Chapter 22

When Orabella wakes she can feel her head swell as if a burrowing demon is trying to burst free through the inside of her skull. Silence rings deafeningly in her ears as her surroundings come back into reality. Recalling the night before, the dugout comes back into memory, along with it's awful occupant. She rolls over to look upon her latest drug fueled shame but finds herself alone in the tidy, blanketed bed. The air inside the dugout is warm and still, a much more pleasant awakening then what followed her first experience with the dope.

Her lazy junky brain takes more time to fully awaken and allow her to rise and move about. Like an angry bear, Orabella's stomach roars with hunger as she paws about for a scrap of food. Relief comes from an old bag of rock-hard beef jerky that she gnaws on at the foot of the bed while the drugs and the sleep pass from her foggy head.

The scraps don't do much more then make her craving for food more intense. After mustering all of her strength, she rises, covers were bruised naked skin and heads for the door. The padlock is gone and she groggily reaches to push the door open. To her dismay, the door doesn't budge as it's locked firmly from the outside. Her stomach drops in terror as she realizes she's a prisoner now, a slave. Caged and controlled and only of one use to her evil, manipulative master. As tears form in the Italian's eyes, she moves back to the bed to get warm and to think about how she will remove herself from this doomed predicament.

Soon enough she slips back into an uneven, half-sleep and dreams begin to haunt what she perceives as reality. There's screaming and dark shadows looming over, drawing her into a haunting black abyss that is far to familiar. A bloody gash breaks across her forehead and splits her cranium directly down the center. From the crimson wound, screeching bats emerge and taunt her with burning white eyes that scar the remnants of her broken soul.

The more Orabella tries to quell the antagonizing apparitions, the more intense their prodding becomes. The bats, swarming and screeching, soon convulse and combust into a spiraling conflagration of tortured screams and moans. It's the bellowing pain of transfixed, incurable addiction. Orabella knows her only possible escape and exactly how to find it... If only her master would return and provide the means. But in the down time she just has to deal with the demons, the bats and the blood thirsty screaming. Orabella can't help but ponder, 'Have I arrived in hell?'.

Saul lies in his bunk, staring up at the plain ceiling, and ponders the many things that swirl around in his mind. A headache festers as he attempts to sort through the array of emotions and opinions that roll repetitively within. Of most importance to him is the state of Johan, his best friend, and the choices he'll have to make regarding his friendship with the seemingly lost man. Johan has become very distant and careless, falling effortlessly into the 'army' they have become a part of. The flashes of sociopathy which dance in his eyes chill Saul to the core. His best friend's unstableness conjures many emotions starting with blazing fury and ranging to bitter depression and woeful pity, the gauge moves often and drastically.

Secondly, he has no idea how to handle the situation with Martina. Should he tell Johan then he betrays his word to Martina. Besides, she made it plainly obvious that she wants no part of her husband, be it from shame or fear, Saul doesn't really know but that brutal revelation would undoubtedly push Johan fully into the darkness. Sending him into a hopeless depression which would surely be his end.

Johan rests soundly in his bed inside their pod while Saul's conscience eats him alive. He knows once the sun rises they will head out on their first mission with Lieutenant Swarovsky, the details aren't known but he knows it won't be any Peace Corps mission.

A bell finally rings prompting them to rise from bed, dawn their attire, tool up and stand at ridged attention outside their cells. With the ringing of a second bell they move out, single file, to the fragrant mess hall to grab some breakfast before debriefing. Through this whole routine not a word is spoken between Saul and Johan, uneasiness and awkwardness grows with each passing silent minute. The urge to reach out and smack his friend back into reality is overwhelming but Saul fights the urge and goes about his business like a true professional.

Breakfast is eaten, in silence, and they head off to be debriefed along with three other new recruits. Swarovksy awaits them in a little office filled with numerous maps and charts. The Lieutenant looks upbeat and well rested, ready to start a new mission and test some new tools. This is what he lives for.

"Cadets, welcome. Today you embark on your first missions as a part of His Great Army. Have you all your own weapons I see, good, no need to supply you with anything. I'm anxious to start this mission. I have high hopes for each of you men here."

"Yes sir," they all say in unison.

"Very well. The mission today is something we wouldn't normaly trust with first time recruits but as I said previously, we have special interest in you boys. In my observations I have seen something special in each of you, that's why I've chosen you for this special mission. He is excited to break in some new men that aren't morons and grunts."

"Who is He?" Saul asks.

"The man you work for and the man who has provided you with all that delicious food, the soft bed and warm, tight pussy. That's all you need to know recruit," Swarovsky replies promptly.

