Chapter 8: Dead Souls

They needed to act quickly if they were going to pull this off. It wouldn't be long until Hawke showed up at the gates with his people. Wolf had already left not long ago. Assuming he succeeded in taking out the members of the New Order nearby, that would hurt Hawke's efforts. After that, the rest would be left to Revy and the three tagalongs. This group had been formed for a while by the sounds of things; Pius made it clear that Hawke mentioned they had been training for almost a year during his meeting with the mysterious stranger at the bar. But there was one thing that put them at a disadvantage. Their numbers were made up of deserters and runaways from both the F.A.R.C. and the Colombian cartel. That alone put major limitations on any attempt to replenish their numbers. Because of this, the plan Pius and Garcia had put in motion would cripple their efforts. There would be no reinforcements, no contingency plan and no escape. If they managed to get Hawke alone, nobody would be coming to his rescue. Revy smiled at the thought. She had been less than content to come along to Venezuela but she had to admit this was going to be fun. It would be refreshing to go up against an enemy that would be practically incapable of retaliating. They would fall by her hand and she would be there to watch them crumble to pieces.

"I gotta say," she began roguishly. The room her and Rock were in was spacious enough for their needs. Rock was currently stood by the window, watching the grounds below. His eyes were unfocused and he wasn't exactly paying attention to what Revy was saying. She may as well have been talking to herself. "Taking the fight to these douchebags is gonna be fun. How many do you think will be there, fifty? Sixty? Hell, it doesn't matter. It'll be a piece of cake wasting them in their own little refuge. They ain't gonna know what hit 'em." Rock did not respond. Instead, he produced a cigarette from his pocket and stuck it between his lips, lighting it moments later. He assumed the Lovelaces would prefer if he didn't smoke, despite the fact that Garcia had not explicitly said so to them. But Rock did not care that much right now.

The flame from the lighter burned its light into his eyes for just a second before it was extinguished and his sight was briefly drowned in shadow. "And even fucking Chinglish dragged her annoying ass all the way over here just so she could be part of the shitshow. What a riot. Still, can't say I'm surprised. It ain't like her to pass up an opportunity to make a quick buck. Especially these days." Again, that was met with silence. Rock wasn't sure if Revy was trying to coax a response out of him or if she was genuinely thinking out loud. He hoped it was the latter. That way, he wouldn't have to half-heartedly contribute to the conversation. She must have noticed his silence then, prompting her to fall in beside him and pluck the cigarette from his mouth. "You gonna finish this?" she asked apathetically before taking a drag. It didn't look like she had any intentions of giving it back to him. "Hey, Rock. The fuck has you so spooked? You're not telling me these jackasses actually have you worried." They didn't. Rock knew as well as the rest of them that the New Order, as frightening and capable as they were, stood no chance against the force rallied against them. They were no Dead Men. No, there were other things that plagued Rock's mind, old forgotten things.

"I've been thinking," he began slowly. "There's a community in Denmark that was founded in the early 1900s. It originally began as a religious sect made up of farmers and former bishops. They settled down on an island off the coast of the southwest. According to the community's leaders, they practiced an unfamiliar form of Christianity. Their teachings didn't follow the rules of any church. In their mind, they were self-governed. But they were doomed from the beginning. They started out dedicated to teaching the way of the Lord, to practicing their religion in peace. That didn't last. By 1979, the bishops had gotten themselves involved with the wrong people. The Serb Mafia began moving in on the community. After that, everything they produced, everything they owned, belonged to them. A year later, one of the Mafia's representatives had taken over leadership of the community. They destroyed themselves from the inside out. Before 1986, the whole community had been turned into an extension of the Mafia's influence. I'd be surprised if it wasn't like Roanapur there now." Revy sighed.

"I hope you're going somewhere with this, Rock."

"Usagi told me Hunter visited the community," Rock continued. Revy started at the mention of the Chinese girl's name. "She overheard him recounting the tale to her father one night. I don't know if he was working with the Serb Mafia, but he apparently had business there of some kind. The community may have been run by criminals, but most of the people living there were sons and daughters of the original founders. A few had even willingly submitted to their new masters. One of them spoke to Hunter, told him that when the Mafia first arrived, they had seen fit to…well, let's just say it wasn't a seamless transition. The residents weren't treated with kindness. They spoke a mantra to give them hope during the worst of times, a quote from their revised bible. 'Døde mænd og døde sjæle.' It means 'Dead Men and Dead Souls.' They spoke that to each other as a comfort, Revy. They used it to get themselves through the worst times. They were so numb to the horror of their new world that they willingly accepted their fate. Their message of 'hope' to one another was a sentiment for the recently deceased." Revy did not interrupt. She might have at one point, but she held her tongue and allowed Rock to finish his story.

