Torrin said nothing, standing in his MP uniform. He turned his back to Laurence who stood by the door.
Looked out the window of their room.
Bowing his head he put a cigarette in his mouth, lit it. Rebekah had taught him how to make his lighter from a bullet shell.
Why couldn't he have been there? Why here?
He screwed his eyes shut, opened them again and leaned on the window frame, a soft patter of rain coming.
Smoke caught his eye and he winced.
Laurence had gotten the message the morning after their arrival in Burckenworth.
the pair had driven the two hundred mile trip in shifts, stopping only to fuel at Rofus.
"How did she go?" He asked eventually.
"Killer planted an explosive. She didn't get far enough in time." Laurence said.
"Why are we here?" He hissed. "What am I doing and why am I wearing this fucking uniform?" He pulled at it as if it was burning him.
"I don't know." His mentor said. "I'm sorry.
The younger man grabbed a chair with his prosthesis, hurled it into the wall.
Laurence didn't begrudge him.
"Can we get a drink?" Torrin asked.
"I'll pay." The older man said. Torrin saw him, tried, and failed to smile.
He's a good man.
—-
Eight years ago.
"Typical isn't it." Torrin said, arms crossed beside Rebekah.
They had sat on the balcony to a penthouse, the place itself was empty of staff and so was most of the city, what was left of it at least.
"Civil unrest stirring in a place you've visited?" She asked. "Yeah I would say so."
Cries and cracks of gun fire loomed ever present in the air around Peninse. It was not an Empire city and the architecture reflected that, curves and gliding buildings of any material, not just one. roads that shot outward like blades of grass in the wind.
A loud whistling howl tore the air, a streak of light cut the sky in the distance, a shell.
"They shouldn't have those." Torrin murmured, standing up as two buildings went down, the shockwave rattled their perch.
"Maybe the southerners had arms trades we missed." Rebekah suggested, looking far more disturbed by the violence than Torrin.
"You okay?" He asked. a ball of fire the size of a tower erupting a half mile off.
"I still don't know how you can watch this." She sighed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, offering him one.
"I hate it. But it's work." He said plainly. "You've probably killed more people than me, you know." He tried to light his cigarette but the wind wouldn't give and he only had matches.
"Here." Rebekah proffered a lighter made from an old bullet shell. "Not on that level. I never destroyed a city."
Torrin took it, almost inspecting it. Forgetting their conversation. Or even to light the cigarette for an instant.
"I'll show you how you make one later." She said to him finally. He probably would have sat there fussing with it all night if she didn't pull him back.
"Thanks." He grinned.
"Reckon we should leave in an hour or so? Might be easier at night." She asked.
"The man's seventy two for lord's sake." Torrin said, bemused.
"A seventy year old explosives expert. Torrin." She nipped back. But he was already heading back into the room.
"Military police always loved their bombs. Wholey ironic of them to get said bombs from the church though." Torrin called back. Pulling a two by one foot metal case from under the bed.
He unclipped the straps that held it shut and threw it open. Rebekah joined him.
Inside was a collection of photographs, a case file, two handguns and two magazines each. The guns themselves weren't anything to write about to Torrin. Semi automatic and magazine fed, weapons like it were becoming the standard. Torrin liked older systems though, lever actions particularly.
He threw his cigarette and stomped it out on the floor, started getting ready.
"Marik Sov." He mumbled mostly to himself. "Weapon builder, church engineer. He's as punctual as he is brutal and lucky for us we know where he plans to be tonight." Rebekah was ignoring him.
His tone became taunting. "Because he's going to be at home, not getting bombarded by his own weapons."
Rebekah sighed, smiled slightly.
"The Builders weapons you mean?" she asked.
Torrin's face tore into a grin. "That's the spirit."
He patted her on the shoulder as he filed his pistol into a holster he'd tucked on the inside of his trousers, made for the door. She shook her head and followed. "How far away is the target's house?" He asked.
