Travesty!
Mockery!
You dare call yourselves bounty hunters?
In the dark of night, two souls stood back to back, surrounded by the shadows' restless assault. An open field in the middle of nowhere, mud staining their shoes, a dim fire lighting the way. An angel and a devil, black and white, weapons drawn, eyes stuck in the darkness.
A pair of bolas swished by the weary angel's sight. With a slight hint of elegance and a heap of survival instinct, his body jerked to the side, a friend drawn at the ready.
The mind focused. A finger squeezed the rifle's trigger.
A volley of lead flew into the dark, dispersing the night and revealing the fiends lurking within. Grand, with horns adorning their heavily masked faces, swishing through the fields, circling the boys with movements so burdened, yet light. A hint of decay passed by with each of their violent gestures, whether it be a chained ball toss or a loud screech to their comrades.
"Nachzehrers", thought the angel. Spend as many years as he did in the Land of Old, you get a knack for the sort of opponent you're facing.
Wails, screams, all muffled by Vinny's shaky chattering. Like rocks thrown against cobble, it rattled viciously with each shot. Every now and then, a shot would connect, throwing the rampaging ghouls to the ground, pulling a demonic shriek from deep within their lungs.
A certain weight pressed against his back. Seven confidently grasped his blade, preparing for the foe's certain advance. Eyes, as black as the night itself, digging into the dark, scanning for even the slightest movement, mind ready to submerge itself in the bright, time perception altering liquid yet again.
A howl!
A squeal!
A rotting devil flew from the dark, clawed arms fully outstretched, aimed right at the boy. Amidst a flurry of lead, a single "Tick!" was heard, leaving the ghoul lunging at nothing but the muddy ground.
His corpse soared through the air, split into two, smashing against the mire's floor, a single, perpendicular cut severing the decaying body in two.
Andy jumped back, startled by the split meat bag's sudden appearance. A ghoul lurking in the shadows seized the opportunity, leaping towards the angel with a feral battle cry.
Tock.
A tiny swordsman emerged from nothing, right between the two, sword plunged deep into the decaying's rotten heart. Andy gave the boy a quick smirk and double tapped the fiend in its horned facade.
The empty cartridge's clatter was drowned out by the falling body's thud, followed by wails and screams of agony from the remaining hunters. Were they after the obnoxiously large bounty? Or just looking for a quick, midnight snack?
Shot after shot, magazine after magazine, the rifle kept lighting up the field, bringing down devils, leaving a trail of bodies in its wake. Dancing around the flying steel and living corpses, the two boys kept moving like two well-trained professionals, swaying to the rhythm of La Cumparsita, each gesture in complete coordination with the other, no room for error. A shot over Seven's shoulder. A stab by Andy's ear. Standing atop a growing pile of cadavers, their own little audience, death itself playing the notes and conducting their choreography.
The night fell silent, their feral footsteps growing nigh silent. Andy picked up a few thumps from the darkness before him - a coward running away!
With a low whistle, he pressed Vinny against his shoulder and took aim. Should be about right.
...
A tiny force tugged at his sleeve. He turned his head, met with the empty stare of his little swordsman friend.
"Can I try?"
The angel smiled. Of course he could!
A second later, Seven stood on his wobbly feet, barely managing to hold up the lead spitting monster. Andy held his arm up as a shooting stand, the other wrapped around the boy's shoulder, aimed towards the dark.
"... And when you're ready, you gotta squeeze the specks of dust in the bullet with your mind."
The devil nodded. Perfectly clear instruction.
"... And you can also tap the trigger, if you want. I won't mind."
Vinny Droz definitely would. But it's not like he could protest in any way, other than rattle along to their tune.
His empty eye closed, the other bored into the scope's lens. A breath, a mere second.
Click!
The gun spat out some lead phlegm, clattering and burying its stock deeper into the boy's shoulder. The shot tore through the night, silencing the frantic footsteps up front. An empty thud followed.
"Bullseye!... I reckon."
"Bullseye?"
"Means it hit."
"Ah."
A light tap on the shoulder.
"Nice shot, bud."
