.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock…
.
Duflot took a long, good look at the trembling mess of worries sitting before him. No trace of his usual smile was left to cheer up the quivering angel.
"... Well, Andrew." He started in a low, monotone voice, before taking a deep breath and returning to his usual, forced cheeriness. "I think you've got yourself in quite the predicament, my dear boy!"
"I-I… Y-Yeah."
"Quintuple voluntary manslaughter in downtown Lungmen… Five members of the Catastrophe Riders, no less… With a firearm, loaded with LIVE ammunition on top of that. I had assumed you were familiar with the "no live ammo downtown" rule, but it seems I was mistaken! You need to remember this isn't Kazdel, Andrew! This is the civilized world." His frown turned to a warm, reassuring smile. "But, ah, well, everyone makes mistakes. Even the best!"
Andy raised his bloodshot eyes to stare at the mass of flesh and cashmere in disbelief. "M-Mistakes? It's a crime, I… It's manslaughter, I…"
"Quintuple voluntary manslaughter." Duflot corrected him, finger raised. "And how long ago did it happen, exactly?"
"F-Five days…?"
"Five days! Oh, Andrew…" Duflot only beamed further, cackling jovially. "Five days! Had they sniffed something out, you would've been hauled off to Mansfield the following day! Or taken out the back of your fancy new library by that biker gang. Trust me Andrew, I would know."
Andy nodded, letting a small sniffle escape his nostrils. At the sight, Duflot joined his hands together and tilted his head to the side.
"Andrew… Perk up, dear boy! Nothing bad had happened. It was just a matter of wrong place, wrong time." Those big, shiny teeth glimmered in the light of the many originium-powered lamps set up in the container. "You did the right thing! You protected yourself. And then came straight to me, which I also admire! That was a smart move, Andrew."
"W-Was it…?" He sniffled.
"It was." For a moment, the smile faltered, making way for a more serious expression. "And I'd like to keep this between the two of us. All walls have ears in this city and trust me, you don't want them hearing about how you murdered five Columbian bikers downtown. No going around, boasting about this little incident, okay?"
A nod. "O-Okay."
"Okay!" There it was, again, that warm grin. "You still look terrified, Andrew. Why don't you take a day off work?"
"Because it feels wrong…?"
"Oh, please! You're your own boss, you can do that, no one will mind!" He split his words with a chuckle. "Please. I insist."
"I'll… I'll do that, thank you, Mr Duflot." With a tiny, defeated voice, he muttered out.
"Deep breaths, Andrew. Everything will be alright! Don't worry about a thing." His sea of reassurance only managed to worsen the storm gathering in his mind. Andy took his nervousness and left without a goodbye, stumbling down the box-stairs.
Traversing the wobbly rope bridges and ladders, Andy found himself hurrying off through the open concrete fields of the harbor, surrounded by the sound of numerous armies of trucks riding past, each seemingly hurrying off in its own, distinct direction. With the traffic jams piling up, dockworkers running around, trying to somehow navigate and control the furious drivers, Andy had to slither past it all, nearly falling victim to the massive wheels a few times. Finally, a pair of surprisingly strong arms pulled him from underneath a speeding Victorian wheat-delivery silo.
"...?" Andy spun in place, head still focused on last week's atrocity. His savior, a familiar, short haired Ursus dragged him away from the raging traffic, shaking his head and clicking his tongue all along the way.
"Ay, ay, Andy, Andy… You're gonna get yourself killed by strolling off the mobile platforms one of these days, I swear. You can be such an airhead!"
The angel draggled along, eyes blurry, locked on Dani's back. "I know… Thanks, Dani."
"Don't mention. You look like a wet dog, though. Like, more than usual. What happened?" They both stopped, Dani turned to the ex-merc, hands pressed against his hips. "Really, you look like you just saw a ghost."
"It's nothing…" Andy dismissively flicked his palm.
"Oh, it's something, alright! C'mon, spill it."
"No, it's nothing…"
"Andy…" Dani shot him a glare, to which he sighed and hung his head down.
"..." Hearing the genuine worry in his voice, it pained him to lie to the poor guy. "... Business' doing bad, that's it."
"That's it? No customers?"
"Yeah. That's it."
The Ursus chuckled, playfully punching the angel's shoulder. "That's a none-problem! You got the flyers handed out?"
"No…?"
"Then what are you even… Andy, what the hell are you doing? I'm off the clock with nothing to do!" Dani grasped his wrist and started dragging him towards the main gate, a wide grin spreading over his face. "C'mon, we'll get your little company full of customers before nightfall…"
"Wait, wait, wait, wait."
They locked gazes. Andy frowned.
"... What do you mean, you're "off the clock?" It's midday."
Dani grasped the ID tag hanging off his neck and shot the angel a questioning look.
"Is it?"
He tucked it underneath his shirt, with the biggest shit-eating grin plastered over his face.
"Can't prove nothing! Alright, c'mon!"
And with that, he grasped the ex-merc's sleeve again, tugging and pulling, dragging him out of the massive harbor.
Before he knew it, they were both going door to door in some of the shadier residential areas of Lungmen, with an overly excited Dani leading the way, holding up a pile of flyers in his arms.
.
Knock, knock, knock.
.
Some tough looking Oni fella opened the door, glaring down at the two beneath his curtain of oily, purple hair.
"Good day, sir!" Dani chirped.
"Morning." Added Andy, looking from behind the youth's shoulder.