"Yes sir," Saul says in his most well acted drone voice.

"Our mission will be of the search and destroy variety. We have received intel that a group of men have been plotting against His greater vision. Rebels in the first degree and scum undoubtedly. It's our responsibility to find these vandals and make them pay, make 'em bleed for their treasonous actions. I will lead you all to the stronghold and begin the squelching of these damned guerillas. Any questions?"

"No sir."

They disembark from the prison, of course in silence, and move quickly into the remnants of the city. Under the guidance of the unflappable Swarovsky the party moves swiftly and boldly, unhindered by the wastes. The junkies, bandits and vagrants seam to part like the Red Sea to Moses at the feet of the Australian Lieutenant. Great lords moving like a tidal wave over the peasants on their quest to the Holy Crusades. Finally, the walls of the great Fenway Park loom over them, Saul feels an immense tug at his heart strings.

"What we look upon here is the fortress which holds those which appose His great utopia. Primitive guerillas who wish the world to remain a violent cesspool. What say you?"

"Down with them," each of them, excluding Saul, chant passionately.

"You, walk into the spotlight," Swarovsky addresses one of the recruits, a large man dressed in green overalls and a black t-shirt. At first the recruit hesitates but soon obeys and strolls out into the radiant beam of the probing flood light. Playing out the pun to perfection, the recruit stares up at the towering wall with a look of awe across his face, bathed in the powerful, artificial light.

"Halt!" a godlike voice booms across the landscape causing the recruit to freeze in his tracks and glance around at his Lieutenant.

"Keep going," Swarovsky orders. As he takes another step the voice rings out once again.

"If you wish to seek refuge we ask that you stand still so we may escort you inside," the recruit glances back again hesitantly and is relieved to see Swarovsky nod his head, an order to obey. The beam of light stands fixed and within a couple seconds a large garage door at the base of the wall opens and from it emerges a heavily armored man toting a stalky sub-machinegun. As he comes closer, the recruit can see a dark complexion and fierce, focused eyes.

"You boys ready to strike?"

"Yes sir," all of them, accept for Saul, reply. Thinking on the fly, Saul pulls his forty-five, grabs the burly Lieutenant by the shoulder and trains the barrel of the pistol on the man's right temple.

"What the fuck are you doing maggot?" the stunned Swarovsky barks.

In a flash, Saul can feel four gun barrels trained on him, one which belongs to Johan. Everything is tense while Swarovsky speaks.

"Quit aiming your damned guns at me you fools. I can handle this," he orders and the recruits eventually obey.

"Kaleb! Hey Kaleb," Saul calls and the armored yet vulnerable man stops.

"Who's out there?" he calls.

"It's Saul, I caught a Lieutenant but I'm in a bit of a predicament."

Kaleb tilts his mouth toward a microphone mounted on his collar and speaks to what has to be the man controlling the light for within a second it adjusts, fully illuminating Saul, his hostage and the shocked recruits who quickly bolt like cowards.

The recruit standing before Kaleb begins to shake nervously as he reaches around to the gun resting in the waistband of his trousers.

"Don't move," Kaleb notices immediately and raises the barrel of his SMG. The man keeps going. "I'll shoot!"

In a flash, the man pulls his gun and aims but can't squeeze off a shot before Kaleb unloads a quick burst which rips through the hopeless man's chest. He falls hard to the ground and lies motionless.

Meanwhile, Saul looks to Johan who is wearing a look disgust and contempt as his eyes pierce his soul.

"Johan, let's go."

"Fool..."

"Goddamnit Johan, don't do this."

"You're ruining our last hope Saul."

"Our last hope? Martina is your last hope."

"You talk as if she's still alive."

"Well-"

"Wake the fuck up Saul, she's dead and gone and I've moved on. This is my life now."

"You stupid son of a bitch."

"Excuse me?"

"You wanna know what happened when we first got to the prison? After we pigged out?"

"Where are you going with this?"

"While you were fucking some whore, I was across the hall in shock. It was Martina Johan, you're wife. She's fucking alive."

"Wha- why didn't you tell me?"

"You don't want to know."

"Tell me god-fucking-damn you!"

"She was ashamed, hates herself. Didn't want to see you and break your heart by seeing what she has become. But obviously, you have no heart left to break."

Johan just stands in utter disbelief trying to sort things out in his head. Everything is a whirl.

"Come with me, we'll save her. Together."