A nod.
Andy took the rifle from him and swung it onto his back. Oripathy inducing smoke kept lazily seeping from the tip of the suppressed barrel, eager to dissipate into nothing. The boys gathered their toys, tiptoed around the sea of corpses riddled all over the place - muddied boots, muddied pants, accidentally stepping into the occasional head, here and there, splattering blood all over the fabric…
"...?!"
A clawed hand arose from the pile, grasping onto Seven's ankle. Biting into his skin, twisting, churning, turning, eager to tear apart the youth's skin, to spread decay and death into the very bloodstream of…
Bang!
A loud gunshot shattered the night's shaky peace. Nuffer sang out in joy.
The hand simply fell from its joint, shot through clean. The half-dead corpse wailed in pain one last time before another bullet silenced it forever.
The boys exchanged a glance. Andy spun the gun around his finger and slid it back into his holster with a wink. No time for injuries, no time for waiting around and lollygagging. Each second spent in Kazdel was a second spent in captivity, a second spent at the mercy of millions of devils armed with sharp claws and teeth. For months, they've traversed these lands, through the muddy swamps, the empty wastelands, the serene valleys, bathed in morning fogs, the scorching dunes and frozen-over fields. Eating, sleeping, living together, inseparable and utterly dependent on one another, so different, yet completely like two peas in a pod. Tired, beaten and wobbly, their legs led them to an open, north-eastern field, bathed in rain. The Yanese border - or, rather, a checkpoint right before it. An old, rusty runway lined with tattered hangars, remnants of a war long over, having decided to sleep through the current one. Too many wars happening, anyway.
With the night sky tearing open, Mother Nature mourning the departure of so many souls from her cruel playground, they gazed down upon the sight from a hill nearby. Thousands of people lined up, setting up a makeshift settlement around the planeyard, waiting in line, all hurrying off to get into the administrative buildings, to buy a ticket out of this hell and never look back.
Calamity!
Catastrophe!
Collapse of a nation!
So many traitors, all willing to leave their homeland, and for what?
Peace and a hope for the future? Those cowards…
…
Amidst the busy streets surrounding the airfield stood a messily put together booth, about the size of a freestanding house. Within, laid a photography studio, usually bustling with lively chatter and other commotions. Tonight, it remained closed, windows enveloped by the curtain's intimate embrace, as not to reveal the shady dealings happening inside.
Click.
Shutter.
Flash!
Seven, sitting on a tiny stool, blinked a few times, his empty eyes reflecting the lamp's glimmer. Andy took a look over the old photographer's shoulder and clicked his tongue.
"Mmmm… Could be better."
The graying man shuddered at the feeling of the boy's pistol being pressed further into his side.
"Could we just… Readjust the lighting, maybe…?"
"Aha? You get up, grab that lamp and what, pull a crossbow from behind? No sir-e, sit on your ass and take pics. C'mon, another."
Andy tapped the muzzle of his gun against the old geezer's horns and shot Seven a flimsy wink. A tiny angel crawled up onto his shoulder, barely managing to keep the waves of dark-blue hair from falling into her eyes. She gazed upon the gun, uttering a small yelp of defeat. The white haired devil on his other shoulder smirked and shot her a glare. 1:0 for W.
"And you, Seven, give me a smile, would ya?"
The tiny swordsman gave a nod and stretched his lips upwards in an uncanny attempt at flashing a grin. Andy narrowed his eyes and leaned against the old man, muzzle pressed against his spine.
"... Or not. How many pics we got, so far?"
"Thirteen, mister Ricketts. Thirteen… Free of charge pictures."
"Plus papers."
"Plus… Plus papers, yes."
The old man nodded and sighed, painfully tired of their shenanigans.
"... How about just one more?"
"You don't think thirteen's enough, mister Ricketts…?"
"Oh, sure is. I want a little something I can hang on my wall."
With a bright grin, the angel strolled over to Seven, throwing the rifle off his back and striking a killer pose. Seven glanced at the moron, then back at the cameraman, before grasping his own blade and assuming a similar fighting stance. Both tiny creatures on the merc's shoulders smiled at the photographer - W lazily threw a V sign and Mostima gave her best thumbs up, nearly falling over backwards. The old man sighed and pressed his good eye against the lens once more.
