The Writer's Challenge

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The Cold Goodbye


It was a chill February night, the kind cold enough to freeze passions and break hearts into frost-bitten slurpees; the kind of slurpees that went flavourless and dry 5/6ths of the way through because the filler hadn't had the damned foresight to put in extra coke. The sky was a molasses, coagulated like sickly congealed oil accumulating on top of the peanut butter. Lady Luck's whiskey stained breath was in every forsaken inhale, bleak like the sorry threatre showing Star Wars Episode III four weeks after its premiere.

The lights were dim; they were deader than Elvis. Deader than Pauly Shore's career. Deader than the god damned cast at a bad showing of the musical RENT, and overall not on.

Not on this streetcorner. The only shred of buttered gloss highlighting this liquor painting was coming from the tattered excuse of a building that held a presence about as great as Adam Sandler's performance in Big Daddy.

They called the establishment The Rusty Bucket but the clientele knew it as a shithole. Cans rustier than store's namesake lined the shelves, to the tune of Paul Anka's staticky clamour overhead.

One night a spilled drink, one night a fight, one night you wouldn't be surprised to see a dead dog saunter in.

Matt stood near the counter like that dead dog, a package of the devil's finest in tow; if that hell lurker ever had a name it was Mr. Christie, and Matt wasn't one to resist this temptation.

They were Oreos alright. Shielded in two coins blacker in lies than a crooked politician, hiding the truth that lay underneath like a dormant pair of boxers. Nobody looked at the nutritional information. Nobody and his son.

The musky person behind him in line gave him snake eyes, daring him to make a wrong move with all 300something pounds of his fatty intent. Matt ushered himself to the counter quickly, before the Hulk decided to tango.

"Gonna have some fun with this bunch?" the clerk spat through British teeth, nodding towards the package.

"Oh yeah... Hell of a night, Ed." Matt flung a wad of cash hard on the counter, which Ed swiped faster than a gull that hadn't eaten in days.

Matt hadn't taken another twenty paces before he ripped that box of oreos clean open like a whore's shirt.
They were all there, and he made the first kill. The cookie crunched in his mouth like the bones of the unfortunate mob snitch after they found 'im.
They were good, but it left the kind of stale bite in the back of his neck no liquor would cure.

He ran into his house as quickly as a pantsless gigolo; the thirst was putting him into a stranglehold, a clutch as tight as a bittered garrote.

Matt needed a litre, real cold like, real smooth. Homogenized. The fridge was ten pulses away, and Matt resolved to make good on the favor he owed himself. He opened the fridge door with little suspense.

The carton. It was gone. Disappeared, like a defective david copperfield prop that refused to come back. Gone with the wind, like the memory of that straight to DVD sequel to Atlantis. Hell, for all Matt knew, the carton had been gone in 60 seconds.

Someone was responsible, Matt knew that. He went through his list like the Devil collecting on due loans; the first name was Jerry, and the suspicion flared like a senior's ring of fire. Jerry had snatched the occasional slice of cake and last piece of fried chicken. It was a start.

He rebuttoned his coat; there'd be no sleep until that carton was back in his clutch, and the bastard who took it be damned. He exited out into that desolate shade again, heavy footed like the unfortunate ping-pong player who had no semblance of hand-eye coordination.
The rain was starting to come down, like when the boiler blew and the shower suddenly went cold on you. It was plenty wet, but not wet enough to quell the flame of suspicion.

Jerry was where he'd been seen last; leaning against a brown brick wall like a midnight preacher.

"...shitty night, Jerry." Matt crooned, approaching like a fresh-awakened panther.

"What the hell do you want at this hour, Matt? I'm not inclined to head out back for a little preach. Piss off." The words came harder than the broadside of a Webster dictionary at full velocity.

Matt snickered with the kind of nonchalence that a snake-oil salesman usually pitched. "It's the kind of night that might make a man thirsty, Jerry, and I wouldn't put it past you." The tone was lead heavy, laced in accusation and bleeding intentions.

"You're making about as much sense as a Norwegian fishmonger speaking through buckteeth."

"I want my litre, Jerry. Moo-juice, the cold stuff." He paused like an actor on a medical drama, grunting through the grit of his teeth.

"Go home, or buy yourself another shitting litre." Jerry barked, in a kind of brilliant conclusion as only he could come to.

"Alright then Jerry, you know these parts well enough," Matt smoked. "You wouldn't happen to know the mug who took't?"

"Pigs'll grow ears on their ass before I tell you, Matt." His tone had an edge about as sharp as a spoon.

"...I seem to recall that one saturday involving the toilet paper. I think s-"

"Shut up!" Jerry interjected, infuriated at the debt he had incurred.

"So who took my litre, J?"

An awkward pause fell over the dialogue, silent as the audience in that one awkward scene in Titanic where Leonardo Di Caprio unforgivably exclaimed his king of the world line. They weren't in the right... and neither was Leonardo Di Caprio.

"...Todd." Jerry uttered at the approximate speed of a pregnant cow on snuff.

He had a name now. Matt walked into the shower again, drops pelting him harder than the tomatoes at the movie screen that time he'd seen Titanic.

So Jerry hadn't been the blood-stained bastard this time. There was another son-of-a-bitch out there who had his homogenized, and there'd be hell to pay when he found the chap. He had a bone to pick with Todd, the kind that required some really deep toothpick digging.

Ten minutes later took Matt to Todd's apartment door. He smashed the doorbell.

"...the hell is it?" barked a voice more inconsistent then a pre-pubescent squeeler.

"It's me."

The sounds of locks being undone came through the door, and in half a heartbeat, it was open. Matt didn't wait to be invited in; he strolled in brusquely, brushing past the dazed form that had opened the gates. At a moment's notice, Matt had made for Todd's toaster, freshly popped with a golden coated beauty in view.

Matt wasn't playing games; he swiped the waffle swift, not giving the opportunity for a heated outcry from Todd until the deed had been done.

"L'eggo of my Eggo, Matt."

"There are two ways this can go down, my friend. The easy way, and the slightly brutal method that involves the moderate desecration of your carb snack here."

The tension was thick enough to float a piano. Thick enough to slice a steak out of. Thicker than Paris Hilton's god damned cranium.

"You're making a mistake, Matt."

"I know what I'm doing, Todd. I don't want to hear no commentary."

"What do you want, whý're you here?" Todd demanded in quick succession.

"I think you know why, you son of a bitch. I want my litre, Todd."

"Alright, search me. I don't have it, you'll see." The smug grinned bastard pointed towards his fridge like a fool who fancied himself the tourguide to hell.

Relentless, Matt homed in on the unit, bursting the door open to the charm of that same hum.

He didn't see his litre... but he didn't care. The thirst demanded satisfaction. Matt snatched the closest carton labelled 'milk' in the vicinity, and brought it to his lips.

It went down smooth and cold, chug after chug, like a finely tuned semi-automatic.

And then it hit him.

Milk wasn't like a fine wine; it didn't taste better as time went on. The moo juice was like a kick in the gut, panging him in the liver and other organs he'd never been aware of until that moment. He was at the mercy of loaded gun.

Lady Luck had thrown him a curveball, and it had hit square where it counted.

"I told you you were making a mistake, Matt."

Matt had fallen to the ground, writhing in pain, clutching his stomach like a repentant restaurant critic.

With a smirk, Todd dropped the carton onto the ground like the truth, making a sound louder than the pieces coming together. The truth was hard, alright, harder than a unfriendly introduction to a steam locomotive at 100 miles an hour.

A month past expiry date. Todd had never been one to change the groceries plenty often.

It was just another night.

Oh man, I should have started this sooner. I didn't get anywhere near as close to finished as I wanted. Still, this is supposed to be a sort of short story deal, so maybe I typed too much? I never have been good at the whole short story thing, heh. I didn't get to use two of my planned scenes either.

Still, for all my work, it still pales by comparison to the competition. I mean, holy crap. Zal, this is the first time I've seen your work and I must say that I am highly impressed. That is just freakin' awesome.

And I think I've achieved what I wanted out of this for this round. I've learned some things about my own writing style, things I can improve on. That, and I've learned to never write about myself. Ever. I've got too much of an inflated ego for it, heh.

Righto, here's my entry.

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One Night

He got into his car, shut the door behind him quickly and then went into the ritual required to get the vehicle going. It was an old car, an '88 Honda Accord, as old as the young man trying to start it, with a maroon paint job that had been worn away on the roof. It had a few dents and scratches on it's exterior, the results of the young man's attempts at learning to drive, and the interior was cluttered with books and trash and a collection of mismatched junk. "Okay, let's see if I can get this on the first try," the young man said to himself. "The car's in park, pump the gas pedal once, foot on the brakes and then..." He turned the key in the ignition and after a few seconds of sputtering the engine roared to life. "Yeah! Thank you Sheila, there's a good car!" The car continued to race and the young man pumped the gas pedal again. The engine slowly grew quieter, but it still worked too hard for the simply task. "Ah well." The young man looked at the car's clock, which was nothing but black. "Come on..." he said as he tapped at it five times. The clock blinked four green numbers before going black again. "Eight o' clock, huh? Well, I'm not too late." The young man turned a knob and the shutters of the car flipped up, shooting twin rays of light into the dark.

He shifted the car into reverse, backed up into the street and took off. He rounded the corner ahead ten miles faster than he should have and he could feel the pull on his car as he shifted directions. The hundred or so pennies on his dashboard slid from right to left, making a cascade of noise and making a smile spread on the young man's face. Four minutes later, he was at his destination. The trailer was nothing special; it had all the looks of your standard white trash paradise, which it might as well be. There were three cars and two trucks jammed into the driveway and six other vehicles parked nearby. The '88 Accord slid into its standard spot next to a neighboring trailer, a place that used to be a nice patch of grass and weeds that had now been reduced to little more that mud. The young man parked and turned the car off. The vehicle's headlights, looking so much like eyes, shut down into the car itself, causing the proud owner to smile again. He looked back to the trailer and took in a deep breath. "Looks like a busy night tonight. Poor Mark." He chuckled and made his way up the walkway, a row of wooden planks sitting side by side. The young man marched up a few steps and stood outside the door a moment as he heard a shout from inside. He smiled hopelessly again and made his way inside.

"Grant!"

"Dude, Grant's here? What's up?"

"You're late!"

"Just in time. We need a ruling on something so c'mon, get set-up and let's go!"