"Yeah, alright. Great," Johan replies but Saul still doesn't quite buy it. He turns anyways and begins to walk Swarovsky towards friendly Fenway. Johan walks slowly with his head down and his revolver still clutched in his hand at his side. As Kaleb turns to escort them back, Johan raises the ivory-handled revolver.

"Not a word from you," he screams out and fires off a shot. Saul and Kaleb both flinch in fear and turn franticly as the bullet rips through Swarovsky's right ear and collides with the pistol barrel which sits trained on his temple. In the blink of an eye a second shot rings out, undoubtedly from the snipers up above, hitting Johan hard in his left shoulder. Almost unaffected, Johan then turns and sprints from the light beam just as Kaleb fires off a burst and before the snipers up high can crack off another desperate shot. Saul and Kaleb wrangle the injured Lieutenant and drag him across the open area and into the stadium. Just as the wastelands disappear behind him, Saul hears a voice.

"Good luck," Johan's voice echoes down through the tunnel, a haunting taunt filled with a possessed insanity thats turns Saul's stomach. He and Kaleb quickly move the injured Swarovsky on to the open field and attempt to impede the flow of blood from the mangled gash which used to be his ear. The lieutenant moans in agony and his words become garbled and illegible through his delirium. With a shocked look on her face, Alieana runs to them to lend a hand.

"Oh my god who is this? Can I do anything?"

"Towels, we need towels. And someone to stitch him up, have someone retrieve Mick as well," Saul replies.

"Where's Johan?"

"I don't have the time hun, please just do those things for me."

"Okay," she obeys and runs off to find help.

Soon enough, a crowd comprised mostly of Valkyrie bikers forms and gazes upon Saul and Kaleb as they attempt to patch up the wounded man, whoever he happens to be.

"Holy shit," Molotov appears from the crowd. "Want me to get Ulysses? He'll want to be a part of this."

"If you think he should know then by all means go," Saul says, half paying attention.

In what seams like no time at all, Alieana returns accompanied by Mick Iasan who is equipped with a dingy surgical bag. The two relieve Saul and Kaleb, allowing them to explain what just went down.

"Who is this?" Mick begins the interrogation.

"Lieutenant Swarovsky."

"You mean he's one of THE lieutenants?"

"Yes indeed."

"Great work son," Mick claps him on the shoulder but his face soon drops as he looks to the injured man and back to Saul. "Where's your friend?"

"He didn't come back."

"Oh, I'm sorry. How'd he go?"

"Screaming for vengeance... and shooting."

"May he rest easy."

"Fucking fool," he mumbles as his woe is quickly replaced with anger at the thought of his traitorous friend.

"I'm so sorry," Alieana attempts to comfort him with a hug but he gently pushes her away and turns to leave.

"Wait son," Mick calls to him. "You did great work today, I just want you to know that. I hope you're still with us in the fight."

"Of course."

"Good to hear. Because we got a hell of a war before us."

Saul nods and turns back away to find some time to be alone. For the rest of the night he sits and stares off into the black abyss that is the dark, starless tapestry painted across the sky. As the forsaken world moves along it's wretched path around him, he is left feeling nothing. Numb and alone. While Swarovsky is patched up just to be ironically torn back open during a brutal interrogation. While Orabella quells her tears with a needle and a spoon, escaping her selfish tormenters embrace. While Mick and Ulysses ponder the next step in their seemingly endless battle. While Johan streaks through the wastes with only two things on his mind, liberating his Martina and becoming the greatest Lieutenant in His Great Army. While the entire city, the entire world cries in the wake of it's swift and merciless demise, Saul sits alone and dreams of times long past. Chapters from another place and time, he knows it's never coming back, that even with time things would never go back to the way they were. Life, society, culture and humanity are broken forever. Lost in an irreversible spiral to it's demise. Much like everything around him, Saul is broken... And the war is only just beginning.

Chapter 21

The prison looms before them with pure evilness, a cathedral off doom and misfortune that sits black against the sky in all of it's menacing terror. It reaches out to them like a devil calling for the souls of three wayward travelers. Outer walls tower above them crowned with sharp spirals of rusty barbed wire and angry spirits haunt the gray and deadened yard.

Dark silhouettes peer down on them from high watch towers and wave them on at the sight of the familiar lieutenant. Large, steel-paneled doors creak open and call them into the smoldering womb of the medieval castle. 'Soldiers' mill about on the open prison yard trying to occupy their minds with other things then the terrible weather of the day.

"Don't mind these fucks, they're the lowest of the low. Less then privates, really only good for target practice," Lt. Swarovsky chuckles as they pass by the oblivious enlisted men.