Click.
Shutter.
Flash!
Such a bright smile. Such a radiant pair of innocent souls, brandishing weapons that have claimed hundreds of lives, smiling so naively towards the camera. Andy couldn't help but grin, staring at the two plastered over the freshly printed picture. No sign of either idol of good and evil. The old grump sat by his side, filling out some paperwork. Seven glanced over his shoulder.
"What's that?"
The photographer murmured something back, entirely absorbed by the mass of documents. Andy tilted his head and tapped the papers.
"Paperwork. Your late birthday gift, Seven!"
The boy tilted his head in confusion.
"Birthday?"
"Mmm. Celebrating getting old."
"Strange reason to celebrate."
"I know! People love it, though. They buy you gifts for simply surviving a whole year. But, anyhow. We're gonna need documents, wherever we go. No documents, no… Nothing, pretty much. Isn't that right, Mr Photographer?"
The old man mumbled under his breath and nodded.
"So we need a forged ID, one for you, one for me."
With that little rhyme, Andy sat on the edge of the geezer's desk, swinging his legs in the air. Seven followed suit.
"How's the paperwork going?"
He sighed and averted his gaze from the endless streams of tiny words and numbers.
"It's going. I like doing things the hard way, so I've already prepared you two some false backgrounds… Two young men from Columbia, how does that sound?"
"Swell."
"Swell. Great."
He let out a few unamused huffs and tapped two empty labels left to fill out.
"Now, I need the names."
"Names… Huuh…"
Think, angel, think…
"They don't need to be anything fancy, mister Ricketts. You're leaving this hellhole anyway, aren't you? You can just use your own.
That's true. They were, after all. Andy slid his fingertip against the empty box printed onto the sheet.
"Then, go with "Andrew Ricketts." Duh."
"Got a middle name, mister?"
Middle… Middle…
"Andrew, Raphael, Ricketts."
"A.R.R?"
"Arr! Like an Iberian pirate."
A silly grin stretched out on his face, as his elbow nudged Seven's side. The boy perked up and nodded, before chiming in with the most monotone voice imaginable.
"Like a pirate. Arr."
The old man tapped his quill against the paper one last time, leaving the freshly filled document out to dry.
"As for you, child? What will it be?"
Seven blinked. The answer seemed obvious.
"Seven."
"Seven? Seven… Might pass. Middle name?"
The boy turned towards Andy, his eyes so lost and confused.
"Uh… He doesn't have one. Can we just leave it blank?"
"So be it. Surname?"
Surname. Barely ever does a lowly sarkaz choose a name, let alone a surname. Seven had no idea what to say. He stared, helplessly at the empty form.
"How about…"
"... Would you be opposed if I wrote down your surname, mister Ricketts?"
"Huh?"
"Your surname. Distant family, maybe? Would fit, given your shared background."
The boys exchanged a look. Seven's tail wagged a bit.
"Would you? Wanna be my distant brother?"
A grin made its way onto the angel's face. A tiny glimmer of light in the dim room.
Seven smiled back, just barely.
"Of course, Andy."
And with a few moves of the ancient quill, an unbreakable bond had officially been formed between the two, bound by one name borrowed from a coward-turned-hero, long forgotten by time.
Freshly forged documents filled their pockets, as the boys stepped out onto the busy streets, bathed in the twin moons' gleam. Andy took a deep breath, taking in the moist night air, almost entirely forgetting that they're undisguised and in public.
Yet, no one seemed to mind.
A river of desperate souls surged towards the gates of the planeyard, each and every one hurrying off on their own accord. Mercenaries, civilians, visitors from the lands beyond, all with a purpose to serve, a burden to carry and a life to preserve. They dived into the crowd, mixing with the upcoming waves of strangers, like a drop in a bathtub. Not a single devil threw them a glance, not a single fiend pulled their weapons to threaten their lives.