The young man shook his head and put a hand to his forehead as a smile too big for his face tried to form. "Maybe I should leave while it's still safe?" he mumbled to himself. After a moment, he banished the thought. "And miss out on all the fun?" He quickly took in the crowd of people in the house. Nathan, Josh, John, Jessie, Sarah and Tom, not a bad turnout. There was even someone there that Grant didn't know. "I thought Ricky was gonna be here?"

"Yeah," said Josh, one of the four people seated at the dining room table. "He went to Sheetz to grab some caffeine, said he'd be back soon."

"A shame," Grant whispered to himself. He cringed and cursed himself, but the thought remained. He really wished Ricky wasn't there. The guy used to be fun, but he really had no other standout qualities. He'd just gone a little crazy recently and he stopped being fun. Why hang out with him?

Grant banished the thought and moved over to the table. It was just then that he realized how bad off the house was. It was a mess, a pigsty, like a tornado had blown through and a band of hooligans had moved in. Well, the last one was true at any rate, he thought. The table had a collection of dirty dishes piled up on it with newspaper clippings and coupons garnishing the sides. A clear space had been cleaned off where various cards lie strewn about, Josh on one side and Nathan on the other. Grant made a look of disgust as he saw a half liter bottle of coke half-filled with a murky brown substance. "Man, don't leave your spitters on the table, what if someone drank it?" Nathan laughed and brought the bottle to his lips as he let more of the brown liquid dribble from his lips.

Two others sat at the table, Tom and his girlfriend Sarah. They were making a fuss over each other and Grant saw no reason to interrupt their make-out session. Besides, Grant didn't like looking at Sarah, much less talking to her. Tom was all right though. He just didn't see how Tom could do much of anything with the repulsive woman. Not that he would say anything about it, not with Tom's promise of engagement to her. And Tom's criminal background scared Grant a little bit. He knew he shouldn't be, but he was just the least bit intimidated by the street-smart man with a dead daughter and ghosts reminding him of what he'd done before.

Grant shivered a moment before turning to Nathan and Josh. Josh had lit up a cigarette by then and Grant did his best not to make a big deal out of it. "Oh shit," Josh said as he stood up and moved into the kitchen, waving his hand in the air to dispel the smoke as he did so. "Sorry man, I forgot, you're allergic."

He waved it off. "It's cool. I'll live."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Grant took a shallow breath and looked at the wide and jolly young man in front of him. "So what's this problem you're having?"

"Oh yeah, that's right!" Josh took a quick puff of his cigarette before going back to the table and pointing at the collection of cards. "Okay, I attacked with my guy here and Nathan blocked, right? So I threw a volcanic hammer at his guy and killed it. Would my guy hit him since there's no blocker there anymore?"

Grant shook his head. "No. The blocker was assigned. Okay, imagine this. You're a soldier and you're sent to kill this wizard. But another soldier gets in your way. You get ready to fight him when all of a sudden a big fireball drops out of the sky and kills the other soldier. Do you really think you'd be able to keep going and kill the wizard, or would you be distracted and confused? It's the same concept here."

"Which means you don't kill me and I get to take you out next turn. Oooo-right." Nathan adopted a smug smile and leaned back against his chair.

"Man..." Josh sat back. "Whatever, there's always next game. You wanna get in on this next one?"

"Yeah, sure, just let me see what else is going on. I see John's over there, how long's he been playing the 360?" Josh shrugged and Nathan played his finishing blow.

Grant moved off and towards the living area, where John, Jessie and the new guy were situated. John and the new guy were both intently watching the big screen T.V. as they each clutched a controller in their hands. "Still playing Samurai Warriors John? I figured you'd be done with it by now."

"Hey Grant. Nah, we've still got a few guys to beat the game with. Oh yeah, this is Steve."

"Yo," the new guy said, sparing only a slight look back and a wave of his hand. "Man, these pussies keep running away!" He scowled and tapped at the wireless controller furiously.

Grant smiled. "Good, you guys keep playing then. Get my gamerscore nice and high!" Again, as he looked around, he noticed the complete disarray that the house was in. A lamp was tipped over on its side; there was trash and more dirty dishes on the floor, not to mention more bottles and cans, Grant could hardly imagine what these guys could've done to make such a mess. Hadn't he just been there yesterday? It hadn't look anywhere near this bad then! Then again, it could have been the shear amount of people clustering up the place. That might be what was altering his perception.

He shrugged it off and walked back towards the table, nodding at Jessie as he passed. She made a slight nod of her head as well and that was that. Sometimes they talked but never for any great length of time and always in the presence of others. Jessie was John's fiancée. Grant was a friend to Mark and John was his friend, which really meant that they were friends by default. But Grant had trouble with making friends with females. It was no different with Jessie. Still, she was more fun to deal with than Sarah.

It was then that Grant noticed that both Tom and Sarah were gone. He briefly considered asking about it when Tom burst out of the bedroom of Mark's parents, clothed only in his boxers, ran back to his room and then rushed back to where he had come from originally, an item clutched in his teeth which Grant presumed was a condom. Or maybe not, the girl was pregnant already. Tom disappeared and the door slammed behind him, making Grant shudder as he briefly imagined what was going on back there. And in the bedroom of Mark's parents! That was gutsy, or insane! But as for the former gangster running half naked through the house, well, that was something that Grant and everyone else had gotten used to by now. One night a spilled drink, one night a fight, one night you wouldn't be surprised to watch a dead dog walk in. That's just how things were at Mark's place. With about twenty people coming and going at any given point in the day, you came to expect the unexpected, especially when John made the decision to bring home alcohol. Chances were though, that dead dog was going to get dragged in. Shadow was still out hunting after all.

Again Grant's brain managed to pick up on a forgotten factoid. The man of the house, Mark himself, was missing. All of these people were in his house, all of this chaos was going on, and Mark himself wasn't present to appreciate it. Well, that's got to change, Grant thought. "Mark's at Addie's I take it?"

"Yeah," Nathan said as he looked over his hand. "Sorry, we started without you." Grant feigned a glare and Nathan pretended innocence. "What? You were taking too long!" Grant laughed and started for the door. "Hold on," Nathan called after him. "He said he'd be back at about nine, so don't worry about it."

"Aw, c'mon, are you saying I can't have a little fun coming between him and his fiancée?" Grant almost chuckled as a thought came and went. There were too many people getting married in this house.

He turned and headed towards the door, but stopped when he heard a curious sound. There was a long and held sound something between a yell and laughter sounding something like, "Aaaaaaahahahahahaaah!" Grant knew that sound.

A tall guy Grant's age burst through the door, his mouth positioned in a wide grin like a slice of watermelon, his eyes wild and his too long hair just as bad, and he stopped directly in front of Grant. His strange yell laugh slowly tapered off as he patted Grant's shoulder and he smiled. Ricky looked like he was supposed to. A little crazy, but happy. "Dude! Grant, what's up!"

"Nothin' much, how're you doing Ricky?"

"Awww, dude," He exclaimed in an exaggerated voice, "I'm doing great! Just got back, I got a couple of Jolts with me, I'm set for the night!" He moved past Grant and to the table next to Nathan and Josh. "Hey, do we got any rum?" Grant hoped not. Ricky was an asshole when he drank. Then again, he was also an asshole when he was with his girlfriend Britt, and now that they were an item again Ricky tended to vacillate between depression and anger. Not a lot of fun to be around.

Grant was briefly reminded of his promise to himself, of his Three Great Truths as he was calling it. And yet he couldn't go through with his promise. He needed to tell Ricky what needed to be told, but he couldn't do it. Not alone. And as much as he wanted Mark's assistance, Mark was fully intent on taking care of the problem himself. But it still hurt to see Ricky hurt by that woman. It was easy to say that he only used his friends for entertainment but when the shit hit the fan he did something. Or at least he tried. That was something he was pretty proud of too. But not this time. The first Great Truth would have to wait just a bit longer.

"Nah," John said from the living room. "We ran out of just about everything last night." Grant breathed a sigh of relief.

"Damn. Ah well. Oh, and Grant?" He turned and looked at him questioningly. "I brought some friends."

Grant felt a presence behind him just as a pair of hands came under his arms and grabbed his chest. He lunged forward, out of the grasp, and turned back, shouting indignantly, "Woah, what the hell! Yeah, my personal space bubble? Invaded!"

"Silly Grant, you don't get 'personal space' when we're here." Grant groaned and stepped closer to the table, away from the two newcomers.

Ricky laughed. "I brought the Knockers."

"Yeah, that's great," Grant mumbled, "but dude, why? Seriously, what's so interesting about my moobs? C'mon! It's just... creepy." He promised himself then and there that he wouldn't laugh the next time a girl got groped from behind in an anime. But he had a bad habit of lying to himself. Besides, since when did guys grope other guys?

Josh, first of the brothers and the guilty party, pushed his way through to the table as he laughed casually and ignored his question. Always exuberant Josh, or Sheepy when around the other Josh, so as to prevent confusion, quickly squeezed his way into the Magic game. The second brother was slower into the door. Grant had always thought that Daniel seemed to be behind everyone most of the time, staying in the back and away from things. He was a dark haired, cynical and depressed youth, but he integrated himself in as well, if a bit slower.

Seeing Daniel was bad for Grant. Or at least, that was how he interpreted the feelings he was receiving, negative thoughts and emotions, because Daniel reminded him of Belinda, due to the strange and intimate relationship the two had once shared. Grant shivered a moment as he considered that mess that was his only close female relationship beyond kinship. She was his first real female friend and he'd let things go in a way they shouldn't have, especially considered all of her problems. He hated to think of it, any of it, it just disgusted and horrified him to the core of his being, not only what had happened to her, but what he had wanted to happen. And there lie the second of the Three Great Truths. He knew, he needed to tell her what he'd been holding back. Grant knew he had to sever the bonds for him to be happy. But could he do that to her? Again he cursed his guilt and his emotions from preventing him from making the healthy choice. The second truth would have to wait as well.

As Daniel moved to close the door behind him, a black cat sauntered in through the opening. He slowly and purposefully moved towards the living room. Daniel shut the door behind him just as an excited voice cried, "Shadow!" Grant moved to see what the fuss was about to find that Jessie was holding the black cat in her arms. "Look at you, what did you get in a fight with now?"

"A bear," Grant joked.

"He probably won too," laughed John. Jessie placed the cat down as she moved to the bathroom.

