Jovian's search could barely be called a search. Not in the real sense of it.The scene of the wreckage was practically waiting for him in the middle of the highway, on the path back to the Johns' mansion. When he arrived at the scene, the police were already there, dressed from head to toe in their black uniforms, their little guns poking out of their holsters. In their matching outfits, they always looked ridiculous to Jovian. Undertrained. Undisciplined. Un-everything. All they were to do too often was how to look sharp in a uniform.Jovian got out of the car and approached the scene. From what he could see, Reynolds had given whoever came after him hell. This did not surprise him. Not even a little bit. The man had almost beat him in hand to hand combat, a thing he previously thought improbable. Call him arrogant, but he knew how proficient he was. He knew because he had spent years honing his body into the perfect weapon. But in mere seconds, Reynolds put years of training to
When Reynolds opened his eyes again, he was in a room he did not recognize.The ceiling—which was the first thing he saw— was low, so close that he was certain if he stood and reached high enough, he could touch it. The entire room on the other hand was sparsely furnished with a chair near the bed and an old table, and it smelt entirely of sweetness and unrestrained air. The windows faced him from the other end, light shooting through, and the blinds which blocked out most of the sun danced in the light breeze. Oddly, the room seemed distantly familiar, and he could have sworn he had been in it before. But he had no recollection whatsoever. It was though he had seen it in a dream.He tried to think back, but even if he’d laid eyes upon this place before, he couldn’t recall it. And when he closed his eyes, even if he did remember anything, there were flashes of images which just wouldn’t come together, as though they didn’t want to do so.Shaking his head, Reynold lifted his head a b
Of all the things he despised about the country, Riker despised the fear that people carried about, hoarding it close to their hearts. Cowardice was a stain, Riker had always believed. It was a thing that ought to be washed clean out of the body and the soul. Of all the things the people feared, they feared the police the most. Perhaps, he did not share the same fear and trembling that they felt because he had grown up affluent. His father had the police in the palm of his hand. How else would he have evaded that hit and run charge in high school? How else would he have buried that case in college when Reynolds Sheen came after him. He had tried to understand their fear so many times; he still could not. While other people caught sight of the police and froze like animals caught in headlights, for Riker, they were but a minor disturbance. He cared little for them most days, less other days. This was why he was filled with unbowed rage when the man said no to him."I don't want an
The seventh morning after his awakening, Reynolds could finally walk unassisted.All the days before that, he needed his grandmother's help to be propped up in bed. Every form of locomotion hurt. Staying still hurt too. Very badly. Each time he moved his arm or tried to, he experienced agony. It was as though his body was remembering the flesh entering into his body, the metal a foreigner to his insides. The wound in his shoulder was easier to treat as the bullet had gone clear through his body. There was no metal to dig out of his skin. His grandmother simply cleaned the wound, smearing it with salve afterwards to give him some comfort. She often left for the nearby towns to offer her services as a healer. The hospital in the city was a little to expensive for town dwellers like his grandmother, racking up astronomical bills for the smallest of services. She was a skilled healer and was more affordable, so often they patronized her, causing her to always be on the move, leaving
The courtyard of his grandparents home was a square of land which was carefully tended to. There were several large trees scattered around the property with shrubs and flowers of varying kinds growing freely. The air smelled clean but it also carried the faint scent of smoke from the chimneys of many nearby houses. The light from the sky was dimly illuminated by small lanterns that hung in various positions on the branches of all of the trees in the yard. It cast a soft glow over everything as though it was a warm summer night despite there being plenty of shade for anyone who wished. There was no breeze that evening. In fact the air was hot the point of discomfort. Heat was already starting to creep around, but this didn’t bother Reynolds at all.Instead he continued to strode on instinct to the middle of the land, and when he got go his preferred spot, he began to dig. He was careful not to hurt any of the empherals on the land. Not trusting his body to hold his weight, Reynolds
Jamie only smoked when in distress.Where nicotine made animals of other men, it was like nothing else he knew. It calmed his nerves.He took a final puff of the cigar and let it fall out of the window. It went still slight, the red end glowing hot. He had a few moments to admire that sight and then it vanished into the thin air. It was a cool evening, and while he would have loved to be elsewhere, Jamie was stuck in the passenger seat of a nondescript car. There were two men in the back seat, a driver upfront sat with his sunglasses and wild mustache clutching the steering wheel, and then there was Riker, his business partner.The man’s face was expressionless as he gripped the door handle, his gaze fixed somewhere far in front of their destination. "Are you ready now?" He finally spoke, his voice holding a tone of impatience. Jamie did not grace him with an answer. He did not deserve one, the same way he did not deserve much of the wealth they had amassed. It was simply due to t
Leaving was, for Rey, always an act of violence.He rarely grew attached to things or places, but when he did grow attached to them, it was nearly impossible to separate himself from them. When he had no choice but to, he was always forced to tear himself away and the process felt like losing skin.Three months living with his grandmother and he had trained his body into a killing machine. His wounds had healed completely, leaving scars behind like craters and brown puckered lips. Rey tended to know things like when he had overstayed his welcome or when he needed to go, and yesterday he’d stayed up all through the night, staring at the ceiling in the dark with a distinct feeling of dread crawling slowly up his spine. In that moment; he just knew. He had to leave. And so before dawn broke the morning sky, he made all the necessary arrangements, stuffed the clothes he had amassed—mostly some of his grandfather's old shirts—into a duffel bag, and packed his boots.By the time morning lig
The city was a stranger again. Reynolds took a ferry boat back into the heart of the suburbs, and when they passed under the bridge from which he had fallen, he gazed heavenwards. As expected, there was no indication that once, there’d been an assassination attempt at the spot. The railing had been beaten back into shape. The sun overhead was a kindly thing, shining down as though it was afraid of its own intensity.The ferryman dropped him off at the docks, and for the first time in months, his feet touched tarred ground. City ground. He plunged headfirst into the city and its early morning crowd, maneuvering his way through the wide flat streets and the narrow alleys. It was not long until he found himself a taxi to take him home. He took in the scenery as they went: black gravel and white paint markings, buildings of minimalistic architecture, their glass-to-ceiling windows glinting with the sun. A woman pushed her baby in a stroller. A red scarf was slung around her neck and it