"What's your point?" she asked him at last. He finally looked up from the grounds of the estate below and met Revy's eyes, those curious, raw eyes.

"They already considered themselves dead, Revy," he told her. "They saw no point in fighting for a future anymore. They were dead souls. The walking dead. Just like Roanapur."

(*)

Roberta looked around her solemnly. She recognised this room well. The smell in the air, the colour of the walls, the large wooden desk. All of it was as familiar to her as it had been when she first stepped foot in here too long ago. This had once been the study of Diego Lovelace, the Young Master's father. Back then, he had been good friends with her own father. During a darker time in her life, she sought refuge here from those who pursued her relentlessly. The irony of the current situation was not lost on her. Rather than see her on her way and leave her to her business, he offered her a place in the estate. He knew what awaited her out there if she was to be on her way. And he was not content to let her resume the cat and mouse she had been playing with the people who wanted her dead. Were it not for his kindness, she may not be breathing now. And she would never have grown so close with Garcia. But that was some time ago. These were memories of a different time, of things long since set in stone. Diego Lovelace was gone. Dead and buried.

"Did you hear me?" Pius's soothing voice came. Roberta snapped out of it and looked across at him. He had seen fit to position himself in front of her. The window to her right looked down below to the estate grounds. The sight was quite beautiful. Roberta sighed deeply.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't hear you. Forgive me." Pius smiled at her. He was a gentle man, kind and understanding. Not only that, but he was a man of God. He had made it clear he was a devout believer and he prayed below in the garden during his visits. He fit in quite well here. But Roberta had of course been aware of his true nature. He was a killer like the others who had come here today. She could see it in his eyes the moment he arrived. When he first showed up outside the gates, it had been shortly after the Lovelaces returned from Roanapur once Godswrath had been dealt with. Then, he had been heavily wounded. Garcia brought him inside and allowed him to remain for a few days. He never explained who it was that had attacked him but he did assure the family they were in no danger. Roberta had seen parts of herself in the priest. Perhaps that was why she warmed to him so quickly.

After that, he had been returning to the estate monthly to meet with her. They spoke of many things; religion, crime, past experience. Their conversations had been almost therapeutic for the incapacitated maid. But recently he had been looking deeper into her past. He managed to learn about her exploits in Roanapur after she took up the Bloodhound persona once more in search of those responsible for Diego's death. Not only that, but she had opened up to him about her hallucinations. During that time, she began to see the image of one of her victims, an image that tortured her already strained mind. She met with the man's family to make her peace with what she had done. But guilt is an ugly thing. If left to fester, it can do more damage than any bullet.

"No need to apologise," Pius told her warmly. "I asked if you were sleeping well these last few weeks." In truth, she hadn't. It had only been just shy of a month since Hunter Woods had been killed and his organisation left in ruins. Roberta had a theory that being called out of retirement distracted her mind enough to effectively allow her to ignore any complex emotions she may have been feeling. During her down time, they began to resurface. But, again, the Wolf came calling once more to enlist her for a mission to hunt down an assassin named Black Bear. And so her mind was again occupied, something that afforded her some semblance of peace, despite the horrors of what had been happening in Roanapur at the time. However, after the business with the Dead Men had been concluded, a sense of finality came with their demise.

Left alone with her thoughts, Roberta had almost been driven mad. She had been forced to face the reality that her conscience weighed heavily on her. She saw faces in her dreams and images of death. Countless men, women and children that had been slaughtered in the name of revolution; members of the Grey Fox team, their bodies broken and lifeless; Kane standing over her, machete in hand; Lucille pacing up and down; Max Kepler's throat torn from him; Hunter Woods ready to end it all. Her mind was restless and corrupted with the things she had seen and done. She had started to come to terms with things after meeting the family of the man she saw during her rampage in Roanapur, but he had been one victim out of many.

"No," she answered Pius truthfully. He would know if she was lying, anyway. "I've been having dreams again. I see them all. Night after night."

"Of course you do," he told her. "That's what makes you human. That's how you know you haven't lost yourself. Hold onto that feeling, Roberta. It's what separates you from these other degenerates." She was not sure what to make of that. She could appreciate the sentiment, but it did little to help her beyond that. She would continue to see them at night. These feelings would not go away so easily. And considering she had been indirectly postponing a confrontation with her emotions, this may well have just been the beginning. Roberta had a long and harrowing path ahead of her.

"Thank you, Father," she told him weakly. "I feel better already."