Shadow sat there, with one cheek cut open and a pair of gashes on his leg, calm and waiting. Grant shook his head, amazed. "That's the freakin' Lu Bu of Cats." Shadow yawned as Jessie returned, bearing a bottle of peroxide and a box of q-tips, and began patting at one of the cat's new wounds. The animal waited through it stoically, further urging Grant to shake his head in disbelief.

Shortly after his return to the living room, Grant noticed something entirely out of place. "What the hell is that doing here?" He pointed at a bottle of Pepsi by Steve's chair. Next to it was a bottle of Coke, half filled with the murky brown liquid produced by the tobacco chewers in the house.

Steve looked up, questioningly. "What's his problem?"

John shook his head. "He's a, uh, Coke fan. He doesn't like Pepsi."

Steve seemed about to say something as Grant held up a hand and sighed, a look of resignation on his face. "No, it's nothing. I should be used to it by now." He shrugged and opened an eye to look at the new guy. "I guess there's just no accounting for some people's taste."

Steve laughed. "Shit, man, don't go screwin' around like that!" He turned away and back towards the TV, smiling and shaking his head, muttering curses. Grant nodded in satisfaction, Steve was all right.

He stepped back and melded in with the crowd at the table, keeping an eye on the players as two warriors fought their way through an endless swarm of soldiers on the screen. "Oh, by the way," John called over his shoulder, now deeply immersed into the game, "are we playing DnD tonight?"

"Maybe," Grant replied indifferently.

"Cool, you should set Steven up with a character then." John looked over to his partner and nodded. "You're cool with that, right?"

"Hell yeah," was Steve's response. "Set me up with that shit."

Grant chuckled and shrugged again, feigning apathy. "Yeah, I guess. Nothing to it then. Gimme a sec though." It was a good night. He was feeling pretty well off, and looking at John, he couldn't help but remember that third and most exciting of promises to himself, of reminding him of John's stepsister Cassie and what she represented. Not just the relationship with her, but with the honesty he was prepared to embrace in any relationship. Grant felt more calm and content than he had for a long time these past few days. But still, none of the truths would come, not even this most pleasant of the three. What was holding him back? Still he argued with himself as he tried to discover the answer, yet it just wouldn't come. There was always that apprehension that gnawed at his very being.

He sighed and cast another look at the two playing the 360 and watched as Steve brought a .5 liter bottle of Coke to his face. He took a swig before lurching forward suddenly, capping the bottle, and rushing to the bathroom. As John and Jessie snickered and giggled, Grant took note of the bottle left on Steve's chair, the bottle now only a quarter full of murky brown sludge. "I said something like this would happen."

There was a clamor from outside again and Grant rushed to the table to get a look at the front door. In through the door burst Mark, his eyes light and his smile wide, saying in exaggerated tones, "What's going on everybody!" The house burst in laughter and greeting and Grant found himself swept along in the tide of it all. The night was young, just 8:20, and there was so much fun to be had. These were the kind of nights made for people like them, just a night of fun with no worries about the consequences or of what might happen tomorrow. It was the kind of night where you threw caution away and almost anything could happen. It was another seven or so hours till dawn as Mark shut the door and Shadow slipped through at the last second. Who knew? There might still be time for that dog to show up.

I'll try to remember that these are supposed to be short stories in the future. My apologies!

Seeing as we've all made our first week's entry, let's move on to the next subject. I believe I had the next topic choice? I'm not really good at this sort of thing but I'll give it a shot.

Construct a writing that develops a character and leads the audience in a certain direction. Then, bring about an unexpected result. Plot twist practice, in other words.

The deadline is 3/11. I added a day since I'm kind of getting a head start with the topic. Let's get some feedback on these last few posts going if we can as well, if we can squeeze it in between writing of course! As for me, well, feeling kind of beat. I'll double check both of your works tomorrow and hopefully offer a better critique.

You know, I believe that we have made a grave mistake. You see, this topic contains no useless, mind-numbing spam. As such, we shall receive few actual comments with close to nil being constructive in any way. Woe unto us.

Heh, no kidding. It is strange that there's such a lack of spammage. I mean, this is the spam can. Nonetheless, I'll do what I can for critiqueing.

Zan, awesome description as usual. That's the kind of stuff I've got to struggle with to get even near that level of detail. It ended a bit too abruptly for my tastes, but that was a fault of time rather than anything else. An interesting little read.

Zal... just wow. That is some incredibly impressive work. Incredibly funny and witty, I'd say you've got the both of us beat for round one. I imagine it's very difficult to keep writing like that for any extended period of time, though. On the other hand, it's perfect for the short story approach, and as that is what we're supposed to be doing it works and it works well. The sentence we needed to incorporate in came as a little awkward in your passage, but that's really the only fault I can find. Fantastic.

And my own work... Sigh, not enough focus. There was no theme to it, no goal I was heading towards. Also, it tried introducing so many characters that you really only got a good feel for a couple of them. Of course, it was a short story so that's generally expected but I still feel that I could have slimmed it down a bit and given it better focus.

That's all I've got for now.

Done. I have lots of time to spare, I know, but I doubt I'll have much time over the next couple of days due to work. So...Here it is. I hope the twist is enough. Tom, you may recognize some of this as it is an except from a story that I have been tinkering with for some time. This is the newest version of the beginning that I finished last night. This story is one set in the world of that other RP I frequent. Basic sword versus sorcery with a slight twist...Like Berserk meets Wheel of Time meets Something about magic swords...Yeah. Enjoy.

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A lone hawk circled the vast wasteland of the Arunta Desert. Arunta, the largest desert in all of Schat located in the heart of Austral, was a place of searing heat and blazing sands. Frequent storms raged through the dunes and only the most capable of beings could survive the harsh climate. Desert scrub and cacti serve as the only plant life and the fierce Komas Dragons, giant carnivorous lizards, are the top of the food chain. The only signs of civilization are small tribal villages that have sprung up around the few oasis that dot the desert and the city of Depansir. Arunta: A terrible region where only the strong survive.

The hawk flew on in search of prey as a lone rider crested a dune to gaze across the huge expanse of desert. The rider wore a gray outfit that served to protect his body from the fierce rays of the sun and to camouflage him from prying eyes. His shirt was sleeveless, though he wore bandages to cover his arms and hands. His pants were loose and flowing in the legs, but cinched tightly at the waste with a leather belt. A long, flowing grey cloak covered him and its hood protected his head from the sun. A mask of cloth saved his face the stinging sand and a unique set of goggles protected his piercing blue eyes. A lock of grey/brown hair fell in front of his eyes, but he brushed it aside.

He rode atop a Kumai, a large wolf creature of unusual intelligence. Kumais can adapt to most climates and they served as mounts in places unsuitable for horses. This Kumai was ten feet long and its rider sat a good five feet off the ground. It was heavily muscled and those muscles rippled under its blue and black fur. It's tongue rolled from its mouth in a lazy smile as it sniffed the air. Immediately the smile changed into a scowl and a low growl escaped from between razor teeth. It's piercing blue eyes, so similar to its master's, turned to the north.

The rider felt his mount go stiff and patted it reassuringly. He smelled the smoke as well, could see it rising from the desert sands a few miles to the north. He grimaced as he weighed his options. He would have to investigate. Despite the dangers, he had no choice.

"Easy now, Ahtreide. I know...But we have no choice." He echoed his thoughts to his mount and urged the Kumai forward.

The raging sun glared down upon him, evaporating sweat as quickly as it formed. Its light reflected off the white sands, a blinding radiance that forced him to shield his eyes despite his goggles. He dropped the reins and guided Ahtreide with his legs, his free hand dropping to the water skin tied to the saddle. He tested the weight of the skin. There was about two days left of water in the skin and he had at least three days worth of travel to reach Depansir. Life was going to get rough, but maybe the smoke on the horizon offered a solution.

"Hmm..." He spoke aloud as much to himself as to Ahtreide. It was a habit that he had picked up from wandering for so long. "If we travel faster we'll tire and use up more water, but if we slow our pace to conserve our energy, we won't be able to get there before the caravans leave." He laughed to himself and patted Ahtreide once more. "Damned if we do and damned if we don't. The story of our lives, eh friend?" The Kumai barked in seeming agreement and continued toward the smoke.

It took them over an hour to reach their destination, the loose sand and murderous heat preventing a faster pace. Before them was the half buried remains of a caravan wagon. The top half of the wagon was charred and blackened and several arrows were embedded in the wood. A forgotten spear pinned the driver of the wagon to his seat and spilled his guts onto the bloody sand. He had died a slow, painful death and the corpse was only a few hours old.

"Huh..." The wanderer dismounted and examined the body. "This couldn't have happened to long ago. The body isn't stiff and it lacks the marks of scavengers. But," He stared at the sunken state of the wagon, half covered in sand. "How could the winds have buried it in such a short time. I've seen no storms." Something about the driver's pallid face caught his eye. "He looks familiar..."

He circled the wagon, searching for clues and examining the remains of the wagon that were still intact. A logo painted on the side of the wagon caught his eye and brought up a memory from the week before that confirmed his suspicions.

"The merchant that I met heading into the desert. So this was their fate? Dead and rotting in this cursed desert with not even a friend to bury them. Poor bastards." He looked around some more, but didn't see anything of interest. "Damn, I should have bought that water when I had the chance."

The wanderer's hand moved unconsciously to the sapphire pendant he wore around his neck. It was the only thing he had left from his mother, a memento that he would never sell no matter how much he needed the money. The merchant was a fool to even ask for the necklace in exchange for the water.

"Well, there is little of value here, but maybe the bandits who slaughtered these merchants are not far off."

Seeming to understand his words, Ahtreide lifted his nose to the air to try and catch the bandit's scent. The wanderer followed suit by casting about the scene of the battle. He searched about and soon found a set of five footprints leading away from the wagon. They were deep and smeared. The bandits were obviously heavily laden and having a hard time trudging through the sand. They couldn't be far off and they made little attempt to hide their trail. They either felt that no one would find the wagon or that no one would care enough to follow.

"Wrong on both accounts." The wanderer stated grimly.

He mounted and rode swiftly, Ahtreide moving in a sloping run that ate up the distance between the hunter and his prey. An hour passed and the wanderer urged Ahtreide to stop. They were close and he didn't want to alert the bandits to his approach. The Kumai was eager to catch their prey, but he understood his master's wishes. He panted softly and followed slowly up a large dune. The sun was setting before them, casting their shadows back the way they came, but the wanderer fell to his belly just in case. Before him, two hundred feet away, were the bandits.

