Chapter 9

The scent of booze lingered in the air. A bear of a man stood in the middle of an office. Thick forearms bound together by magnetic cuffs, a shaggy beard wrapped around his chin. The dying light of the sun came from the window to his left, making his green eyes glow.

The office was silent, only the tapping of fingers on a floating keyboard thrummed the air. The bearded man glared at the man tapping the keyboard, lost in his own world of numbers and commands. The wall behind him showing off unread books – relics from another time.

"Did you interrupt my drinking to watch you type?" the man in the cuffs rumbled, his deep voice like wet gravel.

The man at the desk held up a finger.

Irritation flickered on the bearded man's face. Irritation from being interrupted. Irritation from the one part of his day he didn't feel like putting a shotgun in his mouth getting ruined by a small man with no power. No power in Bacchus' eyes. In reality, the man in front of him owned a majority of the Gray.

The man at the desk flicked his hand, the tv behind him snapped on. A photo of a teenager appeared on it. Her golden eyes boring into the camera. "Do you know who she is, Bacchus?" The small man stood up, his thin tie swaying with the motion.

"Have any of the moon treated stuff up here?" Bacchus asked, eyes scanning the bar at the far side of the room. "I'd go for some of that."

"I'll get you your treat if you listen like a good boy, understand you lazy drunk?" the man snapped.

"I'm not a drunk." Bacchus spat on the floor, staining the white carpet underneath his prison boots.

"Keep your merriments to yourself, General." The man tapped the white table, the photo changed to a different angle of the girl.

It was grainy, taken from high up. She stood alone, on top of an old building. Shadows were thick around her, creeping ever closer, but they were too afraid to attack her. Bacchus squinted, the shadows had faces. The shadows were people. The shadows had guns.

The small man sat on one of the couches to the side of Bacchus. "So, do you know who that is?"

"Last time I saw her, she was a Staff Sargent. Abigail Laurent. Surprised the little shit grew up," Bacchus muttered, his eyes glazed over, staring at the bar.

The man chuckled. "Your memory isn't as bad as I thought it would."

I wish it was, Bacchus thought.

"No alcohol and a bad slideshow. Isn't much of a party in here," Bacchus grunted.

The smile wavered on the man's thin lips. The conversation hadn't played out like he'd expected. He rubbed his temples and snapped his fingers, a small bot whirred into life, bringing a shot glass towards Bacchus. The large man stared at it, his lips twisting.

"Is this some sort of joke? You drag me up to your hideaway in the sky, show me some bad pictures and then give me rat's piss worth of a drink?" Bacchus looked down at the man in the suit. "I'll be going now."

"That Staff Sargent is now a Lieutenant Colonel. That little shit is in command of the Phantom Battalion That girl is the reason this city is being split in half." The man stood up, his face inches away from Bacchus'. "She is a pain in my side that I need to fix before Grace comes."

"You can tell how much I care right now." Bacchus face blank, he fought the urge to wrap his beefy fingers around the man's throat.

"Let me ask you something." The man jabbed a finger into Bacchus' chest. "How many soldiers in a battalion?"

Bacchus shrugged. "A thousand."

"Would one battalion be able to take over this city, General?"

Bacchus didn't like the way the small man was speaking to him. It was slow, like Bacchus wasn't smart enough to understand anything more complex than a few syllables.

"This shit hole has around twenty million people in it. That isn't including Watchmen and your boy scouts. So I doubt it. And if that little girl is in charge, then there's no way."

The man laughed, warm air forced against Bacchus' face. He slumped into his office chair, the keyboard reappearing above it. He began typing again. "I can see you're past your expiration date, General. You always preached about never under looking the enemy."

Bacchus' eye twitched, his mouth twisting into a snarl. "Hell did you just say?"

The man leaned back in his chair, threading his fingers over his stomach. "You never really were the same after you killed your wife. Brutally I heard." The man chuckled. "I mean, using a blunt kitchen knife to rip her apart? In front of your own son? Absolute animal."

Bacchus' nostrils flared. He clenched his large jaw and flexed his fists. "Don't you-"

"And then I heard you cut her up and tried to spread her body over the freakin' city," the man laughed. "How the greats fall so easily. One little Dishonorable discharge and a hero becomes a monster. And a drunk, can't forget that either."

Bacchus rushed forward, his heavy feet stomping on the carpet. He slammed into an invisible barrier, his fists pounded against it. His eyes raged, saliva running into his beard. "You know as much as anyone what happened that day," he roared. "Command set me up. Fucked me over."

The man sighed, taking a long sip of liquor, letting the liquid linger on his lips. Bacchus salivated at the sight. "You know, Bacchus, you killed the Founder by yourself. I mean, what were you thinking? The great man who built the Gray, killed in cold blood by Bacchus the Drunk."

