Chapter 3: Lucky Talks with Osama bin Laden

North Korea, 2004.

The whirling of the portal faded around him; Lucky saw not the ruins of The Empty City, but rather, the crowded subways of a foreign space. Thousands of longpaws must've been walking along the crowded metal floors, where the shine of the bright lights above reflected on the metallic walls. Lucky padded along, his eyes focused on Osama as the two carried on.

A rope fell onto Lucky's neck. Osama tied it into a knot, preventing Lucky's thrashing from tossing it off. One end of the rope looped around Osama's hand once where he held it tight. He explained, "This is to keep you from running away."

Regret clouded Lucky's senses, his calmness interrupted by the realization that his decisions might be wrong. His thoughts swirled so fast that he felt young again, but in the situation he entered, Lucky would have preferred it if he was old and dying. "I thought you said I was going to wake up!"

Not even the Fierce-Dogs had cornered him as swiftly as Osama bin Laden had. He continued to drag Lucky through the subway, around the crowds of people who thought no differently. Osama paid no attention to Lucky's struggles, only his personal goals, which were yet to be discovered.

"We need to find someone… A ghost, similar to me. He will be hiding somewhere around this country, and only with your nose can we find him," Osama explained. Lucky swiveled his head to see the reactions of those around him, but no one took notice. How did I find myself in this situation?

"How do you know he's here?" Lucky demanded, snarling. "If I'd known you were going to drag me all over the world, I would've said no. I have a family to take care of, a pack. How long is this going to take?"

"So long as you complain and stall, forever," Osama replied, his voice cold. "His death was in Korea. It might be in North Korea, it might be in South Korea. I'm certain it will be in the North, but for the worst case, we'll search the South. Do you know how I smell?"

Lucky hesitated until his rope leash was tugged. "No," he padded over and checked his smell. It seemed like a dead longpaw's stench: Rotting flesh with a musky smell. Maybe some smoke? "You smell like you're dead."

Osama nodded. He forced Lucky along the subway floor, his claws borderline scraping the metal with how clumsy his steps were. "Now come on and find something. The sooner you identify Kim Il Sung, the faster you'll be home."

The rope proved strong; perhaps it was dead, too, as Lucky failed to gnaw it off. Osama brought him through the well-lit subway, pushing past the individuals who passed by. Lucky trudged on, his snout pointed towards an incoming train, its white body covered in red lines near the base. The markings were as reflective as the body itself, casting a shine against the bright lights.

"Do you know where you're going?" Lucky challenged, "if not, then you're better off leaving me be," he barked, but Osama ignored him. The man glared back, telling with his stare that he'd better keep his tongue tied.

"You changed your mind fast," Osama went on, "why did you even agree? You were so eager to help. I'd been in situations like that, regretting what had happened soon after I had done it…" his laugh rang out as Lucky cringed, tail falling. "If I'd ever done that!"

Lucky remained silent. He had changed it, the realization happening as soon as the truth slipped. Though, the mystery was present, with the true intent of Osama bin Laden hidden among his cloak. I'll have to go along with him, or I'll never see my friends again. His steps slowed. They are still there, waiting, but they don't know I'll never be back, if something happens to me.

"Come along," Osama repeated as Lucky had no choice but to pick up his pace. The duo went up a rather short staircase, proving that the time was not bright, but dark. Clouds covered the sky in an ominous gray hue, and the echoing calls of loudcages filled the night. A bird, so dark that it blended in when still, flew away from one tree and into the next, where it settled its feathers.

The trees were planted in a peculiar way, following order in a single line, each base branching at the tip and never at the middle or base, aside from a few small twigs. The lines stretched endlessly into the faded distance, one on each side of the road, giving life to the walkways where individuals passed.

"This isn't the city I know," Lucky stated. "Where are we?"

Checking both directions, Osama led Lucky to an alleyway, where he took a flashlight from his cloak. "I hate using this American technology, but for us, some sacrifices are worth making. Check where my light shines, will you?"

The torch lit up the alleyway, where trash bags lined the stone walls and unknown creatures hissed from the dark corners. Lucky followed the torch to its peak, peeped around, then looked back, the truth in his brown eyes. Osama flicked the light off, startling Lucky into rushing back.

"It isn't there," Osama said, already leaving the alley. Lucky followed him for a short while, pushing around the crowd who seemed mindless to the duo. He caught up for a few paces before his mind whirred with new questions. The search seemed to have an object- a prize that must be found. Lucky wondered if Osama bin Laden was tempting the Spirit Dogs for his bidding.

"What are you looking for?" Lucky asked. Osama refused an answer, ignoring him like the longpaws ignored them both. He persisted, the stress clawing his fur off. "You might have me on a leash, but that doesn't mean I'm following everything you say. Tell me or I'll risk myself with the loudcages."

"I thought dogs were loyal. Isn't the American phrase 'man's best friend' ringing a bell?" Lucky kept his head low but let Osama speak. "You ought to obey me. Not only am I your new owner, but I declare you my helper. Together, we will prove how wrong the world is by destroying the ones who declare war against us. Obey, and you will not only see your friends, but you will be one of Earth's greatest heroes."

