Ah, graceful merc lines.
The last stand of humanity in this ocean of savagery and anarchy, proving an understanding can be achieved even between the most conflicted.
Ah, great merc lines.
With your timetables so loose and delays so frequent, you always bring unimaginable joy to those in need whenever a beast of iron approaches its stop.
Ah, merc lines so kind, what would anyone ever do without you?
With an army of gentle beasts at your disposal, you protect and transport, blind to any influences, any bribes and deaf to sweet, deceptive whispers. You serve the people of Kazdel, both good and bad, without asking why or when, simply giving a condition and getting the job done.
Andy felt a sense of warmth envelop him as the crudely put together armored bus stopped in front of him, bearing a plethora of colorful personalities within. The young and old, the bright and dim, armed and unarmed, dead and alive. Clinging to their seats, laying down in the miniscule hallway in between, hanging from the ceiling, everyone had their own little place within the beast's belly. Everyone was welcome to come and taste peace.
The boy hastily purchased a ticket from the driver and heard the heavy, metallic door close behind him. The iron colossus came to life with a mighty roar of its engine and shot forward, nearly knocking Andy off his feet. He dusted himself off and took a seat.
Such loud and lively was his company. A group of old sarkaz men slouched by a portable table, moving rooks over their chess boards and mumbling about them "Good 'ol days" took a decent portion of the bus' back area. Right by them, scattered around the back exits sat two completely opposite mercenary groups, both fit with a banner bearer of their respective clan. Seemingly bored, cleaning their gear, engaging in small talk with one another, knowing they would be jumping at their throats the second they reach their destination. Two rough figures sat side by side among the groups, both leaders of their posse's. One, a short, one-eyed banshee. The other, a towering goliath of a devil. Laughing gleefully and gossiping the lazy morning away, differences were put aside in favor of some quality time away from the horrors of war. Such were the merc lines. So much more than just a mere means of public transport - a testament to the genuine worth and importance of merc solidarity. When all other gods and deities have failed, these divine temples of calm and peace remained unchanging and all so reliable. It wasn't written down anywhere, nor was it ever said out loud, but the importance and holiness of these buses as a symbol of humanity remained untouched by the volatile nature of Kazdel. Each and every merc out there, with even a mere ounce of self respect knew that preying on these iron beasts was the absolute lowest of low blows - far, far below the belt.
Andy took a look to his other side - seeing the futureless youth of Kazdel, children turned to street performers, newspaper merchants or petty thieves, traveling from town to town without a ticket. An old man with a sickly sniffling young boy sat far away from anyone else, surrounded by absolute emptiness. The kid had prominent shards of originium sticking out of his face and limbs - piercing his left eye, leaving it completely covered by the black mass. A trail of crystals ran down his entire body, from the very base of his sarkaz horns all the way down to his torn trousers. Andy couldn't help but stare shamelessly, clutching his rifle close. He's never seen someone this deep into oripathy already. Lone cases, merciless casters here and there, sure, but never such a young child, never this far gone. He shuddered at the mere thought of his own body ever sprouting such cancerous rocks and succumbing to the killing disease. As far as he knew, there was no cure. No way out other than death, no remedy. He knew how it affected one's mental capabilities, enhancing arts efficacy and turning people crazy. That's all they taught at school back in Laterano, anyway.
Ah, Laterano, Laterano, the great White City… A mere turn of his thoughts towards that monument of sankta civilization was enough to send him on a one way tour down memory lane, heading towards that beloved red hallway filled with photographs. A loud salvo of laughter woke him from the dream-like state, sending a bright blush to cover his face. What if there was a mind reader in the vicinity? They'd be up for one hell of an embarrassing ride, that's for sure. That made him wonder - what if anyone was to ever discover the little, secretive, late night travels to that intimate, idyllic land of his deepest fantasies? Would be a bummer, he thought.
Hours spent staring out the window passed in peace, a nice change of pace for once. He thanked the driver and got off at his stop, welcomed by the unnaturally civilized city of Gornac. While it may have been technically different from the makeshift towns full of wooden huts and extreme poverty, it wasn't any better. Brutal, but in a different way.
Resting under the dim, colorless sky, were rows upon rows of silent, umoving blocks of gray concrete, lining the dead residential area. Looking out at the world through their endless windows and miniscule balconies, seeing the bleak reality they were born into by the restless hands of the honest men and women of this cruel land. Far too tall for their own good, silent and stuffy inside, promoting a lifestyle of never ending "solitude within a crowd", listening to your neighbors' arguments through the thin walls of cheap gypsum. Andy felt a light sense of dread as he dragged himself through the empty street, passing the towering concrete giants. As if the apartment blocks themselves were watching him, judging and filling his stomach with an immense sense of exclusion. Everything felt so distant, so fake and insincere. Empty playgrounds, bleached grass, dusty cars, an ocean of pavement and hills of concrete. When passing by an open window, he'd hear muffled radio broadcasts and worried voices dancing around in a troupe of sorrow and anxiety. Such was the "peaceful" civilian life in Kazdel.