The three enter a small office marked by an old sign with the word 'Admitting" printed on the face of it. A short, fat, older man looks up at the lieutenant and his two recruits through round spectacles.

"New enlisties?" a nerdy voice comes from the hobbit's mouth.

"Yes indeed. I'm gonna treat them to the spoils of His Army."

"Can I get two names? And under what category?"

"Saul and Johan, private first class," Swarovsky chuckles. "These boys got something special."

Johan just stares at the fat man with a sadistic smile drawn tight across his emotionless face. Saul on the other hand stands limply exhibiting body language of a man who feels entirely indifferent to his current situation.

"Alrighty then, enjoy the amenities. Everything is first class in here," the secretary bids them farewell and they pass further into the den of evil. After admitting they pass through a door marked 'Barracks' where Swarovsky leads them to their 'pod', a cell with two very clean looking beds, two large footlockers and the door, oddly removed. A spotless black rug covers the cold cement floor and a bright, electric lamp hums in the center of the pod's ceiling. Surprisingly clean, cozy, comfortable and warm but still a prison cell non the less.

"Welcome home, there's fresh clothes in the footlockers. I also ask that your sidearms be kept locked safely in them as well, prevents any fatal confrontations or... pistol beatings," the lieutenant smirks at Johan who just grunts.

"Thank you sir," Saul says.

"Sir? I like that. Get dressed and I'll be back shortly to take you to the mess hall and the harem. I'm sure you've been looking forward to that," Swarovsky chuckles and leaves them to their pods.

"Get these fucking rags off!" Johan says excitedly as he strips off his cold wet clothing and tosses them into the corner.

"Where you at man?"

"What do you mean, 'where am I at'?"

"I can't tell if it's an act out of you to impress these guys or if you're really living it," Saul says seriously as he replaces his garments with fresh, clean ones.

"Oh I'm living it baby."

"We're gonna find Martina."

"Yeah... I know," Johan replies sarcastically.

"Let's just do this mission and we can focus on finding her."

"I gotta fuck something," Johan says as if not having heard Saul's last statement.

"Hey, don't ignore me man. And you're wife's still alive, you're not fucking anything. We both know that."

"Well 'friend' I aint living forever and she, she's long gone so stop saying her fucking name you hear me? I'm gonna go stuff my face and then stuff some tight pussy who's name I don't know."

"What the hell happened to you Johan I used to know?"

"Oh him? He died. Right along with the old world he was associated with. A new man for the new world, adjust and adapt baby. Now change the subject because I'm getting sick of this one."

Saul just sits on his bed in astonishment over his friends callousness and sociopathy. How was he going to survive through this ordeal with a partner that has completely lost all hope and will to live? The outcome flashes cryptic and bleak inside Saul's mind. Like a haunting, prophetic slideshow taunting him into a bitter state of hopelessness.

Lieutenant Swarovsky soon returns and beckons the two uniformed men. The uniforms are simple and tidy, tan khakis and button-up shirts with black combat boots and leather belt. He takes them from the barracks, leading deeper into the prison where they find the kitchen and mess hall. An eruption of beautiful smells encompass them and amplify the hunger lurking in their bellies. Meats and cheeses and breads and soups with veggies and fresh fruit spill from a long, buffet-style bar. Free for the taking, the sight makes both Johan and Saul's mouths water simultaneously.

"Grab a plate and dig in, as much as you want," Swarovsky unleashes them upon the buffet like two starving dogs to a floor-fallen cut of prime rib. They both load their plates with the rich delicacies presented before them. Fat-marbled beef, juicy chicken, tender pork, hearty breads, crunchy fresh vegetables and fruit, warm hard-boiled eggs, tubs of rich peanut butter and mugs of hot coffee. Their energy builds inside as their stomachs become engorged. Calories, carbs, fat, sugar and caffeine give them a boost like non they've felt in a very long time.

Johan falls back in his chair, stuffed to the gills, and belches approvingly. With a napkin he wipes the remnants from his face and looks around the empty hall as if to find his next conquest. Swarovsky reappears suddenly, swooping in like a hawk to its prey.

"Eat your fills mate?"

"My belly's full but I think I still got some eating to do," Johan chuckles.

"That you do mate. You two come with me and I'll show you to the real buffet," he winks and beckons them away from the vacant mess hall.

Deeper inside the dimly lit prison they enter a long hallway behind a door marked "Visiting Rooms". The floor is plainly carpeted and the doors, solid and soundproof. They stroll to the end of the mundane hall when Swarovsky turns around and gazes upon them with a sly smile written across his face.