There were five in all, sitting in a circle around a small fire. Three seemed to be busy preparing a meal while the other two were sifting through a large sack. Two other sacks lay near the edge of the small camp. The wanderer smiled at how easy this would be.

"Those sacks must be the goods they stole from the merchant...I hope there is some water." He whispered to Ahtreide. He was about to rise when a low moan sounded from one of the two sacks near the edge of camp. "What the hell? Are some of the merchants still alive?" The next moan was decidedly feminine. "A woman?"

"Shut up ye whores!" Snarled one of the bandits. "Or we might just forget what that mage said about Endiro and have a bit a fun right now!"

"Endiro?" The wanderer had heard the name. It was a thieves den located at the edge of the desert. It also served as a compound for slavers. "So...These bandits have a second profession? That makes this all the sweeter."

"I say we do 'em no matter what the damn mage says." Another bandit shouted. "Them be real sweet and right pretty,"

A chorus of agreement told the wanderer that his time was now. It would be better to stop this before it could really start. He didn't want any needless bloodshed after all. He stood up and removed his goggles and mask. Placing them in his pack, he removed the saddle from Ahtriede's back, the Kumai fought better unhampered, and removed a long, cloth wrapped sword from the side of the saddle. Strapping the sword across his back, he stalked purposely toward the slavers while Ahtreide shifted through the growing shadows to flank the camp.

The slavers saw the wanderer long before he arrived, as intended, and had swords drawn. They moved into a semi-circle around him while he simply smiled. Off his mount and around other people, the wanderer's sheer size became very obvious. He stood at a good seven feet tall and he had to weight close to three hundred pounds. Years of training and surviving in the harsh desert had caused him to become incredibly muscular with a impressive, toned physique. He stared down at the bandits, piercing blue eyes promising death, and let a cocky smirk play across his face.

If the bandits were unnerved, they didn't show it. They had numbers on their side after all. The man directly infront of the wanderer spoke up.

"Who the hell are ye? What's a giant lout like yerslef doin' here? State yer business or pray to yer gods cause you'll be meetin' 'em soon."

"Heh..." The wanderer smiled at the man's show of bravado. "The name is Gawayn and I believe that you have something that I want."

"Eh?" A second bandit spoke up. "Ye mean them whores? Ye weren't with the wagon..."

"Hush!" Yelled the first thief.

"Two women?" Gawayn's mind raced. "The merchant must be dead as well, but then who is the other girl?"

"What?" sneered a thief during Gawayn's silence. "Cat got yer tongue? Scared of our numbers?"

"Nah," countered another. "The big oaf's brain prolly just shut down."

Gawayn merely chuckled as he drew the sword from the sheath across his back. The cloth wrappings fell away to reveal a blade six feet long and five inches wide. It was a single-edged straight blade that tapered to a point at the end. The length of the blade was covered in strange runes that were filled with powdered rubies. The hilt was long enough to be held with two hands  and wrapped with black leather. A large ruby sat in the pommel of the hilt to serve as a counter-balance, even though the blade was enchanted to make it easier to wield.

"What the hell is that?" one thief said incredulously.

"Ha, the fool prolly can't even swing that monster."

Gawayn silenced the thief with a devestating spinning backhand that cleaved the fool in twain. Blood sprayed like a geyser as the body fell, first one half and then the other. The remaining four bandits stared in shock and Gawayn used the opportunity to dispatch another foe with a quick thrust to the neck.

They recovered soon enough after that and attacked the wanderer all at once. Gawayn dived forward to avoid their strikes and rolled to his feet, whipping around to catch a blade against his sword, the parry strong enough to rip the thief's sword from his hand. Gawayn kicked the thief in the throat and delivered a downward slash that removed another thief's sword arm. The last standing bandit rushed the wanderer, but Gawayn thrust his sword forward and impaled the bandit. Gawayn turned to face the remaining bandit who was struggling to breathe. The bandit feebly tried to raise his sword in defense, but Gawayn's strike smashed through the bandit's guard and sheared through his neck. The one-armed bandit was already dead in the sand, blood pumping from his stump.

Gawayn wiped the blood from his sword and sheathed it. Drawing a small dagger from his belt, he turned toward the bound women and began slicing their bonds. A small rock smashed into his shoulder, jarring the knife, and he turned to see a robed figure walking toward him, leaving no prints in the sand.

"You made a mistake in coming here stranger..." The robed man's voice was deep and sinister. "You compounded upon that by slaying my men and now you are freeing my slaves? You shall pay for these slights with your life. Know that I am Zarlyle, master of the very earth around you, and I shall be your executioner."

Gawayn now knew how the wagon had sunk so far into the sand. This man in robes the color of the sands was a sorcerer of some sort. Gawayn cocked his arm back and muttered through clinched teeth, "Been a while since I've killed a mage."

"Hahaha!" Zarlyle spat contemptuously. "Do you honestly believe that you stand a chance against me? Fool!"

"I don't just stand a chance...I'll kill you!" Gawayn punctuated his words by launching his dagger at Zarlyle, but the mage merely laughed. A stone rose from the sand and smashed against the flying dagger, knocking the blade out of the air. Zarlyle smirked as Gawayn drew his sword once more.

"You know not who you are dealing with..." Zarlyle raised his arm and a quick chant caused the earth to erupt around Gawayn.

The wanderer was tossed into the air as the ground beneath him heaved upward and he landed hard on his back. He struggled to stand, but the shifting sands offered no purchase.

"Prepare to drown in the endless sea of sand," Zarlyle shouted fervently. "The vengeful earth shall swallow you whole!"

"Damn! I've got to move..." Gathering his strength, Gawayn forced his legs under him and leaped forward just as a sink hole opened behind him.

His jump carried him away from the cavernous maw of sinking sand and he rolled to his feet out of range of the centralized quake. He lifted his sword and rushed Zarlyle before the mage could cast again. The nimble mage ducked under Gawayn's first strike and hurled a ball of sand at Gawayn's chest. The ball exploded on impact and the force sent the wanderer flying back ten feet. Zarlyle focused on the gigantic sword, the huge sword laying close to where the wanderer fell. The mage shook the earth once more and the eart rose up to swallow the sword until only the hilt was apon the sand.

Gawayn pushed himself to his feet and saw his sword trapped in the earth. He grimace and drew his second dagger. He rushed at the mage again, but he was confronted with ten glowing boulders of sand that levitated in the air. One flew toward him and Gawayn ducked under it, but the stone projectile exploded as it passed him. Rock shrapnel ripped into his shoulders and back, the force knocking him face first into the sand.

"Mines..." He muttered as he spit sand from his mouth. He had to lunge quickly to dodge another boulder.

The mines had Gawayn on the defense, but Ahtreide was still lurking around somewhere. He whistled to the hidden Kumai, signaling it to attack the mage and buy the wanderer some time. The Kumai growled menacingly and leaped over a sand dune to face the stunned mage. Ahtreide snapped at Zarlyle's legs, but the mage was the quicker and a pillar of sand blasted the Kumai into the air. The mage barked another quick chant and the pillar turned into a first that grasped the Kumai, slowly crushing it.

Gawayn, lunging away from another mine, heard Ahtreide whelp in protest and he turned to see the trapped Kumai.He growled and leapt to his feet, winding a path through the floating mines toward the mage. Shrapnel cut the air, slicing Gawayn's body so that blood poured from too many wounds to count. He feared that he would fall soon if the punishment continued. A tremor knocked him from his feet and sand covered his wounds. Pain flared and he didn't want to get back up, but Zarlyle's scornful laughter and Ahtreide's pained whelps cut deeper than any wound. He forced himself to stagger to his feet, tighten his grip on his dagger and run on.

"Give up fool...You'll never defeat me." the mage raised his arms once more and two more stones rose from the earth to hurl themselves at Gawayn.

'He must be weakening..." Gawayn's mind raced to come up with some sort of strategy. "He's cast twenty spells in less than ten minutes. There is no way he could have that much strength left...I have to strike now." Gawayn dashed forward, summoning all of his strength, and leaped over the speeding stones to stab his dagger into Zarlyle's chest.

The levitating mines crumbled to sand and Ahtreide was free from the fist that held him. The injured Kumai limped away to lick Gawayn's hand. The wanderer petted his friend's side and turned to watch the Zarlyle's demise.

The mage stumbled and fell back. Blood trickled from his mouth as he glared at Gawayn. The blood spewed forth in a mist as he started laughing. Gawayn struggled back to his feet and stared, dumbfounded, as Zarlyle stood up and pulled the dagger, its blade stained crimson with blood, from his chest and tossed it to the ground.

"How? You can't possibly still be..." Gawayn was too stunned to speak.

"I told you that you couldn't possibly defeat me. My master has fortified me with powers beyond those of mere mortals. Now die for your impudence for I am the master of the earth and all who challenge me shall die!" As the words left his mouth, Zarlyle's body began to change.

Gawayn could believe his eyes as the mage's skin began to harden and turn gray. The mage grew until he stood ten feet tall and five feet wide, with massive muscles and hammer-like fists. The mage's skin became stone and his eyes changed to ruby slits.

"Ha ha ha ha..." Rumbled a voice like an avalanche. "I may have wasted all of my mana in toying with you, but I don't need my spells when I have the gifts of my master." A huge stone hand swung down and smashed Gawayn in the chest, sending him flying backwards.

The wanderer struggled to rise, a broken rib grating in his chest. He pushed himself to his feet and went for his sword. He tried in vain to free the blade, but he was exhausted and to weak to draw it forth from the sand. He looked up to see the golem that was once Zarlyle lumbering toward him. He pulled harder, but the sword was stuck fast. He saw Zarlyle swing another massive arm toward him and grabbed the hilt with all his strength. The stone fist slammed him into the air, his sword pulling free with the strength of the blow.

Gawayn flew back another ten feet and landed hard on the sand. Pain flared all over and it was a supreme effort to rise and lift his sword. He slashed down with the last of his strength, the blade connecting with Zarlyle's stone arm and not even leaving a scratch.

"Fool! You don't know when to lie down and die. Don't worry though...I'll beat some sense into you and when I'm done...Those girls will still be slaves. You'll be dead and none of this will matter. Your whole life won't matter. I'll take that sword of your and use it to impale that damned dog and then I'll melt it down to scrap metal."