His legs led him towards the city's heart, dead and beatless. A concrete plaza filled with commercial novelties - a few bars with loud neons in front, some pleasure dens (accompanied by a conveniently placed loch hospital next door), alluring with various signs promising the lowest of prices and highest quality of services, a bunch of empty restaurants and a gigantic, faceless statue in front. Andy stopped to look at the stone herald, icked by his complete lack of any and all personality. Not even a fancy pose, just blind concrete to fill the empty space.
Giving into the city's monotony, he wandered into one of the bars, narrowly avoiding any pleasure houses, as per Hedley's advice ("They maim the mind and tear away the heart, but what do I know, I'm just a merc.") The interior was exactly what he had imagined. Roughly painted walls, cheap bar stools lined along a wooden counter, beer taps protruding from the top, a few shelves filled with various brandless bottles behind. There wasn't a single soul here. Not even a barkeep, not even a mouse roaming wild or a fly buzzing about.
Andy sat by the bar and dropped the rifle by his side. His only drinking buddy at the moment.
Letting curiosity take over, he leaned over the counter and nudged one of the taps. A few drops of the golden liquid seeped out, falling into the depths of a drain below. He took one more thorough look around the place and shrugged. What the eye doesn't see, the heart does not grieve over.
After messily pouring himself a foam filled pint, he sat back down and took the first sip. Bitter.
The more alcohol entered his body the better the taste became. Day drinking during the crisp hours of the morning wasn't something he had planned for today, but it wasn't unwelcome either. Especially given that the liquor was free.
Hours passed, and before he knew it, the bar filled with dirty, honest laborers, coming back from the fields, the mines and the factories, all eager to wash away the oripathy inducing dust off their gullets with a fresh pint of the good stuff. The sight of a teenage boy, well under the influence did not bother them even a tiny bit. They sat by the tiny tables near the plaster-losing walls, mumbling about their days, their land and their never ending war. Such was the leisure time in Kazdel.
No one bothered to pay any attention to Andy, who was softly swaying from side to side with a wide grin plastered all over his face. There he was, the king of the entire world, armed with a life taking apparatus, a wolf among sheep. Just five beers in, yet already on the brink of blacking out, too drunk to remember the act he usually puts on in front of others. Forgetting about everything else in the world, about Laterano, about Mr Ricketts on his neck, about Droz and Isaiah at the table, about Lemuel, waiting for him in the night's calming embrace, about Mostima, the herald of guilt, he left his seat and went to take a piss. When he saw himself in the bathroom's mirror, his pathetic mind regained consciousness and he broke down crying.
Such were the days spent in Gornac, among the devilish worshippers of peace and uncertainty. He woke early in a concrete hotel, spent the day aimlessly wandering the streets and drank until he passed out, only to repeat the cycle the very next day. Time passed, no one bothered to come and drag the boy out of this cycle of misery. Had they already forgotten? Wouldn't be the first time, his drunk mind thought. W probably found a better replacement. A better shot. A better class of human, a devil.
He raised his mug, taking a long, hungry sip. The taste had stopped being bitter a while back, turning to a sweet symphony of hints and flavors, filling his mind with nothing but happy thoughts of nothing in particular. He sighed and took a look around. Laborers, again. He spent yet another day drinking.
A hand tapped him on the shoulder. Here comes the tollman, eager to ask him for a debt he can't pay off. That's it.
A large man sat by his side, dropping off his sword by the counter. His crimson hair fell over his face as he turned towards the boy, leaning his elbow on the bar.
"Let yourself go, did you?"
Andy was lying flat on the bar, face buried in his arms. He looked up at the half empty mug in front of him and shrugged.
"Not really. Just enjoying my leave."
His words came out just a tad bit too slurred for his own liking.
"Uh-huh. It's half past four and you're already knee deep."
"I'm not."
"If that's what you want to believe. I'm just a mercenary like you, after all. What do I know?"
Yet, he took the mug away and took a sip himself. Didn't even shudder at the taste, that alcoholic.
"... So? What took you guys so long?"
"Complications."
"What complications? W throwing a tantrum? Ines lost a knife or something-..."
"W's dead."
Andy felt the alcohol's soothing grasp on his mind immediately lift. His stomach dropped to the very floor, spilling guts on the way out of his body.
"Dead?"
"Dead."
"Like, dead-dead?"