"You're two rooms, enjoy what's hidden inside," the lieutenant smiles and leaves them to their free orgies.

Saul looks at Johan who just nods and reaches out for the door knob. Saul pauses and grabs Johan by the shoulder.

"This really what you wanna do?"

"What the fuck do you think?" Johan replies bitterly and disappears behind the thick, padded door. With a sigh and not quite sure how he is going to navigate around this situation, Saul opens his own door and passes through it without knowing the surprise that awaits him.

Within his room, which is warm and smells of fresh clover, Johan finds a large bed with a lovely angel spread out in it's center. Long blonde hair that reaches towards the cleft of her spherical butt lies gently beneath her like a blanket of woven sea foam. Completely naked accept for a small black thong, the young harlot is ready to satisfy his every desire. As Johan removes his shirt and begins undoing his belt, the girl sits upright to great him. With a seductive stare, she begins to rub her delicate hands over the round, perky breasts which have been pierced through the nipples with dainty silver tassels.

"Welcome, I'm Nina and I'm here to take care of you baby."

"Is that so?" Johan smirks as his tan khakis are tossed to the side.

"Anything you desire."

"Where you from sweetheart?"

"Where else? Boston."

"Good little Boston girl. How old are you?" Johan asks politely and with sweetness, although a sinister malice dances playfully in his cold eyes.

"Old enough," she winks.

"Where's your family?"

"Dead. Do you have a wife?"

Johan doesn't respond immediately, he just smiles wide and gazes upon the beautiful, dainty young thing oozing sex before him. He steps forward and places his hands gently on each side of her head. Leaning down, he kisses her softly on lips made of warm silk.

"She's dead. Now let's get started," with a surprising force that knocks the wind from Nina's lungs, Johan pushes back onto the bed. He stands up over her and grins his devil's grin. Once de-clothed, he pulls the young Nina to the edge of the bed and forces himself into her tiny mouth. Gentle, soft, sensual or respectful pass Johan by as he slams the young girl's head against himself as she gurgles and chokes.

He throws her back onto the bed with violent force and she cries in alarm. Nina wasn't expecting this level of force after their pleasant conversation and the gentle kiss. But soon enough, the mood sets in and the young vixen boldly plays along. With Johan standing over her she grabs him by the shoulder and rips him down on top of her. As she screams out with pleasure his strong hands grip tightly around her neck and squeeze the noise from her cracking trachea.

Folded around Johan's waist like the claws of a starving lobster, Nina's legs pull him in deeper. Moving violently, he screams out in anger and rises above her. A raging red devil dripping with sex and sin. Lying before him, Nina writhes in ecstasy craving more.

Johan then rolls her onto her stomach and forces her face into the blankets as he takes her from behind. Finally being the one in control, Johan abuses and humiliates the pretty young female to the point where she can't breath and blood beads on her lips. Once finished, Johan orders the degraded young whore to leave. Ravaged, bruised, bloodied and crying, Nina exits with her head hung in shame. Despite the many ruffians of the wastes she is accustomed to catering to, they were usually more timid and respectful, to awestruck by her to be violent or cruel or degrading.

The brooding Johan, heart still racing rapidly, paces about in the room like a violent caged animal. Huffing and puffing, the whirlwind in his mind gives him the urge to kill. To kill anything, anyone, just a desire to take a life. It's a strong demon clawing at his conscience, drawing him to the dark side. Power, domination, so addicting and so satisfying. Johan is finally home.

Saul slowly enters his room, head down, heart racing. This is not a situation he's been looking forward to, ten armed bandits is a more appealing hurdle to jump at the moment. The most evident thing to Saul is the warmth and aroma of the room, like a freshly mowed field. The silence is broken by a sweet, artificial voice that for some reason sounds vaguely familiar.

"Hey there hun, you can look at me. I won't bite."

"I..." Saul stutters, not knowing what to say and he hears the young woman before him rise from her seat and approach him.

"Just look at me darling," he can feel her hands touch his face and gently move his line of sight upwards into hers. As their eyes meet, Saul's heart skips a beat and his stomach roils violently as if on the verge of loosing his considerable lunch. His tired eyes meet a pair of cerulean orbs he has seen many times in what seams like another world. Stepping back in astonishment Saul gazes upon non other then Johan's long lost love, Martina. A look of disbelief crosses both of their faces in unison and Martina stutters and grasps for the right words to say.

"W-what are you doing here Saul? Oh my god how the hell?"

Saul just leans back against the door and gapes in utter bewilderment. Here he is, standing face to face with his best friend's, presumed to be dead, wife while that same friend has a wild affair in the very next room.