People were tired. "Let the hounds of war play, but set the innocent free", was a motto increasingly gaining popularity among the vast wastelands of this Land of Old. Most weren't meant for war. Most just wanted to live.
Taking uneasy steps forward, they passed by a crazed, old hag sitting by the edge of the passing stream of emigrants. She spat near their feet, cursing out every single armed chap and chapess.
"Mongrels!"
Her white hair shone in the moons' light, contrasting with her dull, scratched horns. A few young mercenaries passed by, averting their gazes.
"Wretch! Snakes, all of you! Cursed by the land, cursed by your nature!"
Andy watched the hag from afar, hearing each and every word swimming past the grim procession, marching towards uncertainty.
"Cursed! You thrive in what kills this land! Your minds cannot comprehend peace! Your wills are bound to the field, your hands tied by the reaper! Without this, you're nothing!"
She's long gone from his sight, yet the words still resonated through the air.
"Swine of war! You are nothing but swine that thrive in this mindless killing over nothing! The battlefield is your home, barbed wire runs through your veins, blood stains your hands! And it will never come off! Never! And it won't ever be enough! You will thirst for more and more, because that's in your nature! You're the death of Terra! Not the disease, not the sea horrors! You are the harbingers that walk hand in hand with the reaper, eager to watch him plunge his scythe into the heart of this land, just so you have something to fight over! You're all swine of war! Swine of war…"
Her incoherent screams were drowned out by a breeze of muffled murmurs. Andy slowly let his eyes fall to his hands, just to make sure they were clean, untainted by crimson.
They were pale as ever.
Seven draggled along by his side, seemingly unphased by the hag's ramblings. Moving forward, eyes locked on the approaching heap of metal towering over the lost souls.
A grand gate, bathed in the searchlight's shine. Fading letters adorned the giant arch, a mere shadow of their radiant past.
"HEPP FLIGHTPARK"Not much of a flightpark, nowadays. More of a scrapyard.
Their feet dragged along, passing by the gate. No guards, no border patrol, no nothing. It's been a month or two since they've opened the borders, yet it felt as if the blocades had been lifted just that morning.
They were in.
The river spilled into many more streams, forming a lake of souls gathered around the airfield. Hundreds of armored buses lined the broken down walls by the opposite side, sharing the makeshift parking spaces with overloaded cars and gathering caravans, burdenbeasts huffing and slouching under the heavy loads thrown on their backs. Andy had to blink a few times to make sure all of this was still real.
Seven nudged his sleeve. It was.
The boy pointed to a commotion in the very center of the runway.
There it stood. Not too big, not too grand at all. Rusty, ugly, barely holding itself together, probably. Running on pure, unfiltered ori gasoline mixed with hopes and dreams, a light military flying machine rested amidst the gathered crowd. A few people were already sitting inside, looking quite uneasy, with their eyes darting all over the messy interior.
As they approached, the words "HER HIS MAJESTY" struck their sight, messily painted on the side. Real eyesore.
Before it, stood a middle aged devil clad in a pilot jacket a size too small. A pair of aviator sunglasses stuck out from the jungle of messy curls stuck to his chiseled head, despite it currently being the dead of night. An unlit cigarette twirled about his lips, as it appeared that the man had more interest in the cylindrical object moving from one corner of his mouth to the other than actually smoking the tobacco rolled within. His brows shot up at the sight of the boys approaching.
"Well, well? Sankta? I thought y'all moved out of here already."
His lungs produced a pained chuckle at his own feeble attempt at a joke, which quickly turned to a coughing fit. Andy gave him a second to gather himself before speaking.
"That thing,"
He pointed to the plane behind the pilot's back.
"Does it even fly?"
As if offended, the man gave the beast a tough, but affectionate pat.
"Does it fly? Of course it flies, Lawie. Don't bother asking me to fly your ass back home, though. Booked full for a one way trip to the land of noodle-slurpers."
The angel's eyes widened at his words. Seven remained oblivious to the meaning of the man's slurs.
"So you're flying to Siracusa?"
Now, his tail perked up, wagging excitedly.