The man let out a grunt, something between a greeting and a threat. Dani, however, pushed on.
"We're running a promotional campaign for a logistics company… That's right, logistics! That's basically all your delivery needs. Logistics doesn't always mean delivering steel to the LGD, it can also mean having fresh groceries taken right to your doorstep!"
His voice echoed through the stuffy stairwell, as the large Oni crossed his arms.
"Hmph." A bit less hostility in that grunt, this time.
Dani's pitch seemed to have sparked some interest.
"Yes! And if you would, sir, you could help yourself to a flyer, and…"
The man grabbed one off the top and slammed the door in their faces.
"..."
"..."
Dani and Andy exchanged a quick glance.
"I'd say that went well."
"I wouldn't."
"Of course you wouldn't, you ex-merc scum. Come on, we've got a heap of these things to give out!"
And onto the next one.
.
…
.
"Hello! Beautiful morning, isn't it?" Chirped the Ursus.
"Morning." Murmured the angel.
"I'm not buying anything, you leeches." Hissed the Feline lady and slammed the door.
.
…
.
"Hello! Beautiful m-..."
Dani stopped talking and dropped the smile as Andy and the suspiciously Sarkaz-like girl locked in a stare off.
"... You better get this Lawie off my doorstep, bear."
"You better shut your trap, you piece of shit devil." He immediately grasped his halo afterwards, feeling a slither of pain being sent down his spine. The girl let out a mocking snort.
"Exactly what I expected from one of you's, traitors."
And she slammed the door on them.
"Traitor? TRAITOR? I FOUGHT IN THE WAR! I FOUGHT FOR YOUR PEOPLE! I SHOOK HER MAJESTY'S HAND, YOU FUCKING DISGRACE TO THE SARKAZ RACE! I'M MORE SARKAZ THAN YOU!"
Andy kept yelling and banging on the door, with Danny desperately trying to tear him off the rosewood finish. He didn't even bother with the Law repeatedly smiting him from above as more and more swears kept escaping his lips.
"Come on. Come on, she gets it by now, c'mon…"
"YOU… YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A…"
"Andy, it's not worth it."
"It's… It's not, you're right."
He gathered himself and cleared his throat.
"... Sorry."
Dani flicked his hand. "No problem. C'mon."
They carried on, climbing the stairway.
"Andy?"
"Mmm?"
"Did you actually?"
"Did I what?"
"Did you really shake the Lord of Fiend's hand?"
Andy tilted his hand, grasping at the loose strands of his gloomy memory.
"... Naw. But we did talk face to face, though."
"Oh. Still something, I guess."
The angel shrugged. It really was something.
.
.
Knock, knock, knock.
A young Ursus opened the door, letting a strong smell of something VERY natural and herbal assault both entrepreneurs. He blinked a few times, staring at the two with his bloodshot eyes. Andy felt at home, knowing he wasn't the only one walking around with red sight.
"Yo…? You guys lost…?"
A soft, calming rhythm played from behind his back, as another voice yelled out from inside the flat.
"Yo, Alex! Who is that? Pigs or pizza?"
"Alex" tilted his head, scanning the two from head to toe.
"... Nah, they don't have the… The cardboard boxes with them." He threw behind his shoulder, before addressing them directly. "You two from the LGD, or…?"
Andy let out a snort and smirked. "Yeah."
Dani immediately elbowed him in the ribs and shook his head. "No! No, we're not, no." The shock and betrayal that started spreading beneath the bloodshot eyes quickly disappeared as the young man let out a held breath.
"Dude… Not cool." Andy shrugged, under Dani's glare. "What do you two want, then…?"
"We're here to advertise a logistics company!" The cheery dockworker chirruped, holding out a few flyers. Alex blinked a few times and lifted his gaze from the colorful scraps of paper to look at Dani.
"Dude… You have… Like, ears like me, dude."
Balled up, he nodded. "I do, yeah." And after a short pause, he finished with a "Dude.", slightly disgusted.
"That's sick, dude…" He reached out for a fistbump, which Dani reluctantly gave. Andy let out a snort which earned him another elbow to the ribs.
"Yeaah… I'll take your, uh… Your sample, dude. Rock on, man…" The youth took a flyer and bobbed his head about. "Like, we gotta hang on tight, since we're almost like brothers and shit…"
Dani raised his eyebrows and returned the nod, with a half-queasy, half-confused smile. "Yeaaah? Yeah, "dude", exactly. Exactly…"
Before the dweller could answer, another yell from behind his back interrupted their talk. "Alex! C'mon, bowls growing cold, the hell are you doing out there?"
"I'm negotiating with my brother and shit! Calm your ass, Hao, gimme a moment…" His empty eyes turned back towards the two. "Yeah… You two wanna, like… Come in? Hang around and stuff…? We got leftovers and, uh…"
"Oh, no, no… I think we'll pass." Dani gave an apologetic simper.
"We'll definitely pass." Added the angel.
"Damn, man… Alright, more for us, I guess… Rock on and shit, man…"
The door slammed shut. They were left still enveloped in a sense of shock and confusion, with Andy finding this entire situation incredibly amusing.
"Brother, huh?"
"Oh, shut up."
"Why, don't wanna hang around your own?"
"Shut up. That's not my own, that's a damn… A позор. Disgrace." He cut it with a sigh, spitting on their doormat. "Should be doing something productive, not this bullshit."