She looked up at him, irritated. "A half mile. Read the job description man."
"A bit of improv can be fun, you know." He shrugged.
"Fun?" She asked. "You have to be more careful Torrin or you'll get one of us killed."
That gave him pause.
"I know." He touched her shoulder again. Another incendiary explosion lit him through the door.
"I will be." He smiled.
she could only nod. "Let's go. We've probably got half an hour or so before the military police roll in."
Both of them raised their eyebrows at the idea of trying to escape a city flooded with them.
They scaled down the stairs of the hotel past flickering lights. The sound of their footsteps interrupting the occasional reverb of explosions or crackles of gunfire.
Torrin liked these kinds of jobs, they were usually quick.
The city spanned flat though it is also circular, small roads which between blocks of houses spanned outward at an axis. So you couldn't see any terminus from its start, probably something about their religion Torrin thought, or lack thereof. The southerners didn't follow the Builder, superstition was their vice.
Torrin followed as Rebekah led him past an old bank whose pillars and parapets now mostly dust on the floor.
The fighting had died in this area of the city and people were already coming from their homes to clear away their dead and debris. They had work tomorrow after all.
They took a turn down an alley and a sharp left into the backplanes. Narrow roads that functioned as rear access to the building on the street.
Doors lined that dark dingy place only lit by occasional flares, creeping over the rooftops.
They said nothing as they passed door after door, Rebekah was counting them.
"Here we are." She stopped abruptly throwing her cigarette. The building they had stopped at was tall. Taller than any other building in the extent of their view.
"Targets on the third floor." She said also, though Torrin knew this. He didn't blame her for assuming he didn't. She looked back at him when he didn't reply so he nodded.
"You lead?" He asked.
"No." She said after a minute. "This is your big day after all." She smiled. Torrin perked up slightly, he always wanted to direct his theatrical side.
"Remember what I told you?" She asked.
"The need of the state over all else." He started. Looking to the lit windows above. "It might die one day but that will be once I'm dust." She nodded as he went.
"Cut the sick branches so the rest may thrive." He finished.
After a moment of silence they moved. The door wasn't locked, Rebekah pushed in tentatively, checked the lights, they worked.
Neither said anything as Torrin passed Rebekah into the stairwell. As they went up Torrin realised something.
"Where are the banisters?" He asked, more to himself.
"Rioters need clubs." Rebekah said to his back, he could almost hear the shrug in her voice.
They reached the second floor and those bannisters were gone too.
"A lot of rioters." Torrin mumbled as he hit the last set of stairs.
"It's flat seven." She called behind him as he went to the wrong door.
He halted midway through the motion of knocking and smiled awkwardly. They trailed down the hall to the very end where a door declaring itself as flat seven appeared.
with no preamble, he knocked.
"Time?" He asked.
"Twenty." She said, He nodded his understanding and took a step back. He wasn't going to answer.
Torrin kicked in the door to a dark room, well kept and organised. The room had the air of age, of time stagnated. He grabbed a chair as he strolled into the room. Rebekah scanned the perimeter of the room, picking up bits of paper, tossing things. It usually discomfited the target, making them more pliable. He didn't respond.
"Got to give it to you. Took us a while to find where you were." He said to the old man, Marik Sov.
The old man looked out his window, ignoring the pair.
"Marik?" Torrin pushed, "we need to talk." The old man ignored him again. He primed the hammer of his pistol and levelled it behind Sov's head.
"We need to know where your colleagues went. Those from the council." The old bastard laughed at him.
Torrin glanced up at his reflection, he had the look of a spectre.
He grabbed a random piece of wood leaning on a cabinet beside him, half a bannister. Curious.
The glass shattered over Marik and the man became somehow more still than he already was. His old, disturbed face made him look stoic in that light.
"We know you made weapons for the church." Torrin said, feigning calmness. "We know when the reform came you helped the church hasten their efforts in other ways."
