Time is a strange thing. People think it passes at the same rate all over but they are wrong. Seconds trickle by in the boring office while hours float by in enjoyment. Past precedes present, future constantly dangles out of reach. Physics proves such ideas also wrong. Particles that age backwards, observations that only make sense when the clock is taken from the table.
Once calendars were ignored in favour of clocks and the sort of wavy graph lines that made people dizzy, what seemed impossible suddenly became possible. So – in one vein of understanding – at the same time that Crow's flight was making a diversion over northern Mongolia to avoid a powerful weather front that had erupted from out of nowhere, a young man was hurrying in from the rain in a city far below. An almost permanent traveller by nature, he fit right in with the nomadic society. In a weird way, he felt right at home.
As the door creaked shut behind him, a figure lurched feet down from the old desk as it tried to pretend that it had been paying attention all along. "Afternoon, Ganzorig." Reaching for a remote, the grumpy old man turned down the crackly television set on the corner of the counter.
"Hey, John. How's it going?" Certain names are more easily pronounced across the world. Whenever the young man found himself somewhere that his name was a bit out of the norm, he went simply by 'John'.
"Not bad." The pouring rain was letting him keep a hat hung low and his face hidden without being noticeably unsociable. "Bit wet out." Going incognito was easier than having to answer a lot of very pointed questions. Far too many people knew his face for the sort of work that he did to be done easily.
"Never known weather like this." Nor did Ganzorig know much about why John was in town. "Damn storm came out of nowhere. Probably this 'climate change' stuff they keep talking about in the news. Damn scientists keep changing their mind about if it's a good or bad thing." How anyone could choose to believe that irreversible damage to the global environment could be for the better was beyond the understanding of better minds. "I don't know. They keep saying it's the end of the world."
"Look on the bright side," Mounting the stairs that led to the second floor, John walked beneath a lightbulb that flickered at died with his passing. "It's not as if it would be the first time. We just have to make sure it doesn't stick."
Once upon a time, there had been a talented young Duellist. Not academically inclined, a bit ignorant on certain social matters yet quickly recognised for sheer talent on the Duel Field. There was an infectious nature to his smile as well. No matter how much his rivals grew to hate his talent, they grew to respect the way that he managed to keep forging on ahead.
There had come a time – as there was for all things – when all the good times with his friends came to an end. Now, most people would have been sad. The last time they had collectively seen of him was a light being turned off in a far away building. Then he had simply vanished from off the face of the planet.
Despite an exhaustive search by local authorities, there was no indication of his departure. Nobody could tell where he had gone, how he had left or even exactly when. 'Don't worry about it' his friends would say. 'He's just gone off to help people'. Exactly who he was helping was always a bit of a mystery. Word would filter back from time to time that he had been seen in this city or drifting around that country. All of the friends would try to chase down the leads if they were close enough yet usually ended up missing him by a matter of hours. When they happened to meet whoever he had been helping, it could be anyone from a powerful politician to a child who looked as if the sun had only just started shining for them.
Money was never much of an issue for the travelling souls. It was as if the universe had a knack for presenting opportunities to him when he needed them. Maybe it was a generous paycheck from one of those well-connected people, perhaps a grateful relative of a smiling child owned a small plane and was willing to give their new hero a lift. Living a frugal life and taking advantage of whatever free food was available went a long way in keeping costs down.
There was rarely any pattern to where the young man would end up. Until two months before, he would have never thought about going to Mongolia. Now he was fluent in the language and could describe the major history to the decade. He was also currently staying in a city on the northern border called Erdenet.
Currently lying down on the creaky bed in his room with a grunt of discomfort, several muscles were starting to complain from a rigorous workout that that had been put through without warning. Helping people wasn't the only skill that John was good at. It happened that a lot of his altruistic work ran almost directly alongside more sinister deeds. If police around the world were able to map all of John's movements over the past few years, they would eventually notice an astonishing pattern.
In dozens of places, a highly-ranked criminal organisation would be hit by severe misfortune.
Exact details varied. Sometimes a fire would break out and burn down safe houses or destroy expensive items. Others might include anonymous tips to the police with the locations of stolen goods and the perpetrators. What was really weird was just how little information that the authorities had before any of these incidents. In some cases, they were completely unaware of any activity at all.
No decent police officer particularly liked or wanted crime but – as the old saying went – it was better to have organised crime than random chaos. Which was why deals were frequently cut with bosses, arrangements made to 'look the other way' for a brief period. Even when rival gangs clashed against each other did the police try to force them apart. Nobody wanted a gang war. Which made it almost inconceivable that the appearance of a single man could be causing so much disruption. Even if they were intent on some crusade against any particular group, one person could rarely do much damage without help.
That is, this is what police would think if they knew any of it.
What they would soon know was that a counterfeiting factory had been reported in a small city in Mongolia. According to witnesses at the scene, it had sounded like a Duel was going on inside. Then everything went quiet. No witnesses had been on hand as an outline slowly slipped from a high window and cut their hand as they did so. Nor had there been any at the far end of the alleyways that a slightly limping figure had emerged from.