The two spilled out onto the street, joining the stream of misery running down the neighborhood. Passing by burning trash cans and crystal covered homeless meat bags, Dani averted his gaze with genuine disgust taking over his smile.
"Not a fan of the homeless?" Andy blurted, busy with filling a few freestanding mailboxes full of Pacific Empire flyers.
"Homeless? No." He replied, glaring at a few rag-clad children gathering in the middle of the street, kicking around a swine skin. "Just the useless."
"Useless? They're kids, c'mon. Cut them some slack."
"Slack." You think they ever cut me any slack?"
"Did they?"
"No. We were lucky enough not to get thrown down the crystal shafts. Worked the fields nearly all my life, and these little rats are just wasting time, running around like it's nothing." He spat on the concrete as his scowl grew sinister. "I had to work to get where I am."
"Uh-huh. And where exactly are you, Dani? Working minimum wage at a dock?" Andy chuckled, shoving handfuls of leaflets under doormats and in between half-lidded windows.
"No, ex-moron! I'm HERE. In Lungmen, and not freezing to death in Ursus." He kicked the angel's shin to further emphasize his point. "I thought you'd understand, since you've been through hell, too!"
"Ow! Law, Dani, I'm just joking! Fuuh… I get it, I was just joking."
With a frown, the two continued passing through the neighborhood, handing out the colorful scraps to any silent mailbox willing to consume them.
"... It's just that, people don't realize how good they have it. That they're ungrateful. And when they whine about how terrible it is…" He shook his head, kicking around an empty can. "It's like they can't see that progress requires initiative… You have to do something to get something back. And they just… They do nothing and expect everything!"
Andy nodded, stopping by an alleyway. A decomposing mass of flesh and crystal laid at the very end, overran by rats and flies. "That's very thoughtful, Dani. Now tell it to that Oripathy riddled corpse."
"Fuck you."
"Oh, come on…"
"You're just… You're so dense! Eбать, you're so dense…"
Andy watched his friend storm off, feeling a sharp poke of guilt prodding into his side. He followed suit, showering the Ursus with apologies.
.
They went back and forth, apologizing and teasing again, eventually settling on dumping all the leaflets off the highest skyscraper they could find in the high-rise commercial district and calling it a day. As they were being escorted back down by the building's security team, they watched the hundreds of tiny papers floating through the air, like a flock of migrating fowl. It was beautiful, in a way.
Upon reaching the ground floor, they ditched the furious suits threatening to call the LGD on them and dove into the commercial area, deciding to finish the day off by grabbing a light drink or two. Just something to cleanse the day's weariness, to soothe the strained muscles. Nothing too hard.
A few hours later, stumbling through the dimly lit streets, holding onto one another and mumbling incomprehensible nonsense, the two found themselves searching for a last stop before finally heading home. In front of them, laid a wide selection of establishments to pick and choose from. Shady gin-mills, bright, neon riddled joy dens, inconspicuous basement raves, all planted along the wide commercial street.
But in the middle of it all, one building stood out like a gold nugget amidst a pan full of dirt. Wide, floor to ceiling windows reflecting the competitors' neons, drawing the gazes of any drunkards passing by, alluring smells seeping from inside, playing at the heartstrings of any starving ravers blown high out of their minds and a simple, elegant banner hanging above the grand entrance.
.
"The Ends Of The Earth."
.
Andy pointed towards the bar.
"Dani…"
He turned those drunken pools of bliss towards the oasis of bright lights and alluring smells, only for all of his idyllic spirit to immediately evaporate.
"Andy… Bratan, no, no… Not that. Not there."
The drunken youth grasped his wrist tightly and forcefully jerked him away from the treacherous plaza that enslaved all human senses. "Nooo, bratan, that's all ложь… All of it, lies, deception… Bratan, that is the working man's hell! The owner? Oh, the owner, terrible music, terrible person… Come, we drink at home, I'll introduce you to uncle Sergiy! He should be more drunk than the both of us by now, hehe…"
Andy couldn't do anything but let himself be dragged away, staring star-struck at the glowing establishment slowly disappearing in the distance, enveloped by darkness.
Warm, primordial darkness.
.
.
…
.
.
The following day, Andy woke up underneath his desk at the old library. With the mother of all hangovers banging at his skull, he dragged himself onto his office chair and swung his head over the side.
It hurt like it endured a thousand knuckle-duster clad punches, as if all it ever knew was nothing but violent, splitting pain.
He held in his lunch from yesterday, which slid up his gullet in a desperate attempt to be set free from the prison that was the angel's stomach. His hands covered his mouth.
"Come on… Come on, you're better than this…" His thoughts kept telling him, encouraging his throat muscles to push the messy pile of stale bread and fin-fillets back down.
A sharp, ringing sound pierced the morning air, hitting him like a bucket of ice-cold water to the face. His eyes immediately picked out the source, the old, rusty landline telephone stranded atop his desk. Law… Dani, not at this hour, please…
Grumbling, huffing, he picked the receiver up and pressed against his ear.
"What? What do you want, D-..."
"Oh? Is it a bad time? I apologize." Answered the unknown voice, slightly surprised and hurt.
Andy turned to look at the receiver, as if expecting that this mysterious person would just manifest themselves in front of him.
"No, I just thought… Nevermind, who is this?"
"This is Beau Bernard, owner of "B.B. And I", I received a flyer in my mailbox advertising a cheap logistics company? Pacific Empire?"
Andy felt a shiver of excitement running up his back.