"If you know all that, why do you need me?" A low somber voice asked. "Why torment me whilst I watch such a thing."
"If you build a fire you can't complain when you get burned." Torrin said to the man's back.
The older man seemed to nod at that. "You'll learn that lesson too one day."
"Maybe. But there are some things we just wouldn't do." Rebekah chipped in. "killing children, for instance." She had been skimming papers. Drawings, schematics, diagrams and notes.
He'd barely notice them on his way in. She had entered slower he'd guessed.
Torrin didn't know if it was because of him breaking the window but something sounded as if it were drawing near.
"Have you ever killed women?" He asked. "If so, you've probably killed a child at one point. Whether you knew it or not." He said as if this were some great minded debate. "Would you deny the orders of your god?" He asked.
"Would you bastards be so kind as to get a new excuse?" He pressed the gun to the back of marik's head.
"Torrin, time." Rebekah warned him. They needed to leave.
Downstairs a loud crash called up to them. Military police had made it to the area.
"You set any traps?" Torrin asked him hurriedly. The old man only smiled, not taking his eyes from the carnage outside.
"Dammit I don't have time." He hissed at the old man. Bravado gone, being tainted by panic. He kicked out the legs of the chair, the man sprawled.
"Look upon my works." He groaned from where he lay. "The descent shall be your end."
Torrin growled, shot him. His body went limp against the corner of his room, cadaveric spasms making a show of him. blood black in the light, his backdrop.
"Dammit Torrin." Rebekah yelled at him. But he could barely hear.
"What." His heart was pounding. He could hear it.
"Could have been any fucking louder?" She asked, as if to emphasise her point the steps coming up toward them seemed to speed up.
"And he was saying something." She looked furious. exasperated.
"Like you made sense of any of that." Torrin said, holstering his gun. "The man was mental."
"Not the point Torrin. What if he actually trapped this place?"
"Then we would have set it off by now. Let's go." He sighed, holstering his gun and heading for the door. They heard a loud crash, listened.
"They're coming up the way we came."
She followed him out and the pair made for the staircase to the main entrance. As they left the rescue team arrived.
"Do you have any fucking idea what those M.P's will do when they find us?"
"Arrest us?" Torrin suggested stupidly.
Rebekah scoffed. "You might be. You're a man. Me?" She shuddered audibly behind Torrin as they made the second level.
They heard another commotion upstairs as they made it a level down. They were following.
Torrin heard the bombs before he saw them for once. Above and below them holes in the wall which Torrin had taken for vents in the dark shot out fire, wood chips, smoke. The men screamed.
He didn't remember grabbing Rebekah or pushing her down the hall, neither did he remember hitting the wall. Just the ringing.
—-
"What happened after that?" Laurence asked as he set down the two pints he'd bought.
The bar they found was a rough patch, with distasteful patrons to say the least. Miners with lungs like Broken instruments, women who'd smoked so much they sounded the same.
This far from the capital's structural regulations was lax, still of concrete but accented with wood. Bits of boats by Torrin's reckoning though he paid little attention. Only sat there gliding his finger over a poorly made joint on the table.
"Then." Torrin necked his drink, poured another. "The M.P's came."
He said little after that for a time.
"I wasn't conscious for most of it." He finally explained. "Rebekah dragged me out. M.P's arrested us, they didn't know we were down there. Assumed we were just rich looters."
—-
"Get the fuck on your knees." The man in his black uniform screamed at her as she fell out the door with Torrin's limp body.
The square they had fallen into was empty. The shells still screamed and so did people, never would that sound quiet in her ears.
"Relax." Rebekah said, getting up and putting her arms out before her. "We're agents." She winced as the man shone the torch on his rifle in her eyes.
"Bullshit." The man called back. "On your knees." His rifle was levelled at her. She couldn't see anyone else with him blinded as she was by blotches of light in her vision.
Torrin a bleeding husk at her feet. She avoided him as she followed the man's commands.