"Say something Saul, please."

"Why are you?"

"They took me."

"W-why do you do this? Johan, Johan would be horrified."

"Johan? Is he alive?"

"In the very next room," Saul sighs, what a horridly awkward situation, he braces and prepares for what ever reaction he will get from her.

"Oh god no. No no no. I can't see him. He must think I'm dead now right?"

"Not until recently. I think the sight of the city destroyed any hope he once had. We came all the way from Scotland to find you. But when we got here, he had lost the ambition. He's lost Tina, you can save him."

"No, I can't. I don't want him to see me like this. I want to let him move on from me, I'm no good for him anymore."

"That's not true-"

"Listen to me Saul, you promise me you won't tell him a damn thing! Do you understand?"

"But-"

"Do you understand?!" she cuts in with a seriousness in her voice that oozes violent fear.

"Then what do you propose I do? I won't be able to look him in the eye now."

"Well you better find a way."

There's a long silence as the awkwardness fully sets in and Saul's mind races over what's happened in the last five minutes. Why couldn't there have just been some random house whore to great him, a cheap trick he could just merely brush aside. This is more then anything he bargained for on this forsaken mission.

"So? Are you gonna have your way?"

"What? No! What the fuck Tina? No!"

"Suit yourself, I'll go," she bolts for the door and opens it in a flustered manner, "and not a damn word Saul, you hear me? Just let this thing die along with the rest of this horrid world."

"Yeah," Saul replies airily as the room door slams, leaving him alone and in utter disbelief. With only his mind to occupy him, panic and depression begins to consume Saul as his conscience is pulled in two different directions. The angel and devil on each shoulder are waging an all out bloody war where either outcome ends in pain and heartache. Now it's just time to decide which fall will hurt the least.

On the other side of the city, Mick Victor, Ott, Petr, Rej, The General, Hollowpoint and Joker meet in Mick's HQ within the owner's box for yet another discussion regarding the current mission of Saul and Johan. Rej and Petr are on edge, ready to get into the field and do what they do best. Hollowpoint is also becoming stir crazy from being cooped up in the ballpark along with the agitation he receives from the arrogant Russians. Tension is expectantly high and Mick does his best to play ambassador.

"Petr, what's the latest from your recon men about our spies?"

"Well we know they were picked up by a lieutenant but we soon lost them. He travelled in a fashion to loose a tail. Like I said, they're smart."

"I fear for us then," Rej says sarcastically as his eyes lock onto Hollowpoint.

"Keep talking Russki cunt," Hollowpoint mumbles.

"Rej, Roland enough! We sure as hell are damned if this internal turmoil continues."

"Got that right," The General adds while Petr just sits back in smug silence.

"Do you have reconnaissance set up on the prison?" Mick continues addressing Rej.

"We have tried but non of our men have come back, it must be tight around there."

"Or your men are incompetent..." Hollowpoint grumbles.

"You need some comeuppance young man," Rej stands to confront the steaming sergeant.

"Deliver me father," Hollowpoint grins and opens him arms as an invitation.

"Enough!" Mick yells but to no avail. Rej moves forward with his ninjas grace and meets Hollowpoint violently. The biker gets in two hard punches, one to the Russian's ribs and the other to his harsh face. The blows hardly faze the grizzled old soldier who quickly turns the tide parrying gracefully and sweeping Hollowpoint's rugged legs out from beneath him. After tumbling him to the ground, Rej moves behind Roland with a flash and locks his foe in an unbreakable headlock. he chockes and squirms in an attempt to set himself free but the resistance in futile. Applying more force, Rej begins to crush the windpipe. Joker stands to take action. With even greater nimbleness, the scarred assassin glides across the room and draws one of his beloved pistols. Wielding it as a melee weapon, he clubs the furious ex-spy across the temple with a loud crack. In the blink of an eye the two sparers lie in a pile on the floor. Rej comes to and stands to his feet, a blazing anger flashes in his eyes.

"Enough of you fucking punks, you and me gunslinger, you been eyeing me since you got here. I'll show you some gun speed," spit flies from Rej's mouth. Joker doesn't react, his cool demeanor is unflappable as he just stares icy daggers through the bright red Russian.

"Let's go Rej," Petr says, now becoming impatient, "don't do something that'll get us in trouble."

"He's the only one in trouble," Rej pulls his small pistol and aims it at the stoic biker whose pistols sit gently at home in their holsters.