"I am, yeah. Booked full, though. One last run, no less. Had damn near enough of this gods forsaken country. Figured I'd make a quick buck with the whole border fiasco."
He flashed the boys a mischievous grin.
"Lots of fools eager to pay thousands just to get out, as far as they can get. War's really fucked with their minds these past few years. Can you blame them, though? I can't…"
"That's…"
Andy kept his thoughts to himself, deciding not to comment on this parasitic mindset. Instead, he shook his head and cleared his throat, putting on yet another layer to his mask.
"That's damn right. I'd do the same."
"Yeah, right? See, you get it. Most call me a dirty, exploiting slug, but you know what I call myself?"
His sunglasses slid further to the tip of his nose, revealing a pair of sharp, hawk-like eyes.
"An entrepreneur, Lawie."
Andy forced a smile and nodded.
"Damn right. With that sort of machine, too…"
You could pinpoint the exact second when a glimmer of childish joy spraked within the pilot's eyes and his whole demeanor changed.
"Yeah? You like it?"
Vigorous nodding from Andy.
"Sure! What's not to like?"
He took a step back, taking in the heap of trash in its entirety.
"The way it's welded together… The engines…?"
"Aerojet LR1's! I actually…"
He giggled a tiny bit, touching the engines with his gloved hands.
"I threw them together myself! Dad… Gods bless his soul, dad used to repair cars back in the day, when we had a glimmer of peace, and I was always into aviation… Ah, I remember the long nights spent in his gas haven, slinging wrenches, tinkering with engines… V8's, E41's…"
Andy dozed off for a moment, nodding along to each and every word. Seven simply stared at the man, curiously soaking in every bit of nonsense coming from his mouth.
"... And that's how this beauty came to be."
The merc whistled.
"Hell of a story."
"I know, right? Never really got a chance to tell anyone…"
Before he could go on another tirade, Andy slipped in, carefully maneuvering the subject towards the end goal.
"... And, say, uh… Wouldn't you maybe, you know, be able to give us two a ride in this pile of…"
Words, words… Where's the right one?
"... Memories?"
The pilot tilted his head, letting the cigarette fall to his jacket's pocket.
"Ride? I mean… It's already booked full, really. That, I wasn't lying about."
This was their only way out. No matter what, he promised the boy a ticket to Siracusa, so by Law will he get that ticket, one way or another.
"... What if we pay?"
Eyes glimmered.
"Pay? You got cash?"
"Not really…"
… But another ace slipped from his sleeve.
"... But I've got guns. And ammo. They're worth a lot, no? Ammo, at least."
"..."
The pilot went silent for a moment, staring at the sling draped over the angel's shoulder.
"... I don't know about guns. How much ammo, though?"
"Eight… Ninety rounds. Nine by thirty nine, that's… That's a couple thousand shekels, right?"
His mask had already started slipping, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. The pilot rubbed his gloved fingers against his unshaved chin.
"That's… That's not much, but I could do an exception."
The ring of light above his head shone just a bit brighter.
"You could?"
"Uh-huh. But, just for one. That's barely enough, but you seem honest. For a Lawie traitor, that is."
…
His heart sank.
Swallowed into a pit of disbelief and shock.
Just one?
But they've already made it so far…?
"Just one?"
"Just one. I'm sorry."
"... I also have pistol ammo? A b-bit less than ninety, but… What about the guns…? I could give you the guns, I could… I could work for you after we land, I-I…"
Stumbling over his words, Andy felt a tight grasp squeezing his stomach to a pulp.
"I'm sorry. It's just business."
"..."
He glanced to the side. A pair of empty, black eyes, staring right into his, a hint of confusion already being painted on his face. Those bottomless wells. Blank voids.
Completely and utterly devoted. Allegiant to his "guide." More than that. A friend.
A brother.
Gently, his fingers reached into the depths of his gray, tattered coat. His companion for life. They slid into an inside pocket, grasping a few metal discs.
"... Ninety?"
The pilot gave a nod.
"..."
Click.
Clack.
Each magazine slowly bled out the bullets hiding within, as they landed in the devil's grasp.
