Joshua scrambled up the narrow stairway with the chilling, palpable pressure of fear gripping at his heart. He ran down a dilapidated alley that was barely more than a passageway. The floor underneath his clumsy feet flexed, threatening to give way. Over prone bodies - dead, sleeping or tripping the light fantastic - he dodged, while the inevitability of a fall loomed in his thoughts. When it finally happened, he wasn't expecting it, but then he wasn't aware of the shadowing, stealthy footsteps closing in on him either.
Falling into the black unknown, recent events flashed before his eyes: DarkNight's recruitment, their tempting promises and flashing of money that crushed any second thoughts. The crash course training in the use of the weapons they were bestowed - a gift, in retrospect, clearly barbed. Jenny, their self-appointed leader, and her hair-brained plan to take out the SCAF pilot they had stumbled across checking a fault on his machine. The carnage that followed as they peppered him with bullets - the sheer volume of rounds ensuring his demise rather than any hint of skill. The next night when Josh had been late due to an argument with his wife, turning up in time to see the Slops raid their hideout. The blossoming explosion from the secret cache DarkNight said would help them should the authorities come calling. The only remaining Slop giving chase as he fled.
He saw dark, jagged shadows rushing up to meet him, while eyes glistened from the darkness, following his descent, watching with glee as he was impaled on a jutting pipe. Pain lanced through his chest, to be slowly numbed by its intensity as consciousness began to fade.
The Slop landed on light feet, a pistol in each hand barking precise exclamations, its words puncturing between each set of eyes with clinical precision. The lithe figure walked over and crouched next to him. Josh laughed, spluttering globules of thick, dark blood over the featureless chrome faceplate. Again he laughed aloud - or was he merely laughing in his own mind now that his body succumbed to a violent death spasm? He didn't care anymore, all he knew was that he had won, he had avoided that which he most feared; interrogation - which no doubt would have led to torture just to be sure. With a blood stained smile of triumph on his lips, he let go...From a fathomless pit of darkness, he rose into a welcoming, warm light as he ascended to heaven's embrace. The sharp smell of disinfectant marred his expectations as blurred figures swam before his eyes.
"Well, Mr. Collins," came a man's disembodied voice as colours defined themselves into vague shapes, "it's good to have you back with us."
"Wh-what?" he muttered, "I du-don't understand...I-I-I died..."
"Well, not quite, Mr. Collins."
The man came into focus wearing a white coat with the words KARMA L.A.D. printed on the left breast pocket.
"You see, the information in that head of yours is very much required by those up high. So, it was decided to bring you back. You should count yourself lucky for being granted this second chance. The process is far from cheap and you won't even have to pay anything."
He tried to get out of bed, but found he was securely strapped in. Worst of all, he was naked. Fear surged through his veins like a freight train, stampeding icy tracks down his spine while cold sweat flooded out of every pore.
"I-I-I'll tell you anything!" he screamed through trembling lips.
"We're quite aware of that, Mr. Collins," said a honey-coated voice, making him forget his fears up to the point when the figure stepped into focus. She was tall and slim, her black hair cut into a bob outlining delicate cheeks. Her burnt eyes stared at him in shades of blood, a stark contrast to her pale, powder-white skin. She wore a Deathsuit, black on black, and smiled coldly with full, black lips. Her whole visage screamed Cloak Division.
"That's why we're going to do it my way..." she crooned melodiously.
"And then," continued the man in the white coat, "just for the fun of it...we will do it my way."
The scream caught in his throat as Joshua saw the man place a tray of surgical instruments on the trolley next to the bed. The alluring, contrary Brain Waster removed a glove - peeling away black muscle and sinew bound in charred bones - before reaching out with a slender hand, barbed with black, glistening finger-nails.
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