"Pacific Empire, yeah-... I mean, yes. That's us. I mean, me."
"Great! Could we arrange a meeting later, today? I have some light cargo to move around town, and…"
Yet again, the ringing noise cut him off.
"Excuse me, Mr Bernard, I'm getting another call." He fiddled with the machine, trying to figure out how exactly it operated. "Let me just put you on hold for a second…"
"Oh, that's…-"
With a few clicks, Andy threw the connection on hold and pushed through the second caller.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Pacific Empire? Good morning, this is Xuān Jūn from "Five Worlds", we were wondering whether your company would be interested in…-"
"Hold on, I'm getting another call."
.
Click!
"Pacific Empire? I'm calling to offer…"
Click!
"Hello? Pacific Empire? We are interested in…"
Click!
"Good morning! We would like to offer your company, Pacific Empire…"
Click!
"Hello! Hi! Drop everything and listen, Pacific Empire! Here, at…"
.
.
Click!
.
.
Andy laid back in the chair, the endless chattering of half of Lungmen resonating through his hungover mind. The receiver slid out of his grasp, hanging by the cable off the side of his chair.
He made it.
He actually made it big.
To make it was one thing. To follow through was another. That was a mistake he's committed once already and wouldn't repeat, ever again.
.
With a notebook chock-full of dates and names, his joyous radiance spilled onto the gloomy street, followed by the pitiful chortling of his van's engine.
And off to work he went.
.
.
The next few weeks felt like a dream. A tiring, never ending dream that dragged on and on, long into the morning hours, right before waking up. A dream that would put him to sleep the second he returned home, whether it be late at night, early, passing the rising sun and minding it no business, or somewhere around mid-day, when most would be just a few hours into their own heap worth of work. The extreme flexibility of being your own boss came with the disadvantage of leaving him with the duty of setting his own schedules.
One day, he'd run just a few food deliveries around his neighborhood, the other, he'd spend a full forty-eight hours driving back and forth around the entirety of Lungmen, his organism operating on nothing but hectoliters of black coffee and energy drinks.
Then, he'd take a few days off to sleep it all off, missing out on a mountain of contracts piled up on his desk. Dropping and gaining customers left right and center, gathering complaints and praises, building up a certain reputation.
Bills kept piling up, most of his paychecks going towards the renovations of the mound of rusty scrap on wheels, ammunition (as he had to let out the occasional warning shot here and there to scare off a thug or a pack of hungry hounds in some less civilized areas of the city), or simply basic commodities so that he wouldn't starve to death (apart from the septic tanks filled with artificial energy-water.)
And yet, more and more customers kept ringing. The most loyal of them all, the Motorized Harbor, always welcoming him with open arms and a warm array of smiles from all its members. Duflot seemingly always had some cargo that needed running, oftentimes nudging the angel lightly to push his contracts above any others, which he did. Why wouldn't he? Amidst people he knew, who were always eager to load up his van with Law knows what, he didn't even need to bother with all the usual heavy lifting! He didn't need to bother with anything at all. All that was required from him was to simply take the goods and drive through the city to the big warehouses on the other side… No questions, no worries, head empty of any thoughts.
During these drives, he'd listen to the radio. Amidst the usual guitar screeches, he'd find himself listening to the occasional news stations from time to time. Through the idle chatter about Yenwu's many accomplishments and the LGD's crackdowns on whatever they wanted to target at the given moment, a grim reminder would slither, always making the angel freeze in place.
"... As for last month's brutal shootout on Elm's Crossing, near the corner of Deepwater Avenue, the Guard Department has still had no luck in locating the perpetrator, but a number of suspects have been listed and are to be investigated in the following weeks…"
He'd immediately grasp and twirl the frequency knob, forcing a sea of guitar shredding to drown out the reporter's mechanical voice.
His ears did not need to hear any of that. His mind didn't want to worry.
Duflot said it would be okay. Andy had no reason not to believe him.
And that's all he ever needed to tell himself.
.
.
.
…
.
.
.
Weeks passed.
Call frequency thinned.
Andy was so lost in all the free time he suddenly found himself thriving in, that he didn't even notice. Only when they cut the lights to his library had he figured that something was wrong.
His wallet laid empty on the desk, a few fruit flies escaping its barren innards. The angel sighed and dragged himself to the planning notebook.
For the past week or so, clients have been canceling each and every delivery. Even Duflot hadn't called in a while. Strange.
At first, he didn't even bother asking why, content with the free time it all brought along. Now, though…
At least there was another delivery scheduled for today. Some inland big pharma giant, medical supplies or such. Piece of cake.
.
Ring ring.
.
The landline came to life, to his horror. Slowly, his fingers creeped over the receiver and picked it up.
.
"Pacific Empire, how may I…?"
"Yes, good evening, this is L.M.S, "Lungmen's Medical Stronghold". I see we have a meeting scheduled for today, yes? Mister Andrew Ricketts, correct?"
Andy immediately perked up, a grin twisting the corners of his lips upwards.
"Yes! Yes, that's correct, I'm-..."
"Yes, I'm calling to cancel today's delivery."
His halo dimmed. His skin turned pale.
"Cancel…?"
"Correct, we found someone else for the job. I hope it won't be an issue, have a nice night and-..."
"Wait. Wait, wait."
The blurry, monotone voice went silent for a moment.
"Yes, Mr Ricketts?"
His fingers scoured the notebook, latching onto each mention of "L.M.S."
