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.