A low growl erupted from Ahtreide and the Kumai launched itself at Zarlyle, latching onto the mage's stone arm. Zarlyle laughed and shook Ahtreide free with a quick jerk. The Kumai flew away and crashed into the sand.

Anger sparked in Gawayn and that anger grew from an ember to an inferno as he listened to Zarlyle's ridicule. He would not be beaten! Zarlyle would not win! Those girls wouldn't be enslaved! He would save Ahtreide! This bastard mage would not see the light of another day! Gawayn took all of the flames of his anger and made them into one all consuming inferno. He stared into the fire and became one with it. The pain was burned away, the fatigue was consumed, and all emotion was ash. There was only the flame and Gawayn, Gawayn and the flame, two sides of the same coin. A void encased him, protected him from what was outside. He could sense that the pain was still there, outside the void and so were the fatigue and the rest of the world. In the void, however, were strength and power. In the void was Gawayn...

"What? Did the fool die standing?"

Zarlyle's voice rang sharply in Gawayn's ears. He could hear it clearly, clearer than ever before. All of his senses were sharper and he could feel the increased strength surging through his body.

"Don't worry mortal...Death will come swiftly."

Gawayn could sense the huge fist swinging toward his head and instinct took over. He ducked under the granite hand and lunged upward, one hand held out to flip over the ten foot golem. He landed on his feet and spun around, swinging his sword. The blade flashed, slicing a clean line across Zarlyle's back and blood like magma flowed freely from the wound.

Zarlyle turned, pure hate marring his face, and growled. "I don't know how you did that, but I'm through playing. You die now!" He swung a backhand slap at Gawayn, but the wanderer countered with a quick parry that sliced off the fingers of Zarlyle's hand.

Gawayn heard the anguished bellow from within the void and allowed himself a grim smile. He stared deep into Zarlyle's eyes and growled as he leaped forward. The wanderer swung his massive sword with all his might, cleaving the stone giant from neck to crotch. The upper half of Zarlyle's body fell to the sand, somehow still able to speak.

"No...Damn you. I will not die! My master will save me...My mast..." A surge of thick blood gushed from his mouth. "No, I have been forsaken. Though I may die, I will take you with me!"

A thin flow of mana erupted from Zarlyle's mouth and entered Gawayn. The wanderer felt a fist constrict his heart and his body convulsed. The poison flared through his body and the void shattered. The pain and fatigue returned along with the burning of the poison as it slowly shut down his body. He was dying and he knew it. He dropped to his knees and coughed up a spray of blood. Darkness clouded his vision and he fell with his face in the sand. The last thing he saw was Zarlyle's stone form crumbling into nothing more than a pile of sand.

Just announcing that I won't be able to make the deadline for this round; I've hit a snag as far as computer accessibility goes, and will be stuck in this rut for little under a week. So nyagh I suppose. o.<

Woo! Go Zan!

Oh my god! Our first bit of spam! It's unbelievable!

At any rate, sorry to hear that Zal. Are you going to try to finish your piece at all or just try and win this last topic? Which is your decision, remember. The final topic of our meaningless little challenge.

The work I'm posting now, I'm really happy with. I've never finished writing a piece of work. EVER. Not even a short story. So me doing this project all the way through has really been a good experience for me. I also happen to think it's pretty darn good. Granted, there's room for improvement, but I like it a lot! It's something I've never wrote about before either, so that's really cool too, experiencing something new, y'know?

The only problem I have with it, besides a complete lack of description and some other errors, is that the thing is even bigger than my last entry, over twice as big! Nonetheless, I love it. I hope whoever reads this enjoys it as much as I did writing it. Especially the short fight scene, that was so much fun!

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It was a good dream. The kind of dream that you remembered was good, that you didn't want to end, but had trouble remembering sometime later. It was the kind of dream that you enjoyed then and there while you could, where that good feeling of happiness stayed with you right after you woke up and quickly tapered off.

That's why he was less than happy to be woken up, abruptly so, by the shouting of one of his friends. He rubbed at his eyes as he grabbed a mug of coffee and sat down at the table, bleary eyed, the last good feelings of that dream quite gone by now, as he looked at the miserable ghoul that was his friend Matt. Matt had been gone, disappeared, for a couple days now. He'd wondered where Matt had gone, but figured it was nothing too important. Looking at Matt now, he had to reconsider, what with the state the guy was in now. "Alright. So, let's start from the beginning. I didn't really catch it all the first time..."

"It's the Syndicate!" Matt said excitedly, his eyes bearing a strange and terrified look. "Anton, you've got to help me, the Syndicate, they're real bad dudes!"

He raised an eyebrow and gave Matt a look of disbelief. "Syndicate? You got in trouble with some kind of organization then?"

"No man, not just any organization, the one and only Syndicate! They're this group, they're like a gang but worse. Like the Mafia, something like that, y'know? Organized crime, assassins for hire, drug trade, all that shit! And they're after me!"

Anton rolled his eyes. "Come on, you can't be serious. Why would..."

"Don't give me that condescending shit! I'm serious, dead serious! I've been getting shot at for the past three days damn it! It's not paranoia or some shit like that, it's the real freakin' deal!"

Anton drank some more of his coffee and narrowed his eyes, inspecting Matt as best as he could, sizing him up. Matt liked to screw around with him but this time it seemed like the real thing. Still, Anton shook his head. "Someone's just screwing with you. Why would something like this organization be interested in you? No offense, but you're the standard slacker. I've never seen you at a job, much less see you accomplish anything of worth, so what makes you think that these guys would be after you? You throw a good party Matt and you know where the fun's at, but that's about it. I doubt someone would call a hit on you for that. Unless you managed to hook up with one of these Syndicate people's girlfriends!"

Anton laughed and Matt slammed his hands down on the table. "Damn it man! Listen to me!" He put emphasis on each of his words as he knocked his hands against the table. "I-am-get-ting-shot-at! This-is-not-a-joke!" He stopped and got up from the table.  "Please, Anton, I'm serious. I need help man. I don't know who else to go to! You're like the only guy I can count on with this crazy shit going on. You're smart, right? You can figure something out? Come on, please man, I'm begging you!"

"So, you're serious then?" Anton grew grim as Matt nodded. "Why not go to the police?"

"The police are the Syndicate's dogs. They're in their pockets."

Anton nodded. "I see. I should've guessed as much. What about your other friends?"

"The Syndicate's already drilled them for information! I came by to Ferguson's place earlier and it was all torn up and shit.  The guy told me to get the hell out or he'd called the cops!" Matt looked away and bit his lip. "I told you man... you're the only one left." Matt watched as Anton's defenses slowly started to whittle down and then said, "Hey, remember that one time? When everything went to hell that one night at Madison's party? The shit with the dealers?" He saw Anton's face light up with recognition and pushed forward for the kill. "That was some smooth talking you did there man. I thought for sure they were gonna blow poor Duke's head off right then and there. But you pulled all that shit you did and Duke got off, no harm, no foul. This can't be much harder, right man? So come on... I need your help."

Anton put down his mug of coffee and drilled his fingers on the table for a few seconds. His other hand went to his forehead to rub at his temples. He sighed after a moment of this and stopped. "Alright."

Matt shouted in victory and started to jump around the room excitedly as Anton waved it off. "C'mon, it's no big deal. Besides, I wasn't planning on doing anything else today. This is just a fun little diversion."

Matt laughed as tears rimmed his eyes. "Man, you got some strange-ass ideas of fun, and god bless you for it!"

"Yeah, yeah," Anton said, again waving his hands dismissively as he laughed alongside his friend, "just one last thing." He looked over to the clock and shook his head. "If you ever wake me up at two in the morning again, I'll shoot you myself!"

-

He'd spent the next couple hours trying to calm Matt down, talking about what he was doing, where he'd been, real nice and casual stuff. The rest of the time was spent speaking with his contacts. Anton left at six, no reason to put things off. Matt was staying, which Anton was fine with. He would've insisted on going alone if he'd had to. Anton's first stop was Luigi's. If anyone knew what was going on in town, it was Luigi.

"Ah, Anton! My good and dear friend! How are you this fine evening?"

Anton flashed a smile at the overweight man behind the counter of the restaurant. He liked Luigi. He knew what he was doing. The guy knew how to put people at ease. The Italian restaurant, the music and the food, it was all too casual, too clichéd. Anton didn't doubt for a minute that Luigi had planned it like this. Sure, the food was good, but it could be better. No, Luigi just knew how to set up a place where 'business' could be done; business that Luigi no doubt heard all about. It was all just so planned out to be casual, right down to Luigi himself. Anton highly doubted that Luigi was his real name. Hell, he doubted Luigi had even a drop of Italian blood in his veins. Yeah, Anton liked Luigi. He was deceptive and intelligent, a challenge.

But not tonight. No friendly banter or witty dialogue, just information. "Hey, Luigi. I need a favor."

"You need a favor? Since when does 'the great Anton' need a favor," the greasy Italian asked, raising his eyebrows questioningly, a mocking smile on his face. They always went through this kind of thing. But Anton wasn't going with it, not that night. It didn't take Luigi long to figure it out either. "You're serious then?"

Anton chuckled once, finding the situation becoming very familiar. "Yeah. I need some information."

Thinking that the situation had become normal once again, Luigi returned with, "Information? Information isn't cheap, my friend!  Just how, pray tell, do you intend to pay for said information?"

"Oh, I think I know a way," Anton said, slyly, letting the end drag along. "I still have 'that thing'."

Luigi's eyes bulged as he stumbled back in surprise. He caught himself and leaned forward, a smile plastered all over his face. "Now come on, pal, you wouldn't do something like that now, would you?" He leaned even closer as the smile disappeared. "So this is the real thing, huh?" Anton nodded and Luigi sighed. "Alright. What is it you need to know?"

He'd played it like he planned it. The trump card. No fun tonight. Not yet. "I need to know about The Syndicate."

Luigi let out a low whistle that trailed off. "The Sins, eh? You're gonna have to be specific though. Even 'that thing' isn't worth enough when dealing with them." Again Luigi raised an eyebrow as he appraised his opponent.

"I just need to know where some of its members are. I need to speak with them."

Luigi thought a moment and then nodded. "Behind here, that bar on 42nd street. The Rat's Hole. There's gonna be a gathering for a couple of them. That's all I know."