As her sight returned she finally realised he was alone.
No wonder he's on edge. She thought to herself, realising his whole team probably died in the explosion. He is the only one left to guard the door. Not a bad idea in retrospect.
"Where are they?" He asked.
"Died in the explosion probably." Rebekah tried to explain, she'd taken some shrapnel despite Torrin's best efforts. "They stormed the home of an old bomb builder for the church."
"And you'd know that how?" He fumbled with his rifle hesitantly. "And that's what happened to him?"
She hadn't thought of him for a moment till the young officer had mentioned him. She heard a small chuckle by her ankle, intermixed with pained coughs. Torrin.
"That's what happened to the bannisters." He mumbled as he faded back out of consciousness. Despite the situation she almost laughed.
"Because as I said, we're agents." She said tiredly. "My friend is going to die without help."
The soldier looked down at Torrin, then back to her.
"Sorry love, he's fucked." He said, raising his gun again. She spat at him.
"Where's the nearest medical tent?" She asked.
"Who are you asking?" The zealous soldier drew nearer. She tried.
She hurled herself at the man, and they went down. The man cried out as her knee went into his groin.
The rifle went off.
She felt a shock and heard the deafening blast. Her ear rang as she struggled against the man.
She went to drop her elbow on his head, missed. Pain shot down her arm, she ignored it.
He pushed the rifle away from his chest despite her resistance, he was strong considering his size.
He yanked the weapon to his left and squared her across the face. She didn't fall off him though now blood was dropping onto his face. Her blood.
He bucked under her, knocking her back long enough to fire, it passed through her clothing.
Remembering she had a weapon at all she pulled a gun from her holster. As she was about to fire the man's hand struck the barrel. The bullet tore the stone by the M.P's head. He screamed from the pain in his ears.
Rebekah went to shoot him again, he tried to do the same move again desperately.
missed.
The bullet passed through hand and face faster than any could see. Just another corpse to be dragged away later.
She fell back panting, lungs heavier and raw.
She listened to the pops of gunfire for an instant before dragging herself up to her knees.
Torrin.
She didn't look at the man. She didn't want to have to see that yet.
Presence of mind restored she rolled herself back up and stumbled for a fruit cart she had seen nearby.
She pressed her hand to her side, the bullet had grazed her, it was bleeding still.
Once the cart was pulled over. She retired the end of his arm again, it had come loose and he'd been bleeding. Too fast. She tied what was left of Torrin's arm. Awkwardly piled him into it, she looted the soldier's body for any papers. left the rifle, it would be more dangerous to carry it now than to have it.
Some soldiers wrote down where primary points were much to the behest of their commanders. Tonight it was saving her friend's life.
The medics were likely to be three rows out on the outer city circle.
She could do that. She had too.
Through immense pain she pushed her oversized accomplice along and only then she noticed how bad he was.
One arm, the one he pushed with, had almost nothing left on it. Splinters of wood lined the side of his body and even stabbed into bone where it was bare. Shredded tendons and milky cartilage was all that truly remained.
His skin had gone so pale on the rest of his body that it seemed to shine in the artificial dim glow of occasional streetlights, black hair matted with sweat and blood.
He was mumbling to himself, delirious. She hoped he stayed that way. At least till his arm could be fixed.
As she pushed they passed longer streets, those were filled with piling bodies.
People had already started coming out to clean up though the fighting was still going.
Two minutes had passed when a man, maybe fifty, came and offered her help. She accepted gratefully and he didn't question their injuries, she doubted it mattered to him.
Southerners only ever cared about what was right in front of them.
Torrin would like it here.
"They fight to the last." The older man had said to her when she asked. "They fight till they run out of ammunition. They fight till there's nothing to fight for."
"The way of the Empire I'm afraid." Rebekah had said to the man, fearful of the pride in her voice.
"The way of the Empire." The old man repeated. "The way of the one."
