Chapter 9: Kim Il Sung's Trail

A vignette clouded the well-decorated room strewn with honorable presents. Time ticked to a stop as Lucky lay on the ground, unmoving, ears listening for the faintest movement. His brown eyes shot open, the anticipation burning, until he saw the armed guards stand stationary. Their loudsticks were raised and aimed; bullets hung dead in the air.

Lucky's eyes scanned his own golden fur, noting a lack of blood or scratches. He stood up, ears alert, nose shifting. The scene remained paused as he walked around. Silence drowned the Kumsusan Palace of the Sun so strongly that it felt as though the Earth-Dog would pull him down. The silence was unbearable; he had to say something. "Osama?"

The ghost of Osama entered Lucky's sight, walking through the guards like they were never there. He appeared unfazed, a scheming grin on his face. "The plan has worked; you got so close to Kim Il Sung's body that he knew what was going on. You are the key, and now he has awakened."

"Why did time stop?" Lucky hated asking so many questions like a pup, but the world had become unfamiliar as soon as Osama stepped into his life. Without any guidance, the world could strike him down.

"Time paused because you are no longer in the living world. Haven't you seen the fog? The realm you are in belongs to the dead. You possess a shade of red around your body, and the green I used to have is gone. The souls around us lack any color; we can pass by. Kim Il Sung will rise from the body any moment now. We need to wait for his approval."

Osama genuflected before the corpse. Lucky took in his words, applying them to the scene. Now, the glows around him became obvious, except for the one around Kim Il Sung. In truth, it was not there in the slightest. "Shouldn't Kim Il Sung have a glow?"

A second passed before Osama rose up, staring over the corpse. He stepped back, taken away by the situation from the clear shock in his eyes, but his face remained unscathed. Composing himself, he spoke to Lucky in a confident voice, his eyes never leaving the body. "I should have known. I can't enter this room unless I have a key, but it seems his soul fled long ago. The obvious place was to look, but he must have left some sort of note here."

Lucky padded through the Palace of the Sun, eyeing his surroundings and sniffing for the slightest oddity. His nose understood none of the things around him, regardless of how far or near he was. "How come my nose is dead here?"

"The dead realm cares nothing about human senses. You're lucky you have the ability to see here. Most would remain blind until their escape, or be trapped until they rot in the real world."

His ears grew sharp with surprise. "Are you implying time is still passing?"

"Slowly. The ghost realm has a strange sense of time. We should be millions of years ahead of what the typical Gregorian calender, but time gives you a pass. If it were my choice, I would let you wander the aimless space in search of a sign, but if I leave you alone for the slightest second..."

He clearly wished to say more, yet kept silent; Lucky appreciated it. Searching the room, he searched for a note using just his eyes, the glowing corners enticing him just to disappoint. The large room they stood in was searched in and out for the slightest oddity, leaving not a single answer as to where Kim Il Sung could have gone.

Osama finally called Lucky to the casket, all to announce his disappointment. "I should have known better. Perhaps you are a key, but you are no tool; you are an object with a singular, limited use."

Lucky continue to send his eyes around the area in hopes of finding something, even though had no clue what Osama wanted. A clue? What would it look like? Lucky had never seen this Kim Il Sung guy outside of the body that lay before him. Osama started to step back, stating, "I will send you out of the ghost realm; be prepared to flee."

"WAIT!" Lucky howled before Osama could move. Frozen, in both confusion and disbelief, Osama let Lucky speak. "Where are we going to look next? Shouldn't I know that before I start running?"

The room chilled Lucky, or perhaps it was the stare Osama gave him. Cold, emotionless. "That will be decided later. The moment we return to the living world, we'll have to flee to a safe spot until the next day. There will be chaos in the streets and you'll stick out and attract unwanted attention. Have you understood that?"

Saying nothing left Osama to stare harder, something Lucky didn't know was possible. His glare was like the Storm of Dogs if it were based in a longpaw's eye. Lucky lowered his head; it was the most he could do under such pressure. The only response Lucky could give would make him sound like a punished pup, but it was clear Osama wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. "I understand."