"The job was more or less a massacre. We got some cheap manpower to take your place and they… Did not perform. Ines and I barely got out alive, W blew himself up to buy us time. Finally got to use that grenade belt of his."
The way he spoke about the madman, it was so casual, so unfeeling. As if he was nothing but a mere tool to the two, after all. Or maybe Andy was just easily getting unreasonably attached to the wrong people.
"... No goodbyes, no nothing?"
"You and I both know W wasn't the kind of person to indulge in sappiness. What's done is done, people die, the war goes on. One less cog in the machine."
"Uh-huh."
Andy lifted himself off the table and gave a big stretch.
"... Means you're looking for a replacement, then? Want me to take over that sweet rifle of his? I could use a-..."
"No, that's not why I came here. I'm here to pick you up, not replace anyone."
"Oh. But the rifle…?"
"You'll see, Andy."
Hedley finished the boy's drink and stood up, heading for the exit. He followed suit, drunkenly stumbling around. His mind might've sobered up, but his body surely didn't.
"Got any plans? Jobs? Bounties? Hell, I'll even take cargo moving at this point. Logistics is the future, yeah…?"
"Been busy these past few days. Doing a lot of babysitting, believe it or not."
The redhead let a chuckle escape his lips, breaking his ever so stoic demeanor.
"Babysitting? Nannying Ines around, huh? Sounds like fun when I'm not around."
"Not Ines."
"... Oh?"
A question mark formed amidst his drunken mess of blurry thoughts.
"Some new hire, huh? Worse than me?"
"You'll see. You seem to be cut from the same cloth. At heart, at least."
"..."
Andy didn't understand whether it was a good thing or not.
The bleak, monotone silence of the city was suddenly broken by an explosion in the far distance, so fierce and barbaric, desecrating the town's ever so calm reality. The two exchanged a quick glance of confusion, both having a very different source in mind. They ran through the concrete ocean, heading for the echoing sound.
Another explosion filled their ears as they got closer, making Andy jump. It seemed loud enough to have gone off just around the corner, only a few blocks from his hotel. They ran and ran, a loud, maniacal laughter filling their ears. Cold and sharp, the kind that'd keep you up at night and freeze the blood in your veins, but with a light, girly undertone to it. Didn't sound like Ines, though, so who could possibly…
Having passed the corner, a sight straight from hell graced their eyes. A sea of hellfire sprouting from the empty road's concrete plains, two wounded beasts of iron lying on their sides amidst the chaotic landscape - merc line buses, like bison, wounded after a ferocious hunt. In the middle of it all stood the one responsible, a hetman of darkness, the cruel hand of this very land - clad in rags of war, a cloak of night on their back, they stood, unflinching, cackling like a mental asylum escapee. Andy stopped in his tracks, the fire reflecting in his gray irises, a feeling of genuine sorrow growing within. Oh, merc lines, so greatly betrayed, please forgive the wicked.
His gaze wavered and locked on the hellish hunter, the desecrator of a law unspoken but widely upheld. With their hair so pure and bright, the color of North Kazdelian snow, their horns so crimson, like blood and wine, their tail so thin and slick, sharp enough to cut even the toughest of metals, his lightly inebriated mind couldn't help but wonder if he was imagining things. W was supposedly dead, yet here he was, burning a bunch of armored merc lines buses. He was a madman, yes, but he wouldn't stoop THIS low, would he?
Ines kept frantically running around, trying to put the fires out. She too knew the value of cheap public transport and respected it greatly. The figure clad in W's uniform turned towards the two men, flashing a wide, wild grin. Andy could pinpoint the exact moment when his mind went blank. Those familiar, sharp, orange eyes, dark antennae protruding from the fiend's skull and falling gently over their face, along with a lush curtain of snowy bangs - It was all so familiar, yet so foreign. His eyes slid down the silhouette, noticing the soft curves and irregularities within the uniform, as if it was a size too big and a size too small at the same time. The devil's skin was so pale and delicate, like the grand marbles of Laterano. This wasn't any W he knew, that's for sure.
Yet, somehow, he couldn't help but like what he was seeing.
And then the creature spoke, in a cocky, proud voice, yelling out words followed by salvos of that cold, unpleasant croaking.
"I always wanted to do this! So I did! Aha!"
She flicked a grenade into the air and caught it by the pin, pointing an accusatory finger at the boy.
"Hey! And get this Law bootlicker out of my sight, or I'll shove this frag down his throat! Free will means free will, isn't that right?~"
He got a long, good look at her face, seeing just how young she was, either his age or just a few years older. So full of killing intent, so explosive… He could almost feel himself blushing.
Hoederer gave a long, weary sigh.
"Andy,"
He turned towards the boy.
"Meet W. Again."