“We require your help, 0.”
The
words resounded around the unlit building like a metallic war drum,
calling me to aid them. The relaxing cold darkness kept me from view
as I inhaled, the acidic taste of rust prominent in my mouth. I would
not have it any other way; I am obscure, the last thing they never
see. I am the shadow of every room, with a thousand guises.
I
raise my head to speak, “Why should I do this for you?” The
suited blonde man tilted his head, a mirthless bitter laugh escaping
his pale lips. His façade was unconvincing; I saw that his hands
were pale and shaking.
“Why?
Because if you don't, the entire world will fall into ruin,” his
wrinkled, ice-blue eyes stared blankly into my cloak of umbra, as if
he were trying to pinpoint me. I considered this point – the time
was mine to spend.
“Tell
me Mr Craynor, do you have a family?” It meant nothing to me on a
personal level, but I believed there was more to the man.
Mr
Craynor sighed and bowed his head, “Yes, a wife and two children.”
Always an ulterior incentive.
“Surely
you have been allocated a place in a shelter?” A glint of defiance
scintillated in his callous eyes.
“Yes,
but a post-apocalyptic wasteland is nowhere to raise a-”
“So,
you would rather have me do this for you for your family, than in a
professional sense for your superiors?” I had shaken his core.
Mr
Craynor's gaunt face reddened in shame, even in the brumal
conditions: “Yes.” He took a step towards me, “We will pay-”
then froze as the click of a hammer being pulled back echoed harshly
in the warehouse.
“Do
not insult me, Mr Craynor.” I lowered the handgun which was pointed
directly at his carotid artery, just south of his neck. “I am in no
need of your money. Why, I could walk away right now. You would never track me down...”
“NO!”
Craynor's loud voice had startled the bats, summoning an uproar of
distress. “No...” he sank to his knees. This man put on a good
show, but underneath, he was simply a cheap jack crying his wares.
“I
told you to be truthful with me from the start, Mr Craynor.” I said
quietly. “Stand up.” Craynor stood ramrod upright, using one leg
to push the other. I gave him a moment to gather his thoughts in his
sunken head, then asked a question.
“Mr
Craynor, why should I do this for you?” His head snapped upwards to
face me – unsure whether I was visible to him, he glared directly
at me nonetheless. His face was a reflection of passionate
desperation, fuelled by an engine powered by a nugget of hope.
“For
my family,” he begged, his smooth voice wavering, “Do it for my
family.” I glanced disinterestedly at the two jet black suitcases
lying on the ground.
“Leave
the money. I will contact you.” Mr Craynor's heartbeat was audible,
pulsing like percussion. Soundlessly he about-turned and walked away.
>-S->
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