Time started to move at the snap of Osama bin Laden's fingers. The North Korean guards, loudsticks pointed, began moving in reaction to the bullets which were shot. Said bullets moved across the room faster than the panicking longpaws, but the passing seconds sped them up. Lucky himself felt a weight pull him down as time readjusted to longpaw standards.

Various words were shouted as Lucky followed Osama's ghost through the mess, only to lose him not long after. The lights above flickered as shots struck the ceiling, and the wall had holes decorating the careful interior. Lucky had no time to admire the walls as he pushed past the longpaws, his paws burning as they pushed him towards the light.

Lucky wished, now more than ever, that he never woke up in the strange place and met Osama. If he had to abandon his pack, he'd rather do it in a strange town than in a violent palace. Guards were hot on his tail as he broke past the doors, skidding on the freshly-cut grass and eyeing his surroundings.

The maze. Sure, the open was just as safe, but a maze? There was no change the longpaws could find him in the leafy hedges. And besides, he didn't have to play by the rules. Lucky entered the maze in a burst of confidence, his wild instincts merging with his city ways. It was almost as though he was back in the city escaping longpaws from the Trap House.

The North Korean guards' steps echoed into the streets, as did their angry shouts. Lucky heard another round of bullets fire, but by then, he had already emerged from the other side of the hedge maze, and started his trip towards the nearest sewer drain. That is, until a sharp pain struck his side, causing his body to fall limp with pain.

One of the bullets had grazed his golden fur while another shot clean through his shoulder, going an an odd angle so it couldn't have damaged too much. His organs felt right, but his body failed to move. Guards began running towards Lucky, loudsticks aimed once more, and the life before him flashed. Not enough near-death experience, come on! Osama, do something!

There was no hesitation; the guns fired once more. Lucky pushed all his energy into the paws which hung beneath him, hoping that they could move just once more and give the illusion of his own death. Let my name make me live a little longer... A moment ago, he'd been running as though he was still a young city dog, and yet death crept along his fur, well aware that his luck would run out.

His remaining energy send him to the side as the final shots rung into the air. The air stood still; Lucky held his breath. The brief chase took the oxygen out of him, but it didn't matter. He could still feel, he could still touch, and he could still smell. All he had to do was hope and pray to the Forest-Dog that he could get away.

Underneath his eyelids, the bright red hue turned dark. Could the Sky-Dogs be fighting? If so, the chance to slip away would be presented. He had to open his eyes, the risks strong but the survival even stronger. To be a survivor dog, he had to survive. Cracking his eyes just a bit, he took in the light levels.

They were perfectly dark for the cause. Standing up, Lucky winced but otherwise stayed silent. Pain seared his shoulder, yet he pushed on, fleeing the darkening grounds as he limped towards the street. Loudcages whirred by, their figure an unintelligible blur as Lucky's vision doubled. He heard the voice of Osama impatiently call for him below.

Going down, Lucky fell flat, causing his sore body to ache worse. Though the pain remained firm, the fall didn't seem to cause more damage. Osama's spirit watched him stay there before Lucky sat up, his injured leg lifted to take off the pain. "Are we sure he's not in there?"

"He hasn't left a note in there, so I can only assume he is, in fact, inside. But, the risks seem too great, and the probability is too low. We have to move on to the graveyard whose existence I am familiar with," Osama paused, then shot his head up. "Unless..."

"What?" Lucky asked, slumping down. His fur was bound to smell by the next day. Osama phased through the solid cement wall.

"Maybe his intent was for a ghost to spot his note, yet I had given it hardly a glare. I'll return to check, but if the note isn't there, we move on to the next location. Don't even dare move; if you leave this sewer, I will find you, and I will make you obedient again."

Malice was etched in his words as his voice died down. Where he went, Lucky didn't dare to ask. For all he knew, it was a trap to rid of him once and for all while Osama did other tasks. But, according to what Lucky understood, that would be a terrible idea for Osama's plan. He was some sort of key to the puzzle, an essential part which would cause everything to break in his absence.

The trickles of water was Lucky's last friend as he sat there, alone, accompanied with flaring pain. The sheltie-retriever laid down, his injured leg posed so it could not hurt, his mind whirring with concern. How long would Osama be gone for? When will he finally see his pack? Why is he the important 'key' to this? Who really is Osama, and what does he want? What is Lucky to do?