle of wits, and that was the only way how."
This made both the Duke and Mo burst out into peals of laughter, but one look at Moriarty's straight face told them that this was serious. "Alright," said the Duke. "You're hardcore, Jim. I see we were right to do this." He yawned. "I think I gotta turn in. This is too late a night for an old man like me."
"I gotta turn in, too," said Mo. "Where we headed tomorrow, boss? Er, bosses?"
"Tomorrow, we're headed to Nuevo," said Fring. "Nice and early."
"Nice and early," repeated Mo. "Okay, well, the boys have thrown a couple of mattresses out for you in the crash room. You coming?"
"Nah, I want to have a quick strategy meeting with my co-boss here," said Moriarty. "That alright?"
"By all means," said the Duke. "You're in charge now."
Once the two Hessians had left, Moriarty yawned, and paused for a moment to make sure no one was in earshot. "What do you think, Gus? Do we have an army here?"
"We've got the makings of one," said Fring.
"What do you make of all the suicide stuff?" said Moriarty. When Fring shrugged, he continued. "I think there's a reason I came back as a reborn, not a newborn. I don't know how the Duke fits into it, but I'm going to find out why I'm here. I think…I don't know, I think there's something special about me, Gus, and that it's that special thing that meant I didn't cycle. Whatever it takes…I'm going to get an answer to this."
"We should turn in," said Fring. "It's going to be a long day tomorrow."
They headed into the back room, and were struck by the sight of the whole gang, including Mo and the Duke, laying down on matresses lain side by side, double file. The soldiers were not so much sleeping as passed out drunk. Fring pointed to two vacant mattresses on the far end of the room, and they bedded down for the night.
It was Jimmy who shook them awake in the morning. The mattress Moriarty slept on was lumpy and filthy, but he had to admit it was a decent night's sleep. Some of the newer members of the gang had been charged with making an industrial breakfast of champions, with enough beef to feed the five thousand. Moriarty realised that the Hessian diet didn't include a lot of fibre, and was glad that they would be leaving the headquarters before he got the chance to try out the rusty outhouse that sufficed as a toilet.
"Does Nuevo have running water?" he asked Mark, the gang's spy, when he got a chance.
"Oh, yeah," Mark replied. There are only two water companies, and they're both just like cartels. They're worse than the gangs."
"Do you know a lot about Nuevo, Mark?" Fring asked, tucking into his beef.
"Not really. I haven't spied there yet, I only do the highway towns. I look too much like a yokel, I guess," he said, grinning.
"We're going to need someone who knows the city," said Moriarty. "A guide, like in Last of the Mohicans."
"Hey, Klebitz," Mark called out, to a tall Hessian with a shaved head, devouring beef. "You still know how to get hold of the Liverpool crew?"
"You mean Gary and Dean?"
"Who the fuck else?"
"Yeah, I know where to find 'em."
"These two little scousers will be the best guides to Nuevo you'll get," said Mark. "They don't look like much, but they know every inch of the city from top to bottom. They'll tell you which gangs to cross, which to avoid, and which to run away from as fast as you can. It's a dangerous place, Nuevo; if you're not in the know, you don't stand a chance."
Mo approached them from the other end of the headquarters. He did not seem as worse-for-wear as the others, probably due to his size. He ate from a handful of beef as he headed their way.
"Morning, fellas," he said in the accent that Moriarty still couldn't get used to. "I've secured two bikes for ya for the ride. Stoker's and Presswick's. Fast babies. They'll have to ride with Johnny K and Mahanza, but that don't matter. They understand hierarchy."
"We've got a car," Fring replied.
"Yeah, we're thinking of leaving that here, if it was alright with you guys. The bikes maintain the image, and that car's murder evidence anyway."
"Fair enough," said Moriarty. "I have to admit, I'm fascinated about the idea of riding one of those monsters."
Mo laughed and clapped him on the back. "Spoken like a true Hessian!" He led the two men outside, and the gang followed, their belongings in small bags. The Duke was last out, bleary-eyed and hung over, but looking every bit the Big Boss. In his hand was a liquor bottle.
"Today, we see a change," he said, addressing the Hessians. "The Hessians kick ass. We kicked ass in the beginning times. We kick ass now. And we will kick ass in the future. That's where these two men come in." He turned to the two men. "James Moriarty, known to the uninitiated as John Homes, do you swear to uphold the traditions of our order, and conduct your dealings with absolute loyalty to your brothers?"
"I do," said Moriarty.
"Gustavo Fring, known to the uninitiated as Walter Salamanca, do you swear to uphold the traditions of our order, and conduct your dealings with absolute loyalty to your brothers?"
"I do," said Fring.
"Mohammed Azeem Khan, do you swear to serve these two men faithfully as Road Captain, so long as they will require your help?"
"I do," said Mo.
"Then our business is concluded," said the Duke. "As the resigning Big Boss, my last act will be to enforce one of our core tenants. Scorched earth policy!"
Without warning, he threw the liquor bottle at the side of the wooden bungalow and it smashed, coating the area with alcohol. He took the holdered-cigarette out of his mouth and jabbed it into the alcohol, and the headquarters began to burn. The gang started to move as the flames rose, and within a few minutes the entire place was engulfed in fire.
"Place was good to us," said Mo. "Least we can give it is a Viking funeral."
They began to drive, and Moriarty got the first taste of what it was like to ride one of these huge, monstrous motorbikes. The first hundred feet felt like what he imagined horse breaking would. The beast groaned and clunked under his weight, and he found himself shifting around on it, unable to get a firm grasp. After he sped up, however, the bike yielded to his control, and he found himself incredibly enjoying the experience of riding it. He passed an eye over Fring, and he could see that he was similarly enjoying himself.
The riders assembled on the highway and stopped. Mo gestured for them to take a position at the front of the convoy, saying that it was customary in a mass ride that the Big Boss (or Bosses) take a position about a half-bike's length in front of the Road Captain.
"I'll still give you directions, though," he said. "As you guys don't know this place too well."
"How long a ride is it to Nuevo?" Moriarty asked.
"Just over a day."
Moriarty nodded, and raised a single fist in a power-gesture. "Hessians!" he shouted back. "Move out!"