Bacchus slammed a thick fist into the force field. Again and again. Until his knuckles came back raw and bloody. "They told me to kill him. He was going to-"

The man raised a hand as he poured more liquor. Bacchus nearly cried out as the liquor filled the glass. "I'd be careful with what you're about to say. Grace might hear you."

Bacchus' ragged breaths fogged up the barrier. He put his head against it, his cold sweat staining the field. His legs weren't completely underneath his, his stomach lurching with every minute movement.

The man sighed and tossed the near empty liquor bottle at Bacchus. He grabbed it and tossed back his head, letting the few remaining drops run down his throat. It was heaven to him. He could feel his vision clearing, his heart beat was steadying. The cold sweat that had plastered his orange jumpsuit to his back was easing. This was what he loved. His soul was being touched by Jesus. The man that turned water into wine and told his disciples to consume it. He was cleaning his soul, this was his redemption.

The man sighed and crossed his arms. "Pathetic. I used to look up to you during the war. Now look at you, licking that bottle clean like you're some skin farm woman bought for the night."

Bacchus flinched. A small pause in his actions. He had experience with skin farms and their women. He once had a child with one of them by accident. And that's all that child was to him. An accident. A mistake. Lost in a pile of other mistakes.

The man crouched down to Bacchus' level, grabbing his mane of hair and staring into his lifeless eyes. "Now listen up. There's more of that if you do one little thing for me. A job. A final chapter in the glorious life of Joseph Fallow."

"W-what is it?" Bacchus stammered. His breathing was heavy, the alcohol was already on his mind. More alcohol meant more purity. Redemption no matter the cost.

"There's going to be a festival in the Gray next week. The Memorial Day for the Founder. All you need to know is that a large group of Rogues are going to be there. I'll need you to clean them out."

"What about everyone else?" he asked, a whisper coming from far away.

The man in the suit shrugged and let go of Bacchus' hair. He straightened up and wiped his hand on a cloth. "Fuck 'em. Clear them out too. Less people means easier governing for me."

Easier governing for Grace, Bacchus thought, still licking the empty bottle.

**

A wall of sweat and alcohol berated me as I entered Magnus' office. I hate this place. Always so cold and pristine. Everything polished. From the floor to the elaborate painting on the walls. There was a stain on the white carpet that hadn't been here the last time. I stopped in front of the desk, Magnus busy typing.

"You called?"

He didn't look up. "So, how's the hero of the city doing?"

"Fine," I muttered. "Just fine."

"You don't seem happy." Magnus looked at me, his blue eyes buzzing. "I know that feeling. You can't wait until we get him on our side. Or even better, kill him."

Fuck you – is what I wanted to say - I said, "Yeah. Can't wait."

Magnus continued typing, leaving the silence to build up. The sun had set, the brilliant lights coming from across the bridge in the Gray were mesmerizing. Rainbows and holograms, and even from here I could hear the occasional cheer. The Gatekeeper territory was different. Quiet. Silent. The building I was in is the tallest in this terrible place. The rest of them a few floors shorter. Other buildings here were square, gray slabs with wrap around windows. Everyone walked around with the same emotionless smile, like they were robots. It freaked me out. But the thing is, they were all happy. They all got paid well, they all had comfortable lives. Barely any diseases or problems.

Only for the small cost of your freedom. Only for the cost of free will.

"I just had a nice talk with an old friend," Magnus said, his heavy voice cutting the air.

I nodded.

"He's going to help us against the Rogues. A really big hit I'd say."

My heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he's going to be going to the festival next week," Magnus said, a wide grin on his face. "Memorial Day. Let's just say that red is going to be the in colour that day."

My heart skipped several beats. Enough for my chest to ache. "He's going to kill people?" I stammered. "That's …"

"Brilliant! I know. Hera's going to be beyond herself, best part is that we've been able to List him as a Rogue. So it'll look like it was Hera's doing."

I bit down on my lip. This was bad. Astronomically terrible. Thousands of people on the streets next week, a mass of partying and eating. And his plan was to slaughter all of them??

Magnus' grin wavered. "What's wrong, Tick? You don't look happy with the plan."

"No I am … it's just, what about Hera's soldiers?"

"I've thought of that. A little decoy riot near her Northern gate would take a majority of them over there. So don't worry, it'll all go to plan."

I fought hard to stay on my feet. If this went through then the Rogues would be crippled. An easy path for this dipshit to win and take over the Gray. I needed to tell Hera, but if I did she'd find out I'm working for the Gatekeeper, and this dipstick in a suit would find out I'm double timing him.

I needed a friend. Dan. I needed his help.