"Don't you do it Rej, I'm warning you," Mick cuts in, his voice is filled with a mixture of anger and panic. All is silent as the tension within the suite can be felt by all. Rej stares down his sights and his heart pounds rapidly while his brain decides on what to do. Joker just stares, his cold eyes glaring behind his blackened glasses and a slight smirk creasing his lips. In his mind the whole situation is just one big game that he really doesn't care about winning or loosing.

"Rej, let's just go, we're done here. For good," the Russian leader breaks the silence and his trusty sidekick hesitates for half a second. Which is half a second to long as Joker takes his chance. With blazing, un-human speed, the man born Kiril Hundley draws both pistols and cracks off two silky smooth shots before his dueling mate can regain his focus and composure. The first shell, which is a millionth of a second ahead of the next, hits the Russian square in the chest. The large forty five caliber round splits his sternum with a gut wrenching crunch followed by the second shell which flies in and through the soft skin located between his esophagus and jugular vein. Rej crumbles to the floor in a tangled, limp pile. A large puddle of deep red blood pools beneath the fresh corpse.

Petr stands in awe and looks at Joker with a fear in his eyes that seams very uncharacteristic. Shaking the beating from his head, Hollowpoint gazes upon the dead soldier lying next to him. A gentle smiles crosses the sergeant's cracked lips.

"We're done Mick. I'm pulling out, burning my bridges and cutting my losses. Good luck to you," Petr states plainly and leaves the suit in a sort of flabbergasted daze.

"Son of a bitch!" Mick fumes, his bald head burning bright as his mind whirls. The revolution he's worked to hard to create is falling apart before his very eyes.

"Kiril, Roland. Please leave," The General orders and his men promptly obey. "Mick... I'm sorry, we're still in this for the long haul. I'm with you till the end."

"I know that Ulysses but we just lost our strongest ally. We were living on a prayer with Sobotka's help and now, now we don't stand any chance. Our only option is to join the wastes or die valiantly in resistance."

"Lead us to whatever fate awaits us, I trust you. I'd much rather die with a gun in my hand and passion in my heart behind your leadership then live on my knees before some tyrant. I know my men will surely feel the same way."

"I just don't know son, you can go now. I need to think. Ott, clean this mess up please," Mick bids The General farewell so the young man leaves while the deputy removes the bloody corpse.

With the suite empty and the new peril of his shining hope fully setting in, Mick's anger finally boils over as he yell's and throws a rusty barstool across the room in fury. The seat comes to a rest and tears of malice and frustration bead in the corners of his reddened eyes. Nothing left to the world but doom, black unfaltering doom.

Despite being stuck in the middle of a violent cesspool inhabited by murderous plunderers and hopeless junkies, Torri's tormented mind is at ease for the first time in a very long time. With the constant adventure and the support of Faux's loyalty, the night terrors and terrorizing voices have been quelled.

But on this night, a cold, blustery night, the attractive young woman feels an urge to satisfy her need for adventure. The high walls of Fenway loom higher then usual and the desperate druggies seam to be moving in on her, an escape is in order. Faux sits silently to her right, nibbling on a scrap of food left over from diner. Torri sneaks to her side and jumps her with sudden claps to her girlfriend's shoulders.

"Whatcha doing?" Torri yells causing Faux to jump in alarm.

"Woah! Oh umm, just eating. You scared me."

"That was the point silly. Let's do something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything. Let's explore inside this place. I bet there's a lot hidden inside these walls."

"Orabella told us not to go exploring. We promised we wouldn't. We might get in the way?"

"We'll be discrete and I never promised that. Besides, she doesn't seam to have followed that advice. We haven't seen her for awhile. Let's go find some flash lights, or something to light or way."

"Torri.."

"Come on babe, it'll be fun," Torri reaches down and hauls Faux up by her thin wrists.

"Alright, alright."

So Torri and Faux set out to scavenge some implement that will allow them to illuminate the dark bowels of the dead, historic ballpark. They look in crates used by the bikers for hauling supplies, inside lockers which have been setup to house guns, ammo and explosives and through vacant tents and sleeping bags. The search doesn't yield much as flashlights and even batteries are scarce and coveted. In the end, they scrounge up a small light used for illuminating gun barrels along with three candles and an almost empty Bic lighter.

With their supplies in hand, the two girls set off across the field. Past the tents, the fires, the junkies and their drugs and past the bikers to find a soft spot that will allow them access to the world hidden within the ancient, green walls. For the most part, Mick Victor's men keep the refugees penned inside the spacious openness of the park grounds as an officer is placed at every obvious passage to the inside. The tunnels which once led into concession stands and team shops are blocked either by two rifle-armed guards or sturdy plywood panels bolted firmly in place.