"I see. That should do it then." Anton turned about and started heading for the door. He spared a quick look back, saying, "Thanks Luigi."

"It was a pleasure, my very fine friend." Anton made it to the door just as Luigi began laughing. He paused and waited until the baker spoke. "I just remembered something, that's all," he said. "I just heard a rumor about you boss, that's all."

Anton turned back and smiled. "Nothing good I hope?"

"Oh no, you'd be very surprised. Quite flattering, in the right point of view at any rate." Luigi shrugged, a casual smile still splayed across his face.

"Hah! Must be a lie then, either that or you're fishing for information yourself." Luigi maintained his calm demeanor as Anton turned back.

"Alright, you caught me! Just remember boss, you can't keep using 'that thing' and expect it to work! And tell the corpse I said goodbye!" Anton was out the door not a second later. He couldn't smile after that last bit. No way. Sometimes Luigi knew too much.

-

He could hardly believe it! That sucker had taken the whole bit without a bit of hesitation! Matt threw open the door to Anton's fridge and drank straight from a carton of milk. He could still hardly believe his luck. His last choice, freaky Anton, was the one to actually pull through. His other buddies were smart, they knew better than to get involved with the Sinners. Thank god weird ass Anton didn't know what he knew. Matt knew what the Syndicate did to people who poked their noses around where they didn't belong. It wasn't pretty.

Still, if anyone could pull this miracle off, it was Anton. He'd played off his ego earlier, that shit with Duke and Madison, but that didn't make it any less true. Matt had been damn well sure that Duke was a dead man that night and then there was Anton, strutting up to the drug dealers like their bullets would just bounce off his ass. Then there was the shit he said, stuff like, "No need to ruin a good party", shit like that. Not three minutes later, the music was blasting, Duke was upstairs with Madison and Anton was chumming around with the dealer who decided to stick around like he'd known the guy for years.

Not that that was the only time. How the hell did Anton manage to show up at every party where the shit went down? Sure, that's where Matt always went, that's where all the fun was after all, but what did Anton do at the parties anyway? He didn't hit the tabs, he stayed far and away from the good stuff, the guy did just about nothing but talk. He just said he liked the atmosphere or some shit like that.  Not Matt though, he dived head first into the whole deal. He lived for those parties. Live hard and die young.

Not too young though. Like hell he was ready just yet. Matt drained the rest of the milk, popped the lid to the trashcan, and dropped the carton in. He took a look around him and shook his head. Anton had a nice place, nicer than any shack he'd lived in. What'd Anton do again? Business consultant or some shit like that. Why he hung around with guys like Matt was beyond him, but he guessed that even straight shooters like Anton needed a party now and then.

There was a sound outside the door and Matt jumped towards it. Footsteps, coming up the stairs, they were coming here, Matt knew it! It was a Sinner! One of their assassins, come over to do him! He cringed as he heard the footsteps stop, as the doorknob started to move. It was unlocked? He looked around for his options, saw a side-room he might be able to dive into, but it was too late! He watched as the door opened, painfully slow, like his fate had gone to all fours and was crawling towards him.

"Shit!" He yelled a moment later. "Anton, you just about scared the piss out of me! Christ man, what're you doing back here already?" Matt suddenly smiled and started moving towards the door. "No shit, you took care of it already?"

Anton, still surprised at his reception, shook his head. "Not quite." Matt hung his head and cursed again as Anton continued. "I just went out for a bit. Grabbed something to eat, got some stuff for you."

"Stuff for me?"

"Yeah. This could last a while, right?"

Matt shook his head. "Listen man, whatever's gonna happen, it's gonna happen soon. Good or bad, this shit has to be wrapped up fast." Matt looked at the bag of groceries in Anton's hands and laughed. "Besides, I've seen your fridge, the kind of shit you eat would kill me!"

Anton chuckled a moment, sharing in the moment of levity, and nodded. "I have made some progress though. I've arranged a meeting with a few of their members."

"No shit? How'd you manage that?"

"Hard work and dedication, how else? The meeting is tonight though, so I need all the information on the Syndicate that you can give me."

Anton motioned towards the table and Matt took a seat. "Shit man, where do I start? There's a lot to tell." Anton sat directly across from his friend and folded his hands together as he listened. "Okay, so these guys, they're this organization, right? Gang stuff, but real hardcore. They've got their fingers in everything man, it's crazy. Anyway, they like red and black. It's like the Bloods wearing red, that kind of thing. But they don't wear it all the time. They don't want to get caught that easy, right? The thing is, they're real crazy about secrecy. Most of them don't even know who's one of them or not until they get some kind of message from their handler. Oh yeah, handlers are kind of like the lieutenants or something, they handle the lowest guys. They've got bosses too, but I don't know much about them."

"At any rate, they're secretive, right? So the only way they know about each other is if their boss tells them or if they see the symbol." Matt reached inside his jacket and threw out a small metal object. "Killer huh? They must be expensive as hell to make. I got this one from one of the guys chasing me. I figure I'll sell it once this is all over and done with." Matt saw Anton's face and knew that his impression was right on. The icon really must be expensive! It was a simple thing, a red cross on a black background, all metal, with two red orbs stuck between each of the arms of the cross and with one last orb at the center. He'd thought they were rubies or some shit like that at first, but they turned out to be metal, like the rest of the thing. "Remember how I said I don't know much about those bosses? Well, this shit here paired up with what I do know tells me something. The big boss, he's probably real biblical and shit. I call these guys the Sins, right? Well they call themselves that too, Sins or Sinners. Then there are those seven dots. I figure that they got this shit all centered on the Seven Deadly Sins. That's from the bible, right? I never was into all that bible shit."

Anton picked up the icon and studied it a moment before setting it back down. "Sounds like these guys have a pretty high opinion of themselves."

"Man, it's not just shooting shit, these guys are the real freakin' deal. They're not just in the city dude, they're out there. Way out there! Like, cross state, cross country! That's scary as hell! You think I wouldn't have high-tailed it out of here if I could? I hear it's so bad, the FBI and CIA did some kind of joint operation to take the Syndicate down! The thing is, they couldn't get past the bottom ranks because of all the secrecy and how spread out they were, so they just gave up and went back to other business!"

Anton was silent a while and Matt thought that he might be reconsidering his offer to help. He was about to say something when Anton beat him to it. "Hey, Matt? Just how do you know all of this?"

"Man, if I didn't I'd be dead by now! It's that whole thing of necessity, I found out 'cause I'd be dead otherwise!"

"I see. Can you tell me anything else?"

Matt thought a moment and shook his head. "I don't think so. I've told you just about everything I can think of. They're secret, y'know, that whole, the left hand doesn't know what the right hand's doing, thing, and they've got a lot of power behind 'em." He looked Anton over and began to wonder if his friend was even capable of taking on the challenge. Thinking of it himself, it damn near seemed impossible.

"Okay."

Matt nearly jumped out of his chair in surprise. Anton had responded so quickly, so firmly without doubt. The idiot must be out of his mind!

"I'll do it," he said again.

Matt just shook his head as he smiled helplessly. If anybody was gonna pull this off, it was this freak.

"The meeting starts early, at about eight. They've got something big planned tonight, or at least they're planning on something big happening."

"You're gonna try and screw around with 'em? You sure that's a good idea?"

"I'll find something to do at any rate." Anton shrugged and got up from his chair. "Six p.m. now. I figure I've got enough time to check up on a few things. Things are going to have to be perfect tonight."

Matt nodded and stood up from the chair. He moved towards Anton and stuck out his hand as he smiled. Anton returned the smile and shook the man's hand. No words were exchanged as the pair stood in silence.

Anton broke away after a moment and made his way for the door when Matt stopped him a last time. "Hey, are you going to tell me why you're doing this now? For real?"

Anton laughed. "I told you! It's just for fun!"

-

Seven thirty. Anton was sitting inside The Rat's Hole with an untouched mug of beer in front of him. Occasionally a patron shot him an angry glare, but that was it. The bar really was a hole where the skum of the town drained down in. It was the opposite of Luigi's place, although just as successful at doing what it did. You expected dirty business to go on in a place like this.  There were just so many others like it that there was nothing to be done about it. He looked back to a grime-covered door next to the bar and looked back to the bartender. The bartender returned the look and shook his head. Not yet.

Anton still couldn't help but be impressed with what he'd done. The whole day had been spent in preparation, save for those few times where he'd spoken with Matt. From what he'd been told, it wasn't going to be easy, not in the slightest. But that made it a challenge. Anton enjoyed a challenge.

Seven thirty-five. Why did time always travel so very slowly when you wanted it to move quickly, and yet when you needed more time there was never enough? Anton was getting anxious. He held the item in his jacket close to his heart as he ran his fingers over it.

Seven forty. Luigi's words still troubled him all this time later. He could have been right, that the man was simply trying to get a reaction out of him to see if he truly did have something to hide, or perhaps the man truly did know something about him. Then there was what he had said concerning Matt. The Corpse.

Seven forty-five. There was suddenly a movement from the bartender, an almost unnoticeable move of his filthy washrag off of the table and onto the floor. A fight immediately broke out some three tables away as two men started pounding each other. This was the diversion, not only to let Anton in to the backroom, but to make the other's entrances easy as well. Or were they already there? He ducked a punch and slid through the unlocked door.

The dark room was lit by a single light, a naked bulb emitting a dim and gloomy light. Situated underneath that light was a bare table and around it three individuals. One wore nothing but black and red whereas the other two seemed casually dressed. The one in color stood quickly and made a grab for an item at his side.

Anton raised one hand to placate the group. "Please, gentlemen, sit down. There is much to discuss this night," he said, as his other hand tightly grasped the smooth object under his jacket.

-

Anton was dead. He knew it.  He just knew it! It was stupid to even try to make a move against the Syndicate.  What had he been thinking! Matt quickly cycled through his options as images of his own death blurred through his head. He couldn't leave town, but maybe he could go into hiding? Go into a witness protection program, some shit like that? Yeah, the FBI would kill to have him testify or some shit like that, they'd find something for him. That's if he could live long enough to even get that far though. Or assuming the FBI wasn't in the payroll.