"... Who did you find? I've been losing clients all week, I see you've canceled on me thrice, already, I…"
"We contracted a group better suited for our needs, and quite honestly, way more professional than your one-man operation, Mr Ricketts." The voice cut him off, laying out the plain truth. "Compared to your services and certain opinions we have heard about your unconventional ways of going about your job, this company is a trusted, reliable source. I shouldn't mention this, but even the price they offered was lower."
Andy blinked, feeling a lump forming in his throat.
"... So they just poached you guys from me…?"
"I assure you, Mr Ricketts, that we have not been "poached" by anyone, but simply offered a better deal. As a matter of fact, most companies we've asked about your portfolio have been offered similar services by that very same competitor of yours. It's only logical that we cut our ties, Mr Ricketts."
His eyes kept blankly staring at the table in front, blurring more and more with each passing second.
"... Can I at least get a name?"
"A name? I don't see why not, if it benefits you in any way."
A beat.
.
"... We've entrusted our delivery-related needs to Penguin Logistics."
.
"..."
.
Andy pressed the receiver back into its resting place with a soft click.
.
Penguin Logistics.
He's heard the name, obviously. Big shot, fancypants company, making it big in the business and squashing any competition that dared invade their territory… Tyrants.
Who were they, really?
Andy sat and pondered, staring at the dusty ceiling. He's never once had the chance to run into any of them. Heard tidbits of whispered info here and there, about how the company ties spread out like roots all around Lungmen's crime underbelly. Some petty criminals, were they?
And they were now prodding into HIS business.
Taking HIS clients.
Stealing directly from HIM.
His eyes twitched. For the first time in years, he felt an ever growing sense of pure, unfiltered rage rising deep within.
Who do they think they were? The hand of Law, to just take whatever they wanted without consequences?
No.
Who do they think HE was? Some lost little boy, rolling about in the mud and playing postman? Someone to tap on the head and take away his toys, like candy from some wailing brat?
No, for Law's sake! He was the half a million shekel merc! He was one of W's (may his wicked soul rest in peace) boys! A mogul of war! Survivor of Kazdel! Owner and CEO of Pacific Empire!
Andy kicked himself and the chair away from the desk, before hopping down and storming off upstairs.
With the sun throwing its orange gleam over the tiny room, he grasped a piece of linen from underneath his tiny bed and pulled.
Out, spilled all the toys he could ever need. Remnants of a past long thrown away.
A dozen loose nine by thirty nine cartridges, W's old knife, a few smoke grenades connected by a leather strap, Nuffer, and Vinny, the integrally suppressed beast. Andy blew the dust off the rifle's scope and slid his hand along the rubber-y barrel, feeling the thin piece of red cloth wrapped around it brushing against his fingers. An old friend, once left alone in the dead of night in some Kazdelian forest to freeze over, now serving as a death-delivering courier of misery, wherever and whenever. Amidst the boiling hot dunes, the dirty mires, the frozen wastes that stretched for miles on end, or the treacherous city of bright lights and broken promises. His mind was empty. No rules that forbade the usage of live ammo anywhere stained his thoughts. He was fuming.
He slung the rifle over his shoulder and grabbed a spare magazine, along with a belt of smoke grenades. Remembering the coughing fits from a few years ago that still ran clear in his memory, he shoved a gas mask into his coat and zipped it up tight. Thank you, W, for the idea.
On his way out, the gunman noticed a broken mirror hanging above his nightstand. He should've probably thrown it out a while ago, yet was too lazy to do so. Too pissed to do it now.
He gazed into his own eyes, leaning against the cabinetwork. Something rattled inside - an old box of eyeliner, covered in dust and cobwebs.
He tore it open and smeared a healthy douse underneath his eyes to cover the purple bags with two black lines, like some war hero from those old Kazdelian action flicks.
Locked and loaded, he stepped out onto the dim streets, rifle on his back, grenade belt over his shoulder. He knew exactly where the meeting would be taking place a few hours from now on. It was only a matter of intercepting one of the sides before they got there.
The van came alive once again, with a pitiful chorus of wheezing and croaking. He punched the gas and drove off into the night.
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…
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She never truly understood why they took on jobs like these.
These low-paying gigs, these side hustles unworthy of being called a proper night out.
Always so far away from any safehouses, always in the fancy-shmancy districts, under some overpass or freeway. Speak of mutually assured anonymity.
Pffft.
And to think they sent her alone just because "even that Pacific Empire moron could get this stuff delivered on his own." Talk about keeping up appearances!
A lonely girl showing up with no one at her side but dear old Luciela? What a jooooke... But on the other hand, it did make her look strong and reliable, or whatever… Good to know they trusted her this much! What a load of bullcrap, pft.
.
But then again, every second spent outside The Ends Of The Earth without loud music blaring was a second lost, never to be retrieved back, ever again. Blasting tunes to clear her mind off anything else invading that private little oasis was the way to go most days... But these silent, lonely corridors and alleyways surely did make the memories crawl back in.
...
... Whatever.
Best to get it done and forget about the whole ordeal. About her.
.
Her sporty kicks tapped against the concrete, as she swerved into some shady back-alley. Drying raindrops dripping down the metal pipes accompanied her early-night stroll.
Dark, grimy… "That's Lungmen for ya, baws!"
