The engine thrummed and purred softly as they moved, a slight vibration on the seat that did wonders to make him that extra bit uncomfortable. While Captain Halt kept his eyes on the road, Carter absentmindedly played with the fabric of his new jackets as he reflected.
They were headed, it seemed, to a police-owned building nearby.
His job today was simple, according to Halt. They'd recently captured a woman in The Rift, which explained their presence there, after she was found guilty of the crime of theft. The way he has emphasized the word 'found' in that sentence told Carter that she most likely was not, in fact, guilty.
"Was that why there were so many cops in The Rift?" He had asked.
Halt had raised an eyebrow, pursed his lips, and answered.
"Yes. I sent my man to do a few things there; patrol, wait for a known contact of hers, and see if they found anything suspicious nearby."
And to catch me, Carter refrained from pointing out. How convenient.
Regardless —
Before they executed her, however, they needed some information extracted from her. Which was Carter's purpose there — he was to either succeed in playing the part of the mysterious sneaky rescuer, extract the information they needed while within the station and then hand her over by the entrance…
… Or succeed in playing the part of the torturer's assistant, should Option 1 not work.
In other works — police work. Which wasn't illegal, as far as he knew, but it was definitely frowned upon; the Bound were there to do the menial tasks that those with Power couldn't be bothered to take up. Using them to do all your work for you was interpreted as a sign of laziness at the best of times and of weakness at the worst, which could, in turn, lead to a Duel or worse if you offended the wrong sort.
That was his official task. The unofficial would be even harder — fish for information while he was there. Disregarding the secret Bonus Objective, which he wouldn't even bother trying to fish for, discovering Grandfather's contact was his next objective, and imperative in his continued survival. In other words, he had to find out who told the Captain to meet him by The Rift.
The car stuttered softly as it slowed to a close. As far as he could tell, the trip had taken 40 — 50 minutes at most.
"We're here," said Halt, unlocking the doors with a flick of his thumb by the small button. Click! "Get out."
Wow, he wanted to say, how amazingly kind of you.
But he didn't exactly have a choice in the matter, and so he did — pushing open the door that kept him from the world outside. The soles of his feet touched concrete as he stepped out, and he looked around to see if he could identify his location.
— The answer was 'kinda'. They'd stopped near what Carter assumed had once been a Gas Station; in fact, it had all of the hallmarks of one in its construction, from the cheap Cinder block construction to the featureless metal doors and evenly spread-out gas pumps. Some barrels were scattered randomly around the building, stacked or laid down in unsuspicious-looking barricades.
The building sat on a grassy hill that extended for a good few miles, surrounded by grime and what looked suspiciously like ashes. On the surrounding hills, he could easily see the skeletons and ruins of some old houses and buildings in the distance. None of them looked like they'd seen any human life for at least twenty years.
The road running by the building, which they had been on, was one he could recognize by the twin stripes of red paint that had been painted onto each side of the road's concrete. Only two officially sanctioned roads led to the walls of Morpheus and through what was commonly referred to as the badlands: The Red Road, through the ruins of Old City where there had once been more people living, and the Yellow Road, through what was recently referred to as the farmlands.
There were, in fact, a few reasons people didn't venture into the badlands that often. While the farmlands had human-owned and human-operated territory where food was grown, the farmers were notorious for their cruelty when dealing with 'outsiders', and as Bound, he'd either end up as forced farmhand or food for animals. Or people.
The ruins of Old City, on the other hand, were still plagued with the kind of threat that had caused it to be abandoned in the first place — both the supernatural abominations that the veil of God had once kept them safe from and the natural abominations that sprung forth because of human activity.
Having said that — out of those two, human-generated abominations were by far the bigger threat. This was a trend history repeated: The supernatural world had nothing on mankind's cruelty. The existence of gods and monsters had done nothing but motivate humanity to be better and badder, if that was a word, at whatever would make those monsters and gods scary in the first place. It was even said, once, by a God of Fire near South America —
In many ways, the Veil had been there to protect the supernatural from mankind, not the other way around.
It made sense.
The Captain stepped next to him. The characteristic sound of boots crushing dirt alerted him of such
"Ever been out here before, Carter?"
There was some mirth in his voice, and Carter found himself growing more suspicious that the Captain himself was Grandfather's contact. There was something in the way the man acted and talked that made him feel as if he knew more than he let on.
"No, Sir." He answered promptly. "But I know of it."
"Hm. Good!" He sounded mildly impressed, and a whole lot more amused. When Carter turned around to meet his eyes, the man handed him an object.
A knife — a good one at that, sheathed and everything. The blade was darkened thoroughly by black oxide, as most modern blades were, with only the edge taking on a lighter tone. The hilt, as expected of someone who had a color palette, was covered in purple straps that made it easier to grip, while the sheath itself was simple black leather. It felt a little heavy in his hand, but he strapped the sheath to his waist nonetheless.
Then he turned a genuine confused look to the Captain, who chuckled at his expression.
"No need to make that face, brat. Leading one of you dogs —" he noticed the surprising lack of emotion in the word. "— to your death is illegal. We're in dangerous territory, now, and it's not like you'd be able to do anything to me anyway."
Wow.
What an asshole, Carter wanted to say. Alas, he shrugged. Wouldn't do to look a gift horse in the mouth, he supposed.
"Dangerous territory? I thought the building was yours."
"And it is," Halt agreed. "That Gas Station over there was appropriated by my predecessor some ten years ago for use as a prison of sorts, built in the extensive basement which has then been thoroughly expanded. The elevator to our actual property, however, is within said basement… which was made harder to navigate. Notice how the doors are open?"
"I… yes?"
They were, in fact, open.
"Defense mechanism," Halt clarified. "It lets the abominations in and lures them downstairs, to help protect the entrance proper."
Carter's throat suddenly felt a little dry. These people were insane.
"And how do you get in?" He asked. Halt chuckled again.
"Me? Simple. I have a machine gun. You? Well… through plenty of guts, I imagine."
The click of a gun alerted his senses.
"Now, go. I'll give you, say, thirty minutes — then I'll go in and clear up. Do be warned, though, that I won't bother aiming."
"I thought leading us to our deaths was illegal?" He questioned dryly.
"It is! But I gave you a weapon. Now, scram."
God fucking damn it.