He shook his head. The Syndicate was strong, but that strong? No way. But still, trying to go into hiding definitely had its risks. What other options were there? There must be something he was overlooking. What time was it? A little after midnight? That wasn't so bad. Maybe Anton wasn't dead. Maybe he was just getting hung up, or he was still talking with the Sinners, or whatever the hell he was doing. Yeah, he could still be doing something, no worries!

Not sooner than Matt had started to calm himself down did he hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Anton! He thought excitedly. That must be him! Yeah, it figures, leave it to that son of a bitch to keep him on edge! The doorknob twisted and Matt started moving towards the door. "Hey, Anton! What's-"

Through the door stepped a woman. A woman dressed head to toe in red. Matt's spirits quickly dropped and he started to shuffle backwards, like he could simply get away if he moved quietly enough. She turned towards him, her eyes blocked by a pair of expensive sunglasses. Black. This is it, he thought. There's the Syndicate. They've caught up after all of this trouble. He shook his head and cursed. "Shit..." he whispered, "Well, I guess there are worse ways to go." He lifted his chin, deciding to look death in the eye as he looked over at his executioner--your regular femme fatale. Yeah, there were definitely worse ways to go than getting wasted by a babe. Matt briefly wondered if he'd get a last request. Hell, he thought, he'd ask anyway. What'd he have to lose?

It was only then that he noticed the questioning look on her face. "Where is Anton?" she said, a light Russian accent detectable in her voice. "I thought he would be here? And here I was so looking forward to celebrating our victory together." She pouted and looked around the room.

Shit, Matt thought, relieved. The woman wasn't a Sinner. She was just some woman, maybe Anton's girlfriend, maybe even a hooker. Leave it to the freak to plan his celebration before he'd even won. "He's not here. Might not be coming back either."

"What do you mean? Of course he'll be back you silly little man. What are you talking about?"

"Beat it lady." Matt turned around and shook his head.

"Your no fun at all," was her response. "Leave it to that man to keep a girl waiting. How very rude!" She turned about and left through the door. There was a steady clack-clack-clack as her high heels hit the ground. Again Matt cursed himself, he'd thought the footsteps had sounded odd earlier. The door closed shut and he listened intently as the footsteps grew quieter and quieter.

"So, it's back to waiting is it? Shit," Matt cursed yet again, "bitch nearly scared me to death. Still, there's always-" He stopped as he heard a shriek from downstairs. That woman!

He made a move to the side-room, to grab his pistol and get ready for the Sins no doubt downstairs, when he was stopped by the woman's voice once again. "Anton!" She shouted in a joyful tone.

"Anton!" Matt repeated. A smile spread across his face and he moved to the door. The son of a bitch had done it!

"Really darling, you should know better than to sneak up on me like that! And what took you, I was expecting you to be home by now."

The doorknob turned and Anton stepped through, the woman in red following him. "Not tonight," he said with a weak smile and a weary look about him.

"What? Oh come now, don't be like that! It's been a while you know! And our celebration, you can't just-"

"Not tonight," he repeated as he turned around and put a hand on the door, barring her entrance. "Maybe next time, okay?"

The woman fumed a moment before turning her back on him and pouting. "Fine! Be that way! Enjoy the company of your sweaty little friend rather than your lovely female companion! I see how it is!"

Anton shook his head again and closed the door ever so slightly. "Goodnight, Alexia."

"Hmph!" The woman turned about and stepped away, determination evident in her every step. Anton shut the door soon after.

He slowly slumped down to the ground, his smile no longer weak but wide and genuine. Anton looked like hell though. Matt couldn't help but notice that as soon as the man walked in, the room began to stink of gunpowder. He stepped forward towards Anton and spoke. "So... it's done then?"

Anton nodded and struggled to get to his feet, but seemed too worn out to even stand. "Yeah. It's been taken care of." He absentmindedly put a hand to his jacket and fingered a hole in it, the edges of the small space surrounded by black. A bullet-hole? "You mind giving me a hand? I don't think I've even got the energy to stand right now."

Matt nodded and moved towards him, allowing Anton to drape an arm around his shoulder as he helped him up. "So, that's it, huh? How'd you do it?"

Anton groaned and shook his head again. "Not now. I'll tell you later. I just need some sleep, that's all." He laughed bitterly. "This is all your fault, you know?"

Matt helped him along to Anton's room and shrugged. "I guess. But you took this on yourself. Said it'd be fun." He tried to laugh but it came out sounding weak and hollow.

Anton's reaction was more enthusiastic. He laughed with all the strength left in him as they stepped into his room. "You're right. And it was!" He laughed again until tears started to rim his eyes. "Right. Drop me off here. A couple hours sleep and I'll be fine."

Matt did so and stepped back, looking at the sorry state his friend was in. "You're sure?"

He nodded. "I've seen worse. It's just an old case of crash and burn, nothing big. Like I said-," Anton stopped and yawned. "Like I said, a couple hours sleep and I'll be fine."

"But what did you do to-"

"Tomorrow Matt, tomorrow, I'll tell you everything then." He laughed again. "Or I guess it's today, huh? The midnight run always has done something to my head!" Again Anton laughed until it turned into a yawn. "Go to sleep Matt. You look pretty bad yourself. I'll tell you in the morning about the whole thing, not that there's much to tell." He made a shooing movement with his right hand and then closed his eyes, still wearing even his jacket.

A jacket, Matt noticed, that was nearly riddled with bullet holes. No story to tell? He sincerely doubted that as he stepped away and went back to the living room, contemplating his next move.

-

Anton was awoken by a crash. He woke up quickly and headed for the door. What was going on? Had he been followed back home? No, he'd been careful, real careful. Or he thought he had been at any rate.

He burst out of his doorway to find the living room still lit, with empty spaces found along his shelves and walls. Standing next to a broken, and once expensive, vase, was Matt, a pistol in his left hand and a bundle of things in his right.

-

It was unavoidable! There was no way what Anton had done could have prevented what was coming! He might have slowed the inevitable, but that was it! No, he had to run, that was all he could do! Matt had decided on this not long after his conversation with Anton. But he didn't have the money. His habits were too expensive to save up any serious amount of cash. But Anton, Anton was loaded. Expensive art and electronics were practically strewn across his house. He could afford to let go of some of it. It was for a friend after all!

That's how Matt had decided to take what was open to him and to get the hell out of dodge.  To board a plane and leave the city, the state, hell the whole damn country. Sure, the Syndicate operated overseas, but would they really waste all that time and manpower to hunt him down? After all, it had been such a tiny little transgression!

But he was too hasty. Could he be blamed? The Sinners could step through that door any minute and just blow the shit out of the whole damn place! Matt had just been a little too eager after he'd nabbed that laptop, and the data assistant, and the painting, so was it hardly any surprise when he knocked over that ugly vase in the corner?

Well, maybe a surprise to Anton, he thought, as he looked over towards his friend. It took him all of two seconds to get his pistol out and aimed at freaky Anton's face.

"Matt... what's going on?"

Matt laughed after seeing his expression, that stupid look that said he didn't know what was going on. So much for being the smart guy!

But Matt really did feel sorry. He stopped laughing as soon as he got a second look. This idiot had been so willing to go and give him a helping hand. It really was a shitty feeling he got when Matt thought about what he was doing. But that was life. "I'm looking out for number one. It's a shame things have to be this way, but they have to. You really think that anything you could have done could stop the Syndicate? Man, you don't have a freakin' clue!"

"Matt, listen..."

"No, you listen! I told you man, these guys are the real deal! You can't just go and spend a single day working on this shit and expect it to be over with! Come on! Use a little sense smart guy! I'm just doing what I should've done in the first place, to just get some money and get out of here!" He saw the look on Anton's face, that stupid look replaced by something else. He was planning something. Matt knew it. What was freaky Anton thinking now? He had his hand inside his jacket, fiddling around with something and... "Shit! Drop the-"

He stopped talking and started shooting as soon as Anton moved. The idiot ducked and whipped off his coat, then the thing came flying at Matt. He threw himself back and shot dead center at the coat before he realized that Anton wasn't behind it, wasn't charging towards him at a dead run. He was going for the kitchen counter! Anton was leaning over it now, reaching for something.

A bullet shot right next to Anton's head and he stopped. "Stop it right there man. Cut the shit and get away from the counter. Now!" Anton did so and Matt shook his head. "Stupid. That was some real stupid shit you pulled there. Do anything like it again and I'll kill you, fool!" He noticed that he'd nicked Anton's shoulder in the encounter. Good, that'd teach the smart-ass a lesson. Matt could hardly believe this guy! Straight shooter Anton had a gun hidden under his counter! Even better, he'd gotten the balls to go and run off with a gun pointed at him! Just what had gone down with the Sinners in the first place, Matt had to wonder.

But that little time was over and gone. He shook his head and motioned with his gun someplace in front of the couch. "Step away from the counter Anton. You might not think it, but all I want to do is rob your ass and go. I've got no reason to kill you, right?" Anton nodded and started moving away, a grim look on his face. What was that look? Matt didn't like that look, it sent off warnings and alarms all through his head that something wasn't right. He considered asking, "What the hell's your problem?" but then he remembered what he was doing. He'd be pretty pissed if one of his buddies was robbing him too. Of course, he would've expected this kind of shit from one of his buddies. He kicked at the coat that Anton had thrown at him and an object tumbled out. Light flashed off of the black and red object and Matt laughed. "So that's how you got a meeting, huh? You jacked that icon I had and used it to get close? Not bad! But it doesn't do us a damn bit of good. I'm telling you, the Sins just don't operate that way." He shook his head, distressed. It sucked that it had to be this way. He'd miss the parties.

"Okay, now, move a little more, away from the counter. You're still too close. I'll be picking up your little toy back there." Anton nodded and slowly started backing off as Matt made his way forward. There wasn't going to be any more surprises. He'd get out of here and find a pawnshop.  Then he'd find a plane going anywhere and ditch this shit-hole city once and for all. Maybe Canada. Yeah, some lonely ass place in Canada, that's where'd go. Be a freakin' ice fisher or something. Matt chuckled and shook his head. Maybe something a little more realistic. He didn't have the patience for that kind of shit.

There was a sudden ringing and Matt threw his head towards the site of the noise. "What the-" he stopped, suddenly realizing it's source. He'd just about left his cell phone behind! Still, that might've been for the best. He motioned towards the couch, where he'd left his coat, saying, "Answer it."

-

Anton moved over, making sure not to make any movement too sudden, too strange. After a few moments of this, he ruffled through Matt's stuff and found his cell phone. He opened it up and listened to the raspy voice that whispered to him from the other side. "Sixteen?"