… That's what one of their newer recruits would say. She had a funny accent, that one. Quite unlike anything they've ever heard before. Between the grumpy mystery-of-a-woman, a pair of shining stars of two completely different music genres with completely different personalities, and a money-obsessed country gal, she had to admit, maybe she herself, was the weirdest one there.
Was she, though?
There was also one more person that'd occasionally jump into their mix, but… A person she'd rather not think about at all. The gnawing pain in her chest was still evident, even despite all the reassuring words and promises said over the phone.
How long has it been? A year?
Something like that.
.
...
.
... Ah, she'd show up at some point. No point in dwelling on it. Worry hurts beauty, or something.
No point in getting worked over nothing and pouring a heap of anxiety into her tiny head, right?~
... Yeah. Sure.
.
Tap, tap, tap. Her feet tapped against concrete as she ventured deeper into the dark, concrete maze.
.
No point in thinking about her. No point in worrying over spilled milk. She's sure she had her reasons. And that those reasons were conveniently just piling atop one another each time she tried to arrange a meeting or just even call her, as of late.
Was it something she's done? Has she not given her enough? Leaving home, leaving EVERYTHING behind to follow some dreamt up future that was never meant to be, what else did she want from her? What could she have done to finally be enough?
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Tap, tap, tap.
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Nothing. She must've had her reasons to leave. It wasn't her fault. C'mon, stop thinking about it.
That's not how normal people think. How she should be thinking, vastly different from the bleak reality.
If only others could see the world her way. If only… If-...
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Tink, tink, tink…
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A small, cylindrical can fell from the dark sky above and landed by her side. It rolled around in a whimsical fashion, then stopped entirely - something glinted by its far end, yet she couldn't quite make out what it was.
Then, another can followed its metallic friend. And another. And another…
A barrage of clinks filled her ears.
Tink, tink, tink. tink, tink, tink, tink, tink…
Her apricot-orange eyes widened at the sudden rain of aluminum. Was it a prank? Was it a-...
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HISS!
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The first of the cans fizzled, before a plume of smoke shot from its end. The others reacted accordingly, quickly enveloping the surrounding area in a ring of pure, white fumes. The girl took a small step back and covered her mouth with one hand, flicking the safety off her submachine gun with the other. This wasn't no ordinary stick up, that much she knew… It was unlike anything she's ever experienced.
She heard footsteps. Rapid, approaching from behind the smokescreen - nearly feral, in a way. One of her eyes had already been covered by a curtain of crimson hair, but she closed it nonetheless, focusing her aiming-eye on the source of the sound. With the muzzle of her gun trained at the heaps of fumes in front, her ears perked up, eager to pick out even the faintest of noises and shut them down for good.
But the footsteps only grew dim. A mere second later, they dissipated into the smoke entirely.
The night fell silent. No culprit to be blamed for the crude prank, no face to pinpoint the sudden gas attack to. She knew well enough how dangerous the streets of Lungmen were, but a coordinated ambush in some random alleyway was the last thing she had anticipated that night.
The girl felt a tinge of uneasiness, the feeling crawling up her arms and wings and sprouting further up, eventually reaching the annoying, bright light above her head.
They noises. It was completely silent. Nothing but her biting thoughts and worries remained.
About time to shut them up for good. Assailants suddenly feeling a 'lil shy, huh? Maybe a rain of lead oughta give 'em some encouragement.
"I know you're there, whoever you are, you rascal! Now step out or face my flurry of lead! And rubber." Her voice resonated through the night as she smirked to herself, before gracefully spinning in place - all while keeping a keen eye out on every possible angle. Each tidbit of smoke flowing past, each tiny breeze pushing the milky mass into the air, back and forth, twirling and mixing with the empty darkness, each and every little move from the sea of white in front, each wave that reached out and dissipated into nothing, as if crashing against the shore that was her tiny little bubble of personal space - it was all under her complete and total control. Eyes, like CCTV, irises like camera lenses, the area around her - a fortress - impenetrable, unbreachable, completely and utterly safe.
Whish. A mere smudge of black tore through the air, sending a gale of freezing night air running through her hair.
A swift projectile whizzed past her head, embedding itself deep in a metal pipe that scaled the alleyway's towering wall. She turned towards the object for just a split second. Just enough time to somewhat make out what it was - a short, bleak blade protruded from the conduit.
And just as she was about to resume her video-monitoring duties, the noises outside her ring of safety returned.
A few soft footsteps rang out behind her back - She didn't even get a single moment to gather her thoughts, let alone turn.
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"...?!"
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An unseen force swooshed past her legs, before unceremoniously sweeping her right off her feet.
Something heavy rattled by the concrete ground. Her grip tightened around the gun's handle. Her mind scrambled as she fell to the floor and bruised her back. Clutching to the rifle as hard as she could, she tried locating the culprit in a desperate attempt at regaining even the slightest bits of control over the current situation. Eyes narrowed, as she gazed up at the moonlight-bathed mountain of dark in front. Before her stood a blurry mess of shaky contours, shapes and lights. She didn't need to know who or what it was, though. She just needed to fill it with rubber.
Her mind focused. The pure gold of her halo shone just a tad brighter at the mere thought of setting off an originium charge and sending a flailing pile of rubber crashing into the villain's face. Thin fingers wrapped around the gun's handguard, as the muzzle slid somewhere along the correct line of fire. Amidst the entire mess, her ring of light shone even brighter, illuminating the masked attacker's empty lenses…
But before the cathartic gunshot could riddle them with holes, something hard and heavy fell upon her forehead, as if the twin moons itself had crashed against Terra and there was nothing but her to absorb the impact.