The offer proved tempting, and Lucky considered bending in, but doing so would break all the pain and loss he went through in the past. His muzzle grayed with the days, his bones ached, and his mind felt the pain that had happened so long ago yet felt fresh in his head. At times, he could almost hear it; see the battles; experience the loss. But, that was all behind, he had to learn it. And yet, he could not.

Lucky kept his silence to ignore any pressure; he followed Osama without question from that point on. Each alley that was shined into, Lucky explored, which is when Osama would shake his head and walk another block down. The night seemed empty but it roared with loudcages bright in the dark, though the stars could not shine above forever.

At dawn, the duo found an abandoned den near two dens flourishing in decor. The rundown den wore a wooden frame, its clear-stone gone but the sight-holes present. Only parts could be seen of where the clear-stone was, as planks had replaced it but seemed equally as worn. Lucky sniffed the house, detecting a strong odor of mold. His attempts to tell Osama were shut down; he had another plan, as clear by his confident motions.

Behind the building, a stairway remained, short and as hard as hardstone. A small lock held the door shut, the device knocked down with a firm tug by Osama. "It's rusty," he explained, opening the door and stepping inside. Lucky followed, eyes on the destroyed ruins around him.

The den was fancier than those at home, who were constructed from earthy hollows and made soft with moss. Here, the wooden walls, while broken and peeling, proved a secure hideout from the Spirit Dogs' wrath. The floor creaked now and then as they moved about, but it was nothing to note. Lucky got used to it rather fast.

None of the typical longpaw furnishings were present. Some imprints on the floors and walls suggested that this was not the case, though that time had long passed. And the world kept on turning, like this little house could have never existed at all. Lucky checked for any longpaw scents, and not a single one could be found outside of Osama.

Few lights illuminated the room, which was further confirmed when Osama flicked a white lighter, which would normally brighten the room. "No electricity," he muttered under his breath. "Is this place full of rats, too?"

Lucky wanted to say no, but the treatment and itching mystique had left him sour and resentful. Giving Osama a bit of his fear, even if it was almost unnoticeable, gave him a form of reassurance. "Are we sleeping here?"

"No, we're going to die here," he spat in return, shaking his head. "The least I could do is find a sharp object to cut my beard down. This thing is filthy, and heavy, and does it make me look any less threatening?"

Each word was spoken with the purest of hatred. Part of Lucky said that this was the result of his restless spirit, but the more sinister side suggested that it was all an act. The most realistic idea was that Osama was not at all a nice guy. Lucky felt the grasp of the rope loosen as Osama searched around, and so he padded to a patch of grass sprouting between the planks, located near the boarded windows.

The spot was one of the few soft places, not that Lucky felt any more comfortable. Osama continued to mutter as he looked around, opening and closing doors. It raised another question, one that Osama should have the answer to. Lifting his aching head, "How come your hand went through me but you can interact with other objects just fine?"

Osama shrugged. "Middle Eastern Ghost Magic™."

The explanation, given the situation it was used in, made perfect sense. Lucky returned his head to the floor, eager to shut his eyes to get some rest. The honking and busy chatter of the outside world rang in his ears, their noise unfiltered from the lack of soundproof walls.

"Ah, here it is," Osama suddenly said, stirring Lucky's attention. "My Ghost-locatinator. With Lucky's smell and this device's detection, we should find a ghost trail soon."

All of a sudden, Lucky jumped to his paws, intrigue bringing him back to Osama. "Ghost trail? How can a ghost leave a trail if it's dead? I understand how smell does that- a ghost, I expect, has a rotten smell, but physical proof?"

"What a doubter, you are," Osama scoffed. "If you knew who I was, you would understand how powerful I am, and how much regret you'd be pooling in for your doubt. A ghost can leave a trail of ghostly plasma where it goes. By fine-tuning this here device, I'll pick up the trail of Kim Il Sung."

Lucky's eyes grew narrow. His explanations seemed to make enough sense but too little sense at the same time, to the point where Lucky could not tell if he was deluding himself into believing. "And what use does my nose serve? Can't you get through this plan without me, and leave me be with my family?"

"No, you're the most crucial part, but that's a story that you will learn later," Osama waved him away, but changed his mind upon seeing Lucky's ability to roam free. He grabbed the rope, much against Lucky's will, and tied it to a nearby piece of wood, ensuring that the piece was durable enough to last the night. As an extra measure, Osama placed an object to weigh the rope down. The rope was long enough to avoid choking Lucky, but short enough that he couldn't climb out the window.

"We should get rest," Osama stated. "Sleep well into the morning. Ghosts are active at night, and so if we wake up later, we can avoid the distraction of sleepiness."

His voice was muted to Lucky's folded ears. All he wanted to do was sleep, rest and sleep, and wake up in a better place under better circumstances. If only life had a way…