They were staring out the window, the video behind me three dead greenhorns. Cut down with a blade made out of bone. It seems they got that wish of theirs to see the game, but as victims. It was not pretty, crying, blood, guts. It was brutal and time-consuming. It was locked in an old tunnel, running, abandoning each other, like rats.
Up all night, I was chasing down the leads. My eyes locked on to a video taken three days ago. Our new hires, sitting in the cafe Odette, know as a place to get things on the darker side. Fixer and pimps, hang out here, procuring the ones with flash the naughties of toys.
The sound of thunder rips across the Dome. Storm, shaking the world, storm awaking the globe.
The only light that sick glow of telly blasting through my living room. I struggle, my eyes closing again, but another thunder blast, sending me upwards into the dark—one by one, the lights since my life signs. Forcing myself to my feet as I stumble towards the bathroom as the path lights up.
Dinner was fine, perfect not much talk. But the powerful do not need words, now waking up in the evening, with a blinking of my alarm.
The time away was significant. Time lost its purpose. I was stuck in one room, listening to the words drilled into my skull.
Life is over.......
Sitting there on a bench, hands in a pair of cuffs. Team dead, just me left covered in the blood of a hit. Getting taken in by CorpSec, this is a bad fucking night.