Her mind suddenly went completly blank. The rattling of her brain bouncing cheerfully around the tiny confinements of her skull could be well heard around the entire alleyway.
She felt her thoughts seeping right out her ears and escaping into the night, as force of a thousand rampaging burdenbeasts slammed right into her face. It sent her head jerking back and laid her flat out on the concrete.
The gun fell from her hands as she grasped her nose, with a stream of blood now trickling down her soft, terrified face.
She looked upon the attacker, feeling her halo and wings flickering. It wasn't very often that they malfunctioned like that. Then again, she wasn't really used to feeling the bony hands of genuine fear gripping her throat, either.
There, it stood - A faceless mess, breathing heavily through an old, foreign gas mask, with the filters hastily stitched together. Most, if not the rest of them remained shrodued by the shadows cast by the moonlight, yet she could tell the attacker wasn't either the tallest, nor the most well built. A twig with a fury of curly heir shooting from behind the mask. At that exact moment, she found the sight akin to the usual, widely accepted image of Death that the Lateran school system had placed within her head - not scary, no. Absolutely terryfying.
The reaper wiped the blood off their rifle's butt and slid the suppressed muzzle right up to the girl's face, pushing it hard against her cheek. She gasped in dread.
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"Move, and you're fucking dead."
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The figure twitched in pain, as the gray light above their head dimmed for a split second. She could only watch as they kicked away the submachine gun by her side with one swift move. It slid along the concrete with a painful, scratching noise, before disappearing deep into the ring of smoke that surrounded them both. Neither her hands or legs would move, as the hands of terror kept tightening their grasp over her throat. She was utterly and completly petrified with fear.
"Penguin Logistics?" The masked man's distorted voice rasped in the cold air. She gave a tiny nod, eyes locked on the live bullet lazily resting at the very end of the barrel pointed straight at her face. Bit, gnawed on, torn in the very middle, exposed... No mere FMJ, no. It had to be a hollow point - the kind of bullet that not only tears your flesh apart in seconds but also digs its metallic fingers deep all around the entry wound. You know, just to make sure you're DEAD dead.
"You think it's fun to f-... To mess with other people's business, yeah?" He spat out, each word seeping with genuine hatred. The muzzle pressed even further against her cheek, causing a buildup of warmth to pool over her skin. At that point, there was no telling where her crimson red hair ended and her terrified blush began.
"N-No, I… I don't know anything about that. I just deliver p-packages..." She stammered, her tiny voice void of any of the cockiness from before. A life or death situation called for seriousness, even despite her playful nature. But then again, with all the solemnity she could muster, she couldn't quite drop the strange feeling of bizarre familiarity that enveloped her mind whole whenever the gunman's lens-clad eyes met hers. They appeared to be... strangely homely. Behind the unfeeling lenses, a storm of emotions brewed and she could tell. The gunman, he was a Sankta, yes, but she couldn't for the love of her access his halo's emotional output. Couldn't stare into his gray, empty eyes without feeling as if she had seen them before, somehow...
"Bull. You deliver packages, your boss puts me out of business. How fair is that?" He spat back, seemingly without sharing the sentiment. Even the voice, even through the mask, it was... forcing memories into her head. Memories of warm summers spent running around peach orchards just outside the mighty marbles of Laterano...
"P-Please, I d-didn't know, I…" She slid back against a wall, feeling the rubbery bore pushing against her cheek. "I don't even know who you are. I've no idea what you want from me, or... or anyone else for that matter. I r-really…"
"Who am I? They send you out to steal my client, and don't even tell you who you're stealing from? Law…" He cackled. It was a cold and grim sound, yet some familiar warmth had slipped right past that initial facade. Her mind went into amok, searching through folders of sounds and tones, of childish giggles and gleeful laughs. "Pathetic rats. Hopeless when cornered by a swine of war. That's who."
"Swine of w-... of war What...?" Something clicked... but not quite fully. Some cogs turned, some familiar pictures arose...
A certain monastery slithered its great, white walls into her mind. She could almost hear the mechanical clicking coming from its towering front door...
"Shut it. Shut-, just... Shut up! You're putting me out of business! All of you! You... Scum! Penguin Logistic scum, You're..." The gunman hesitated. There, right in his eyes, she could see something shifting and twitching. The overbearing blankness soon became replaced by what could only be described as a flame of sudden realization that had somehow lit his entire mind ablaze. Fingers shook, knees bent under his weight a little, as if made of cotton. Both of them kept staring in the other's eyes without a word, the rapid heartbeats of them both sounding out wildly into the night. His breath seemed to have hitched in his throat - so did hers, as the rubber muzzle slowly slid off her cheek, and rested somewhere beneath, now pointed at her throat or collar bone. "... You're… Look, who even are you? Who... 'Cause you remind me of someone. You, actually... Y-..." That's all he managed to blurt out, before his breathing turned rapid, and the rifle swayed gently to his side.
The girl slowly sat up, pressing her back against the wall. As her violently rampaging heartbeat started to die down, she gazed upon the figure, scanning him frantically from head to toe. Now a little less blurry, a bit more defined and visible, he started making more sense, gathered much more of an actual look than before, than the pile of shapeless hurt and violence that assaulted her face. What was supposed to be a mound of messily stitched rags now appeared to be a gray military jacket with patches all over - patches of mismatched materials that covered up holes and tears, shielded him from whatever came his way. Bruises lined his shaky hands and wrists - more most likely hid beneath the raggy sweater he wore.
