----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------They had gone out to check on the crops when Dokebi and five of his Shamans arrived in the farmhouse. "The boy is ours now. You must taint his blood no more." The father protested weakly. "He is my son! He will not be accepted in the village, as you have commanded them regarding us!" The Shaman Councilor laughed at this. "You have forgotten, outsider, that he is my apprentice. The whole village regards him as my succesor; he is a striker, and more." "He is no shaman, councillor, but a boy who will choose what he will be when he comes of age. Now please leave us. Winter is coming and we have to prepare; I suggest you tell your people to do the same." Dokebi smiled and walked around them and drew his one of his blades. The strikers did the same. They walked in a threatening manner, circling in on them, just as the barn door burst open. His mother was saying something about their friends from the city when she saw their plight, her eyes widening with horror. Dokebi gestured, and one of the strikers grabbed her mother. "Your choice, Bloodcaster." He knew what would happen if he resisted, but if he went with them, there was a chance that the councillor would let them go. He decided to go with them. He took one last look at his parents, his eyes brimming with tears, begging for forgiveness. Then Dokebi put his arm over his shoulder and they all left, the shadows of the twilight mocking him of his choice. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Snow and ash fell lightly on the blood-strewn village. To some eyes, this and the blood moon accentuated the beauty of the starless evening - but they had already shattered their vision years ago. This squad already had another two encounters this morning, but they had still not found the rebels they were looking for. If another day passed without even a footprint leading to the hideout, they would be withdrawn, all of their members reevaluated, including the candidates for the ZPCI Elite. Three Hunters had to be pulled from the mission to accomodate the tagalongs. Looking at the Commandos, the Captain was disappointed with one of them. The eldest, had one of the sharpest minds he had ever seen. Normally, no one would question the battle plan drawn up by their Sergeant. But this one challenged every element and questioned every tactic of the strategies the guy had come up with. The Captain approved of him, but it could not be said of the next one. The kid, to put it bluntly, was nothing more than a charmer. He had probably impressed his previous commanding officer by going by the book, apprehending anyone with the slightest mistake that went against the rules, hell probably even had a relationship if the former CO was female. But it wwas the third that sent chills down his spine. The debriefing officer told him to disregard the fact that the kid had lied about his age, which was really fifteen. He looked he was seventeen but had the eyes of any of his Hunters that had seen death before. But the scariest of all, he was like a ghost. He never was included in the battle plan because he was given freedom to kill, or capture any he encountered whenever he scouted for them. The only reason they could locate him was the emergency friend-or-foe tag that sent a beacon to anyone, including enemies nearby. He was surprised, because the second one, a Sergeant once of the Dystopian Guard, raised his rifle and cried, "Sir, contact!". The only thing he noticed before he was dragged to safety by one of his Hunters was that youngest Commando, Luke, was running away from the batle into the deep darkness of the winter night. And fell. He had been hit by one of the mounted MGs. Even if he had made it, he would have shot him himslef for running from the battle. Something was wrong and he couldn't shake off the feeling. Luke couldn't have died so easily. Then he remembered that he ran away from the battle; he was a coward, and died like one. He didn't give the young man another thought. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A ring announced that he had arrived on the ground floor. When he left the lift, he noticed a man milling about just outside the hotel lobby. He crossed the street and entered the Floating Apple. His emerald eyes took in everything. The chamber was designed to maximize the audience's view of the performer Two balconies on both flanks with stairs near the entrance. Torelli and his retinue was at the left balcony, with his daughters at the next table. There was a young man along with them talking to Sophia, and she seemed animated, delighted even to be speaking to him. His heart ached, but he knew that he could never have that again. He entered the kitchen, and into the staf lounge. The lone waiter stood to protest, but wisely stopped as Luke pointed a pistol at him. "I know you need cash. Get me the foremost table, left balcony, then you get five-hundred. Immediately, in cash." The man hurried into the kitchen, then came back with a list. "Your going to serve them a bowl of deep-fried baby prawns. Don't forget to ask them if they need anything." as he took off his clothes and took the assassin's. "Money's in the left inner pocket" he said as he put on the disguise. He went back in the kitchen and took the order carefully putting a smal dose of Iricin into the batch. Clemons was healed, and changing clothes at will when he got out of the kitchen. Going up he saw the boy talking to the Mayor's daughters going down for a quick trip to the john. He quickly went up to the politician's table. They immediately stopped their silent deliberation as he came up to serve the their order. "Sorry for being late, sir. As ordered, a bowl of deep-fried prawns. Would you need anything else, Sir?" The nearest man motioned for him to be done with his formalities. He left, placing a bug on Grey as he passed him by. The two girls, however, had caught his subtle motion without understanding what it was. He passed them by, glancing at the two. Sophia caught his gaze, and recognition slowly reaching into her eyes, gasped. Silena looked at her sister, caught the look, and turned back at Luke, but he was already descending the steps. Sophia stood to run at him, but by the time she had reached the main floor, he was gone. Silena began with a querie when her younger sister returned to their table. "Who was he? What was it?" Her sister could barely reply. "He's supposed to be dead. How can Luke be alive?", she muttered, and her sister could only stare at her in shock. ------------------------------------------------------------ The raindrops still fell softly down on the pavement. It rarely if it ever did rain, but he remembered the last time it had. The memory was still vivid in his mind, every facet of of light from every drop from the sky illuminating a small particle patch of ignored surface. But the streets were emptier now, devoid of life as Android Guards patrolled their posts. The pawnshop was still there, still manned by the dark-sinned black marketeer. Luke was sitting in one of the outer tables of a cafe at the other side of the street. At six, he had already bought the evening paper and a cup of piping-hot coffee to wash away the sleep. On the front was a piece that alerted the city, and more importantly, the resistance, of the blaze that had consumed the ZPCI station. He smiled, but the grin lasted for only a moment as he gazed at the article at the bottom of the page. He finished the coffee and put the cup and the paper in the bin. He made his way to the pawnshop and asked for the contents of Locker Sixteen, subtly sliding a roll of cash to the man. The man collected the items while asking him "Would you still be interested in keeping this locker reserved?" For once, he stopped dead in his tracks and thought it through. He replied "No, and I suggest you clear out." He walked calmly back to the motel adjacent to the pawnshop. His room was on the second floor, the only one with a balcony; no matter how small it was, it was the one that provided the best vantage point. He entered, and saw two children playing in the lobby. In his black Nomex suit, he looked like a wraith, to which the children stopped and stared. He could not blame them for staring, for something inside lurked something more... disturbed, yet broken; nor could he blame them for being so unruly in such public a place. It was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where they could act the way they were without the restraints society demanded of them. As he entered the stairwell, he could see them ease back into their game, a private paradise that existed for them but only lasting precious moments. He smiled sadly as he reached the room, remembering his lost innocence long ago, and whatever last vestiges would go as he fulfilled his last promises. He snapped out of his reverie. Something had gone snick when he opened the door. He immediately dived to the right, but a hundred storms blooming in his nerves rendered him helpless, and he faded. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