"It's for you." Anton said as he motioned to toss the object. He didn't want Matt flying off the handle. It must've been too much on him. Matt was talking like a maniac. How could he do something like this! It had all been worked out, it was all going to be okay! It must've been the pressure. When was the last time Matt had had some sleep? Anton winced as he felt the pain in his shoulder. It was a small wound, but with Matt standing there, a gun aimed at him, he didn't feel so inclined to make a move to correct it.

"Yeah, no shit it's for me. It's my cell phone. Put it on the ground and kick it over. I don't need you throwing it at me or some shit like that. Nice and easy."

Anton nodded and placed it on the ground, then slid the phone over with his foot. Matt bent over, slowly, carefully, all the while with his deadly weapon pointed at Anton. "Yo... What!" All the color in his face drained away as his aim dropped slightly. Anton considered making a move when Matt raised the gun again, a smile on his face. "No shit! I mean, you're serious, right? It's all been cleared up? Hell yeah I'm ready for work!" He laughed, maniacally Anton noted, as he pressed a button on his phone and placed it in his pocket. "Looks like I'll be needing this after all! And I won't have to miss out on the parties either!" He frowned and stepped closer to Anton. "You though... you're gonna have to disappear."

Anton gulped as he took a step back. Matt cocked his gun and stepped even closer. He wasn't smiling anymore, just a set frown on his strained face. "Looks like I have to snuff you after all." Anton cringed slightly and Matt smiled, if but a moment. "Yeah man, it's a hard life. You've got to get through life however you can. Sometimes you even do that hard shit, get it all taken care of." He bent down and picked up the crest of the Syndicate and put it his front pocket. "I'll be needing this." Anton's eyes went wide and Matt laughed again. "Yup! Sorry to break it to you man, but you know, things aren't always what they seem, right? You were right, you ain't never seen me work, but that doesn't mean I don't! It's just not the kind of work that you and your straight-laced buddies should be doing. Hardcore shit, y'know? I'm a Sinner. Through and through baby, I'm a Sinner."

"You've been right all along you know. They were after me because of some real trivial shit, but that's all it takes with them. I plugged a dealer the other day because he was giving me shit, man, the guy was charging the whole damn wallet for just a pinch of the good shit, and the Syndicate got angry. Then I kind of screwed up on a little robbery, you know, nothing serious, just a little taking from Uncle Sam. Weapons ain't cheap, y'know? I think that's what got 'em pissed, me leaving a trail. The Syndicate doesn't like screw-ups. They decided to take me out."

Matt shrugged. "But the boss says it's cool! Turns out it was someone else on the run who messed everything up, and he's sittin' pretty in an alley with a bullet in his fool head! Yeah! Everything's hunky fuckin' dory." Again he moved forward, closing that last bit of distance. "Just one problem. If the Syndicate figures out that I told you what I did, that I let you in on even the little secrets I did, they'd plug my ass anyway. So I can't leave a trail. I learned that lesson. I can't have any witnesses, y'know?" He closed the distance again and wasn't even three feet away. "So you have to die. Sorry man. Thems the brakes."

Bang.

-

Matt stumbled away, screaming, grabbing at the huge hole that had suddenly appeared in his arm. His pistol fell harmlessly to the floor and Anton rushed forward, kneeing his companion in the crotch. "You stupid bastard!" Anton shouted, putting his hands together and knocking them against his back in a vicious haymaker. Matt crumpled to the ground and his head slammed into the floor. He felt a foot collide with his stomach and he rolled over, looking up. Matt winced as Anton spit in his eyes. Matt struck out with his only good arm left. He missed and Anton kicked him again. "You stupid, worthless piece of trash!" He looked around him and groaned; only then noticing that the door had opened. There was a guy coming through, a big guy.

Matt tried shouting something but it came out in an incoherent jumble. His arm! How had Anton shot him? He didn't even have a gun and the angle was all wrong! But there was a hole in the window of the living room, a nice bullet-sized hole with cobwebs of broken glass splintering out from it! "What the hell is going on?" He shouted angrily. It wasn't fair! Things were going good, things were going the way they should have gone, then this shit had to happen!

"Pride, are you all right?" The big guy was talking, Matt saw it, but what was that shit he was talking?

Anton nodded. "Yeah. How did things turn out at the operation?"

"Flawlessly," the big guy replied. "But you signaled for us, surely there's some kind of issue?"

Anton shook his head. "It's nothing Wrath. Nothing anymore. Just a small fish in a big pond who thinks he's a whale."

Matt was scuttling backwards now, away from the pair. But they were in between him and his gun! These shits didn't know who they were dealing with! He let his injured arm dangle to the side as he reached into his back pants pocket. The big guy started moving towards him, but Anton stopped him. Matt revealed his icon with all the flair of a magician on his final act. "You guys are dead meat, you know that right? I'm a Sinner! A member of the Syndicate! You think they're just gonna look the other way while you stupid shits kill off one of their own? They'll want payback!" He laughed, but was perturbed to find that the big guy was laughing as well.

"I see what you mean," the huge guy responded.

"What the hell's so funny?" Matt shouted, looking at the big stupid looking guy next to Anton. The big guy in black.

Anton kneeled in front of him and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. The little freak didn't look that strong, but those eyes, those eyes stopped him! It was that stupid look again, what the hell was that look? Anton reached inside his front shirt pocket and pulled an item out of it. Matt gasped.

"Two icons." Anton confirmed. "You really are some kind of an idiot, you know that Matt? Look closely, do you see anything different?"

He did. The one Anton held, the icon that had been in his jacket when Anton threw it at Matt, the center orb wasn't red. It was black. "What's it mean?" He said, trying to sound strong, determined, but it came out weak and whimpered.

"You really do have bad taste in company Pride." The big guy laughed again as a ring came from him. He patted himself down until he found a cell phone and flicked it out. "Yeah? Yeah. It's normal. Under control. You can go home Greed." He closed it back up and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Anton laughed. "You were right too. You surprised me with your little bit of insight. Not bad." The young man shook his head and continued. "Imagine my surprise when I find out that one of my friends knows a considerable amount of information about the Syndicate! I was fairly disturbed by it all. I was certain there was some kind of information leak. I have to admit, I was kind of relieved to find out that you were one of us."

"You're a Sinner!" Matt shouted as he fell further back. How far had he crawled? Was he at the door yet? Maybe he could run! Shit, Anton was a Sinner!

The huge guy, Wrath, laughed again. Anton just stood there, shaking his head. "I told you. It was all finished and done. You were safe and in the clear! I was more than happy to take care of that little business for a friend. After all, it's not that hard to call off a little assassination when you're... Well, I'm sure you've figured it out by now." He sighed. "I still can hardly believe it though. I heard we'd been picking up some real losers to fill up the lowest ranks, but you? We must've really hit a new low to pick up the human wasteland, burned-out drugged-up one-word Matt. Christ, just how many times have you said 'shit' today alone?"

Matt kept crawling until he felt his back against the wall. He was there! Now all he had to do was turn around, find the door and leave! But Anton was stooping over, picking something up, whispering something. Oh Christ! It was his gun, the pistol he'd dropped! "I'm sorry Matt," he heard as he turned and looked for the door. "You really were a bit of fun." Matt turned back thinking that maybe, just maybe, Anton might find something, some reason not blow the shit out of him there and then! There was no way he'd make it to the door in time, not with that freak so close! But when he turned back, all he saw was the pistol pointed at him and Anton with that look on his face. "But nobody points a gun at me."

His eyes dilated as he saw the trigger depress and saw the hammer of the gun pull back. Shit! "Anton! Nuh-"

Bang.

-

Anton shook his head as he considered the bloody mess in front of him. He was going to have a hell of a time cleaning this up, top to bottom. But there were important things at hand. Matt was just a tiny matter after all. "How much did we make?"

"With all of the goods we stole from that freighter? We're looking at quite a bit of money." Wrath smiled and nodded. "It was quite the unexpected surprise to see you at the raid."

"The Columbians put up a better fight than I thought. I had more than a couple close calls back there. I knew I shouldn't have worn my good jacket." Anton sighed and waited a moment before continuing. "How many casualties?"

"Our side or theirs? I would say it was a massacre but that doesn't properly explain the situation. It was all just too quiet. I told you Pride, it went flawlessly."

Anton allowed himself to smile. "So my visit to The Rat's Hole was well spent. I'm glad to hear it. Remember Wrath, a good leader leads by example." He stopped again and looked to the window. "What does Sin think?"

"No one's heard from Sin in weeks."

Anton cursed. "I was hoping this little incident would bring him out of his silence! Damn it!"

"You realize that his position might be open, that the old man might have finally gone to the other side? You could-"

"No." Anton cut his large friend off. "I won't be taking that spot anytime soon. If anyone will, it'll be Envy."

Wrath laughed. "No kidding. I heard she dropped by earlier. She's really mad at you, you know?"

Anton smiled as well. "I expected as much. She's just upset that I wouldn't play along. It just means I'll get to have a bit of fun later. I really do enjoy a challenge."

The two shared another laugh as Wrath moved towards the door, past the corpse. "I'll have Gluttony take care of that. You get some sleep. You look like hell."

Anton nodded and Wrath left through the door. He sighed and looked over to the clock. It was 0215. Anton chuckled as he remembered a promise and looked at Matt. Yeah, life sure was strange sometimes.

"Yeah Matt," he said to that ghoul slumping lifelessly against the wall, "it never was about you. You thought I did all of this for fun? You really were some kind of moron. It was just business. And you were just a little diversion." Anton turned away and started heading towards his room. In a few hours, he'd have to see to it that his contacts were informed. Tonight had been a good night, but there was always work to be done. The Syndicate wasn't going to run itself after all. He might check up on Luigi too. He knew a little too much and this 'boss' business he was going on about was more than a little disturbing.

He sat down in his bed and thought about all the business he'd have to deal with today in just a few hours. Anton went to sleep not long after. He had a good dream, the kind of dream you didn't want to wake up from, the kind of dream you just wanted to sit back, relax and enjoy. Anton did.

Jumping Jesus on a Pogo Stick! What length! I...Highly doubt that I shall have the time to read all of that today...

Happy pi day everyone, I just want to appear and say that I wish to challenge teh winnar AS SOON AS I RETURN...kk?

thank you