And his face? The image that his mask somewhat shielded?
Through the lenses, she could clearly see his eyes. Gray - both bleak and sad, void of hope for the future, yet lit up with pure, raw emotion. A forest of wild, untamed curls of that exact same color spilled from underneath the face-covering rubber, lit up by both the moonlight and the colorless ring of light swaying with the breeze right above his head.
Gray halo. Gray wings. Gray hair. Gray eyes.
.
No matter how long she stared, how long her body stayed breathless, she couldn't believe what she was seeing. A clay soldier boy molded from tears, pain and misery. A familiar gaze, a familiar presence.
Someone she assumed had died long, long ago - indirectly by her hand.
Her thoughts were running rampant, like never before. Not even the long hours spent thinking and sobbing over her could compare to what was stirring within her mind at the current moment. Her heartbeat skyrocketed. Give it a few more beats per minute, she'd go into cardiac arrest.
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She had to be sure.
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She had to know.
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A faint whisper left her lips, lingering in the chilly, night air.
.
.
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"Andy…?"
.
.
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Thud. The rifle fell from his hand, body going absolutely limp. Vinny's condition didn't matter in the slightest at that point. Hell, he could get scratched all over on the concrete, he didn't care much. There was absolutely nothing in his mind - nothing, but the sight of this red headed girl cowering in fear and disbelief, now on her knees and reaching forward, searching for familiarity and acceptance in his eyes. As she spoke his name, his heart stopped completly. Finished its lifelong task, said "that's all from me", then retreated on its well earned vacation.
He froze. No amount of reassuring words could ever make him believe the situation he had found himself in. Not after everything. Not now.
.
Slowly, the girl stood up, watching each of her moves carefully. Seeing no attempts at stopping her from the boy, she took a tiny step closer and dared reach out to him.
.
It couldn't be.
.
First, it was his hands. Both hers and his met for just the tiniest of moments. Fingers danced around the other's as she examined them close with her touch, unwilling to let even a single scar, a single bruise or callus go unchecked.
She felt warm. Incredibly warm.
.
Having ran all across the dirty plains of his skin, her soft fingers slid up his sweater, long devoid of any fuzziness. They grasped the gas mask carefully, and gradually slid it off, treating it like a wounded fowl that fell from the heavens high above. So precious and delicate, a little gift from the Saints.
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A young face emerged from beneath.
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A familiar face.
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Bruised, damaged, broken.
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Scarred to all hell, yet still familiar.
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Andy heard her gasp at the sight. Saw her fingers twitch, heard the mask drop to the ground.
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He gazed on. Eyes laced with pure disbelief and hope, they met hers - pools of apricot orange, resting between curtains of saffron red, perfectly dreamed up, perfectly innocent, perfectly scared and shocked beyond belief. He couldn't keep a straight face even a second longer.
.
The waterworks started pumping out saltwater from those gray eyes of complete disbelief, letting it mix with a mess of soggy eyeliner plastered underneath. Just as he had started crying, a gentle touch graced his cheeks. The tender softness of her thumb slid along his rugged skin, bringing him a piece of heavenly serenity to enjoy. Just for himself.
.
Slowly and carefully, she wiped the lingering tear. No questions were asked, no reassurances yet spoken. She saw the pain and she needed to rid him of it at once.
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Her hands kept touching all over his head - Running rapidly through his hair, brushing back every hint of incredulity, and non-verbally answering each query that remained unasked. How? Why? When? Just... What?
Nothing needed to be resolved at the moment. It was just him and her. His head, his hair, his face, her disbelieving hands.
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Her eyes, her mouth, contours and shapes... It was all that he could see. Her bright, utterly perfect face, as if straight from a Kazdelian fever dream.
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None dared to blink. None dared to break eye contact, as if afraid that the other would disappear if they did.
He wanted to scream, but his lungs were empty. He wanted to yell, but his mouth refused. Wanted to throw everything away and run, to get as far away from this nightmarishly beautiful sight as he could, but his legs wouldn't budge.
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He couldn't do anything but gaze into her very soul. Into those twin moons of copper, shining brightly just for him from behind a curtain of crimson.
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His hand slowly regained feeling. Barely but barely, it was enough to curl his fingers around, to make sure he was still alive, still within the confinements of the world of the living, not never-never land. He reached upwards, to check. To make sure. To beg the Law for this moment to be real.
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His fingers grasped the side of her face. Her soft, warm cheek. The moment his fingers connected with her skin, he felt her supple shapes bending and readjusting to fit his hand well. She did not protest at all, did not say a single word. They just stood there and stared. Touched each other, gazed, cried and stared...
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A loose strand of hair tickled his skin.
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He brushed away the blood trickling down her chin.
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His mind went utterly blank. No thoughts of dropping everything and running, no hopes of a brighter future. Just one, single thing remained.
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One, crucial question.
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His lips parted, letting the only cohesive word left in his vocabulary slither out into the night.
.
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"Lem…?"
.
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And that was everything she needed to hear.
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Everything she wanted to hear at that very moment.
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All her worry-riddled brain could handle, as she slid her hands off his face and threw herself forward.
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Andy was left with nothing. He could hear nothing.
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See nothing.
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Feel nothing, but the warmth of her body, as her arms enveloped him in the embrace he's yearned for all his life.