"Next time." Muttering the words at the ceiling past a twisted ankle, pounding head and agonising hand, John probably sounded mad to anyone listening in. "We just bust through the wall." A moment passed. "No, definitely the wall. I can't work that well without both hands." A weary sigh escaped the lips. As much as John loved to constantly see new sights, meet new cultures and help people, not having a place to take stock of his situation was starting to dawn on him. Everything was full-on the entire time.
Fate – never one to miss an opportunity – stepped in. A slight rumble rustled in one pocket. Dipping a hand in without looking, he brought the glowing screen of a mobile to hover over his face. Then he sat up as he read the words.
John had little idea of who would infrequently send him messages. His contact was constantly shifting through numbers and never minced words. If they had not been vouched for from the highest levels, John would have been more suspicious of their trustworthiness. As it was, the only concrete evidence that he had been given had been the words 'probably best that you listen to the advice' about ten months ago. It hadn't exactly been an occasion where his brain would let him to anything other than smile and agree to everything.
Ulaanbaatar. 22nd, 10 pm. Another buzz ran through his hand as more words arrived. Be early this time. It is important. One time (or maybe two) John had been delayed and missed a crucial deadline. Exactly what he had missed was unclear, only that the informant had been upset with his performance on those four rare occasions. Or was it five? That wasn't the important issue just then.
Ulaanbaatar was the Mongolian capital a short distance to the south. At a distance of about 230 miles, it would be a brief trip in most other countries. Mongolia was by no means lacking in technology but traditionally enjoyed their nomadic lifestyle. People would travel gently across the entire country or stay close to their home. Extensive mechanical infrastructure simply didn't exist.
Exactly one train went from Erdenet to the capital city each day. Buses – bizarrely – went several times a day yet took nearly eight hours of radically slow travel. The roads were in dire repair and generally served more as guidelines of travel rather than an actual method. If he got the next bus, John could arrive in the early hours of the morning. Otherwise, he would have to wait until the next train could deliver him in the evening.
Anyone who had spent as long travelling about as Crow or John would learn the advantages of being a fast packer. Within ten minutes of the message arriving, John had cleared up any trace that he had been in the room and was limping in the direction of the stairs.
"Just heard from a friend that the police caught some counterfeiters with a pretty sweet setup." Ganzorig had his feet propped up on the counter again as John reached the ground floor. Anyone who was coming from above already knew he was incredibly laid back. "You checking out?"
"Depends." Checkout was technically in the morning. That didn't stop guests from leaving the night before. All that hosts generally cared about was having the extra day included in the bill. "Any chance of seeing anything exciting with the police?"
"Nah." Ganzorig dragged an old ledger from one drawer as he moved his legs from the wooden surface. "They've got it all tidied up nicely. Not even a chance of somebody trying for an escape."
"Looks like I'll be going then." Calculations were made, notes switched hands, bills were settled. "I don't suppose you could scribble in for me?" A signature was needed but John held up a thickly plastered thumb to indicate that he was clearly not up to holding a pen at that moment. "Cut myself shaving this morning. Stings like you wouldn't believe."
"At least you got rid of that scruff." For the first few days that he had been staying, the vague outlines of a beard had been starting to creep over John's face. "Take it from a guy with more experience, you don't have the right sort of face for scruff. Get yourself a proper beard or nothing at all."
"Ganzorig, you're not the only person who's told me that recently." It seemed that there was a voice constantly offering unwanted advice to John. "Thanks for everything." As John turned to leave, Ganzorig cleared his throat pointedly.
"You taking the bus to Ulaanbaatar then?" Far from telepathy, it was just the obvious answer. Nobody would be going out into the coming night without a destination in mind. Since the daily train had already departed, there was only the much cheaper bus that he could be taking.
"Yeah." Smiling over one shoulder, John could put a hopeful spin on anything. "Best to get an early start in the big city. Thought that I'd get some sleep during the ride there."
"Here." Throwing a slightly threadbare blanket across the gap, a pointed scowl intended to make it clear that Ganzorig didn't actually like the young man. It wouldn't do for word to get around that he wasn't the stony figure he pretended to be. "Payment for finding that old card of mine." On his first morning at the inn, John had located a faded Duel Monsters card fallen down the infinitesimal gap between the counter and the wall.
"Thanks." Tucking the blanket through the strap of his patched bag, John shrugged off the accomplishment. "Give me a call if you lose track of it again. I'll come to help you look." Anyone else would have made the words sound sarcastic yet there was a refreshing honesty about the freshly shaved face. Giving one last wave as the door was closed, John set a purposeful stride in the next leg of his constant journey.
In one form of understanding, 'John' was boarding the bus out of town at about the same time as Crow entered Japanese airspace. In another – more traditional and accepted – form of understanding, it was seventy-nine years before.
Fun fact: Mongolia has a lower population as a country than some cities do. Ulaanbaatar actually holds nearly half the entire population with 1.3 million residents.
In exchange for those amazing (yet fairly useless) facts, how about you leave an equally amazing (and much less useless) review?
(And yes, the title is a Monster's Inc. reference. You know you love it.)
Update: If anyone happened to catch an update notification, it was my bad. My numbers got a bit muddled. The last line orignally read "seventy-five years before". Simple mistake once you know why it happened.