Twenty, twenty one…
This was it. A promise to fulfill. A role to play. A person to guide. A night that was bound to eventually come.
Sixty seven, sixty eight…
How long has it been? A year and a half? He's lost track of time, long ago.
Seventy… He had to take the last twenty from the mag attached to his rifle. Sorry, Vinny.
Eighty five…
Such a cruel fate. Always dragging behind him, like some curse. A punishment for a crime committed years ago.
Eighty nine…
He knew it was right. Atonement for a mere fraction of the sins he's accumulated throughout his life. Just a flicker of light in the endless darkness.
Ninety.
Why couldn't anyone reassure him? Where was the tiny blue angel whenever he needed her? The white haired devil?...
"... That's that. I'll get you a spot inside."
"Not for me."
The pilot flicked his gaze from Andy to Seven.
"... For your friend?"
"Yeah. I'm staying."
A small tug at his sleeve. Seven's confused eyes.
The pilot shrugged.
"Works for me. I'll get him a spot, then, hop in whenever you're ready."
…
For a moment, no sound could be heard, but the gentle murmur of the ever present crowd. Soothing, calming, as if filled with hope. Thousands of souls, all at their homestretch. Beyond the night's darkness lies a future much brighter than anything this land could provide. Yan, land of opportunities.
The two stood in complete silence, staring off at the armored buses, all lined up and ready to set off into the void.
…
A gentle force tugged at his sleeve once more. He couldn't turn to look at the boy.
"... Why did you say "I'm staying", Andy?"
Why? Because he promised to guide, wherever.
To nowhere.
"I'll have to stay here for a while."
"Why?"
He could feel those empty, confused eyes boring into the side of his skull.
"... Money. It's always money."
"..."
Silence, yet again. In the far distance, a couple beasts of iron gathered into a convoy and set out into the darkness. Andy wished them good luck, holding back a lump in his throat.
"I'll stay too, then."
Their eyes met.
Empty wells.
"You can't. I promised to guide you wherever you wanted to go, right? To Siracusa."
"But I don't want to leave you."
The tiny creature tilted their head, still clutching onto the boy's sleeve. He felt so tiny, so insignificant. Like staring up at the grand cathedral from his fever dream, all over.
"You won't be leaving me. I'll… I'll just stay back for a while and fly over, too. A couple of days. You can manage a couple of days, right?"
Andy forcefully stretched the contours of his face to form a smile. A certain heat had already started gathering at his cheeks, tears threatening to spill.
"..."
Seven gave a tiny nod. A movement so light and tender, accompanied by his voice. So unnaturally vulnerable, void of the usual blank monotony.
"Promise?"
A tiny puddle of warm tears formed in the corner of the angel's eye. Gently tickling his lids, eager to spill over and trail all the way down his cheeks. To go further, to slide down his dirty coat, to cleanse the filth. To soak into his torn sweater, dig even deeper, to get through to his heavy heart and fill it with a sense of peace for once in his life.
He didn't want the boy to see him cry, so he grasped his shoulder and pulled into a messy hug.
With a shaky, breathless voice, he whispered.
"I promise."
…
Sitting on the cold, hard ground, he watched the rusty machine disappear deep into the void that was the night sky. His knees crawled all the way up to his chest, arms involuntarily wrapped around them.
Same story, all over again. All alone. Independent.
Independent and alone. The way he always wanted things to be. The only way.
Living by one's rules. Without anyone to nanny around. To care for.
He dug his teeth into the sleeve of his jacket. Bit down hard, begging for the tears to back down, slide back into his eye sockets.
To no avail.
They seeped from those weary, sad eyes hooded beneath heavy lids. People passed by, paying him little to no attention. A few muffled whispers here, a few held back laughs there.
He felt terrible. Like never before. As if a part of him had been forcefully torn, taken and locked away for eternity.
His eyes couldn't stop producing tears.
More.
And more.
They fell to the concrete, sobs muffled by his sleeve.
How pathetic he was. How utterly lost he felt.
How unfair life was. How t-...
"Hey? 'Scuse me? Ya alright, pal?"
A noise.