"We all become one eventually." Rebekah groaned, wiping blood from her nose then pressing her left palm into her side again. The bleeding was getting worse.
"So why mimic the afterlife?" He asked as they passed a pile of burnt bodies.
"They are fused as one. What's beautiful about that?"
They walked and said little from that. Rebekah didn't have an answer nor did she have the energy to consider one, the man was being facetious. All that mattered was getting Torrin to that tent.
A sound like civilization but tormented, echoed through that night and she knew they were close.
The old man guided her around a corner then the medics were in sight. The old man didn't wait; he left her pushing and ran for a man in white fifty feet ahead of them.
He pointed to where she was still pushing.
She must have looked worse than she felt because strangely the medics actually came running.
"They never do that." She frowned. That was when she collapsed.
—-
"At least that's how she tells.. told that part." Torrin amended grimly.
He massaged the scar tissue above his elbow his arm was searing. The drinking wasn't helping the pain. But at least it gave him something to think about.
"What happens after?" Laurence asked, deep into a second. The patrons were thinning.
"Once there, they made sure I stayed under. Cut off the rest of my arm with a saw." He elaborated.
The drink was catching.
"I got a prosthetic. One of those horrible claw things."
"With those little wheels on the side." Laurence asked drunkenly, Torrin nodded. "How'd you get that one?" He tapped Torrin's forearm.
"Maybe another time." Torrin smiled. "Let's go Laus your hammered."
"No. No. Let's stay." He said. "It's just been a while." He straightened himself. Knocked his chest a couple times, then went to ask for a glass of water.
Torrin observed his surroundings which grew duller. He'd been avoiding counting, found it hit harder when it wasn't in his mind. Nobody watched them, nobody noticed. He was still wearing the grey uniform striped black along the sides, the travel wear of a military police officer.
It was best that people saw him around in it, though Rebekah wouldn't have liked how drunk he was.
' It could lead to bad connotations for your character. ' she would have said. He would have said something back, or at least something that made her smile. She'd hit his arm and he'd take the hint, they'd laugh it off.
Now that laughter was but a muffled conversation in the corner of his mind. She was gone.
"Now will you tell me why you hate the military?" Laurence asked abruptly, crushing Torrin's shoulder in the approximation of a pat on the back.
Torrin only shook his head. "Some memories are rotten." He said grimly. "Like the 'branches' we cut."
"Torrin."
"Sometimes it's best to leave them to burn."
"Torrin you can't actually believe that?" Laurence cut in. Torrin only shrugged in return.
"Memories stay inside you. They make you. Why plague yourself with the bad?"
"As if I have a choice." Torrin spat at the man. "I was an orphan when I first joined. I lived and died by this fucking order and all it's got me is dead friends."
"Like your so fucking special." Laurence growled back. "You think you're the only one in this order who's lost something?" Torrin scoffed at the man.
"Torrin. People die. Nobody can control when, not even the builder."
Torrin broke into a snickering laugh. "You know, I doubt he'd care much. He's been in a faraday cage for more than a century."
"A faraday what?" Laurence asked, uncertain.
"I would love to know." Torrin said.
Torrin's meeting with the builder was the only time he'd heard the phrase. The day he broke into Arron's cathedral and made his deal with god.
Everyone had a purpose.
"We should head back." Laurence said. He then got up and didn't wait for Torrin. "We cross tomorrow."
He was alone now. Always alone.
He supposed this is what Arron felt like though Marie was still alive.
Torrin had always thought their relationship was similar to that of Rebekah's and his.
He wondered at that, at how time seemed to repeat.
How unfair it felt.
Thirty years he had been alive and already nothing shocked him, nothing surprised.
He'd been fighting for fourteen of those years and achieved nothing.
Nothing that was truly his at least.
Credit wasn't what his order or even he fought for. It wasn't what Rebekah fought for. But while he looked up to her they were never the same.
He was the selfish one.