The two stalk silently through the amphitheatre-like grand stands under the cover of night, just trying to find a chink in the fortresses armor. Windows into suites and doors into broadcast booths have all been boarded and sealed tight. The thoroughness of Mick Victor's men frustrates Torri as she huffs and puffs, stamping her feet at every barricaded entryway. She stops and sits down in aggravation, trying to brainstorm another plan.

"Let's just head back to camp, we can't get in."

"We're gonna do this, I just need a minute to think," Torri scans her surroundings in an attempt to plot a plan. With a twinkle in her eye, she suddenly stands and grins at her companion.

"What?"

"Follow me," she pulls Faux down the steps towards one of the tunnels closest to ground level. She places the thin, timid Faux in the shadows, out of sight of the guards. "Wait here."

"Bu-"

Before she can muster the words, Torri is off and scurrying back onto the crowded field. The dark haired beauty moves naturally through the fray of stench ridden bums and urine soaked hoppers, her grace allows her to glide effortlessly through her ominous surroundings.

Like a playful poltergeist, Torri lifts a medium sized pebble and casually tosses it over the shoulder of a large man standing before her. The projectile sails straight and true, colliding full force with the face of a mean looking little man. He grunts and cries out in pained anger.

"Who the fuck? Who the fuck threw that?"

Everyone just looks around, wondering who the perp might be. The crazed, stricken man stands and moves in the direction of the large oaf that shields Torri. With her plan now in motion, the devious vixen disappears back into the crowd and makes her way, unnoticed, back to Faux. Safe on their shadowed perch, they watch a melee break out between the large man and the stricken bum. As their friends join in, Victor's men swarm to pacify the disturbance.

"What did you do?" Faux asks.

"Found us a way in," as the guards move from their posts at the tunnel entrance, Torri once again pulls Faux along to join in her shenanigans. The tunnel is dark and spooky, it swallows them up like Jonah down the whale's gullet. All around them, blackness closes in and the lung filling stench of mildew strangles the still air. The only sound is the echo of their feet pattering upon the cement floor which soon ceases as Torri pauses to create some light. Flicking the Bic, she lights a candle and hands it to Faux. After lighting the second, she turns on the barrel light and tucks it behind her ear to illuminate all that she looks upon.

As the faint light fills the large area, the two girls gaze around at the dead, dusty stalls that line the hallway. 'Boston Red Sox', 'Fenway Franks', and 'Memorabilia' are but a few of the many signs glowing faintly in the dimness beneath a film of thin white dust. Faux's heart begins to race with suspense as she finds their sudden situation beyond frightening. She jumps in fear as Torri gently touches her arm to wake her from the daydream she finds herself fallen into.

"It's okay hun. What do you think we're gonna find down here? Monsters?" Torri giggles and claws at her lover's side playfully.

"No, but there must be something. Why else would we have come?"

"Come on, follow me," Torri walks along looking around them in awe while Faux tiptoes timidly behind her. After a minute or two of walking they come to a door marked by a sign with the words 'Authorized Personnel' printed across it. Without hesitation Torri passes through with Faux close behind. The cramped closet is even mustier then the grand hallway but also houses another smell, something sweeter. They focus their light and squint their eyes to find boxes of hidden food. Cases of canned Coca-Cola and small bags of Lays potato chips. Faux's mouth drops open as she looks upon the junk food like an unclaimed fortune. Torri greedily grabs a bag of chips, rips it open and shoves a handful into her mouth. Crunchy and salty and just as delicious as she remembers. With a smile, she offers some to Faux who takes one between her thumb and pointer finger and places it gently between her teeth with a crunch. Torri finishes off the bag and grabs a can of Coke which is rather cold.

"Want some?"

"Okay," Faux replies.

Torri pops the tab and takes a quick sip, she hands it to her best friend who finishes with a couple large gulps.

"Wow, you like it?"

"Coke's my favorite," Faux replies cutely. They drink and munch until they are gorged with sweet and salty food they thought they'd never taste again. When they have had their fill, their pockets are filled with as much as they can carry and they make their way back toward the entrance tunnel to great cleaner air, open sky and friendly warm fire. Torri's heart flutters with a childish satisfaction. Once feeling so alone and so doomed in the god forsaken world, she is now in a place where all that matters is the little things. The day to day satisfactions of Faux's friendly face or a few potato chips and cola are what keeps her going. Just living in the moment, happy for every day that she still has to live, laugh and love.