Andy slowly wiped his face and blinked a few times, afraid to lift his gaze.
"... I'm okay."
"Ya don't look alright to me, fella. Not to mention how out of place ya feel…"
"I'm alright."
His eyes slowly crawled upwards, being met with an unusually dressed figure. Clad in what could only be described as "adventuring gear", with dozens of pockets sprawled everywhere around their outfit, tiny electronic devices hanging onto harnesses and belts filled with various gear splattered all over their figure. On their face, a pair of massively oversized goggles covered most of it, though their horns stood out like a drop of blood on an empty canvas. Like a pair of rocks amidst a fluffy field of orange.
Short and black. Not sarkaz, in any way.
A forte.
Andy stared into the half-masked face, unable to utter a word. The weirdo spoke up, their voice taking on a rather feminine sound.
"Ya SURE? Yer starin' at me like yer 'bout to have a seizure. I mean, shouldn't it be the other way around? Golly, first time I've heard of a sankta in Kazdel. Hell, it's my first time here, but…"
"You're... not from here?"
She scoffed and flicked her hand, a smile making its way onto her young face.
"Hell naw, I'm not! Gods, I couldn't imagine ever livin' in this shithole. Ya, I bet, ain't from here either?"
Andy shook his head.
"... Well?"
"Well? Well, what?"
"Ya want a ride home, angel-boy? Got a spare seat."
Nonchalantly, she flicked her hand behind, pointing to a heavily armored, box-like van, complete with a bunch of wires scattered on top, a sizable steel antenna poking through the roof.
"... That's yours?"
"Uh-huh. Catastrophes don't catch themselves, y'know? And apparently, don't pay that well, either, aw, shucks..."
She blew a raspberry and kicked up some dust.
"Especially when the sky's been completely dry for an entire week. Figure I'd at least do something good for the world and help out a crying soul like ya, hm?"
A tiny blush spread over his cheeks, as he quickly wiped the last remnants of tears and shook his head.
"I… I, y-yeah, I'd be honored, but…"
"But? No buts, angel-boy. Yer in, or yer out. I'd rather leave fast, though, all these folks here are giving me the creeps."
She shuddered as a group of wailing mercenaries waltzed next to their side, carrying off in the direction of a leaving merc-bus.
"... But I don't have any money?"
He's tried asking around, desperate to trade some of his remaining ammo for cash or a ticket to wherever the buses were going, but it eventually led nowhere. The forte lady simply cackled and gently kicked his thigh.
"And? Ya think I got any? Naw! That's what I came here to get!"
With a snarky smirk, she extended her hand to him. Having reluctantly taken it, she pulled him up with a surprising amount of force. He staggered a little and blinked.
"... So you're just willing to take a complete stranger into your car… And wherever you're going?"
"Mmmhmm! Can't return home without an adventure, can we?"
…
Andy gazed upon the sky. Was someone up there, watching? Sending him a stroke of luck? Was this a divine intervention?
The Law? Someone else? A Kazdelian deity?
She nudged him in the ribs.
"So? Which is it, angel, goin' or stayin'?"
His cheeks went red. His breath hitched in his throat. Barely, he managed to swallow the lump forming in his throat.
A couple of minutes later, they were both already sitting at the front of the van. Andy's never seen anything quite like this, filled with lit up dashboards, glowing interfaces, magical doohickeys everywhere…
The forte shut her door and stretched out her arms, before letting out a long, drawn out sigh.
"Aaaaaaaaah… Home, sweet home. Hope ya like classic rock and country, angel, 'cause it's gonna be one helluva long ride."
Classic rock and country. Life couldn't get any better.
And yet, there was still this tiny glimmer of uncertainty, a slight feeling of guilt biting into his side. Just now, he realized something rather important.
"And… Where are we going, exactly?"
The girl tilted her head in confusion. An amused smirk creeped over her lips.
"Where?"
She tapped the van's interface, opening a wide, glowing map of the entire world. Terra in its complete entirety. A single location had already been marked. Moving at a snail's pace, advancing through the map, bouncing around between borders…
"Lungmen, of course!"