Prime Noir
Bulgan Prefecture, Khitan
It was surprising how the world has changed in the last two days. How she's changed.
Before, she could appreciate Khitan and its magnificient wilderness for what it was: a stunning display of nature's beauty. She could marvel at the sunsets and take long walks along the sea, she could write for hours in her diary and read philosophy.
Now, all she saw were threats and opportunities, ways to defend and attack. She juggled ten different personalities and approaches, and couldn't help but read people for weakness she could exploit, all in pursuit of her goal.
Is it really who I once was?, the nagging thought couldn't disappear from her mind as she got through another highway checkpoint by a combination of guile and bribery. The part of her that was Ana viewed the soldiers manning it as mere obstacles, and didn't rule out killing them all should it become necessary. Her gentler side who wore the name Katrin for such a long time abhorred the idea. It almost seemed as if two completely different women were engaged in a shouting match inside her head.
Katrin had to admit one thing, however: Ana had skills which would allow her to survive and punish the man responsible for destroying her old life. She wondered if the price she'd have to pay wouldn't be too high, though.
In the distance, the city of Bulgan appeared, uncovered slowly by the horizon. Beyond it lay the sea, glittering in the setting sun.
Constantinople, Byzantine Empire
"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, excellency", the ambassador said, entering the Exarch's opulent office, "I hope I did not disturb the pursuance of any important matters of state?"
"I was told your matter as was important as any I have to deal with every day", the Exarch replied. His smart business suit collided with decorations that maintained a traditional Byzantine reneissance style, "I am very curious what they might be, actually. Please, sit down. Coffee?"
The PeZookian ambassador took the place offered him and nodded agreeably. After the Exarch's secretary served them traditional Turkish coffee, they could finally move on the business.
"Your excellency, what I'd like to discuss is a matter of utmost importance. The Langley police force has recently apprehended a criminal who was wanted in PeZookia for some time now...he was extradited and we've since had an opportunity to interrogate him. His name is Karim Saffayed, and he's a major player in an underground human trafficking organization known as 'The Ring'."
The Exarch nodded casually. Byzantium's own police force has been investigating this organization as well, and the results were...terrifying. Although no suspects could be named so far, circumstantial evidence pointed that many highly regarded officials were involved in the despicable trade.
"He's agreed to become a state witness, and has already begun to testify before the prosecutors..."
This piqued Decius' interest, "Go on, please.", he said, shifting in his chair.
"I came here to discuss one of the names he provided us. He claims that a Syrian prince, Issam bin Mahmoud al-Herat, is heavily involvedin the trade."
"Did you say Issam?", Decius asked, careful not to reveal his shock.
"Yes."
There was a pregnant pause, which seemed to say it all.
"I will consult the matter with the Emperor at the nearest opportunity.", Decius finally said.
"Thank you."
When the ambassador left, Decius shoved his coffee aside and poured himself a stiff drink, looking through the folder left on his desk by the PeZookian. That was the final piece of the puzzle: it put all of Byzantium's contacts with Syria's ruling family in context. Decius suspected most of the princes were scared of their own secret police...and now he was sure, and more importantly: knew why.
He just had to figure out how to best deal with that nuisance.
Bulgan City, Bulgan Prefecture, Khitan
Yesugei watched the strange man eat from his place in the corner of the fish restaurant in the docks. It wasn't every day that one saw a foreign tourist in Khitan - and especially in the harbor of Bulgan. Plenty of sailors came through the restaurants and taverns of the waterfront, but they never stayed for long, always in a hurry. This one not only didn't look like a sailor, but seemed too relaxed.
Incindentally, he also didn't speak a word of Khitanese, making it easy for the restaurant's owner to cheat him. Yesugei saw it all the time, and if his experience didn't lie, the stranger would pay two or three times as much as a
Mongolian Khitanian, for a smaller portion.
The more Yesugei watched the stranger, though, the more obvious it became that he wasn't a tourist at all.
More like the folks who drink themselves into a stupor every night..., he thought. Being a cleaner in a dockside restaurant gave him plenty of opportunity to observe human behavior in many situations, and it didn't take long for the boy to realize that the man probably wouldn't leave the place for hours. He wasn't a sailor, wasn't a tourist and wasn't a random drunk trying to drown his troubles in a bottle of vodka.
He was a foreigner lost in an unfamiliar city.
Yesugei was quite satisfied when he finally came to the right conclusion about the man. He couldn't help but think he's seen his face somewhere, though.
Before he could remember, the owner went up to his table and demanded payment. The foreigner fished in his pockets, pulled out some change and carefully counted out the correct amount.
The owner seemed to have a problem with that, and began gesticulatin wildly, "Kaplah! Seura bulva ne tok'ra!", he shouted in his native, incomprehensible language.
"What is your problem, man?", the stranger seemed at the end of his patience, his mood foul, "That's what I owe, right?"
The owner shook his head, "No!", he spoke one Shromish word from his vocabulary, "More!", he added a second one.
"Come on! The menu said it was ten...ten whatever it is that you pay here. Ten.", the stranger showed ten fingers.
"No!", he owner repeated the gesture and added another five fingers, "No!", he repeated.
"Oh, up yours! I'm not paying a penny more.", the stranger had enough of it. Silence fell in the restaurant as he got up and went towards the exit.
The owner grabbed him by the arm, and to everyone's surprise, the stranger snapped. He spun around, grabbed the hand holding him and threw the big man to the ground.
"Go to hell,git. I have enough problems already.", he said and left. Yesugei felt intrigued, and he cautiously snuck outside, taking care to avoid the sight of the owner - who was angry, and when he was angry, Yesguei was a convenient punching bag.
"Mister! Mister!", the boy shouted, seeing the stranger walk into the crowd, "Mister! Wait"
"Huh?", the stranger turned around
"I can help you!"
"With what?"
"Need a place to sleep? I know a good place to sleep."
The stranger shook his head. He thought about the proposal for a moment...the boy would probably try to cheat him out of the meagre small change he still had...but then again, it would be dark soon, and sleeping on the street wasn't any less risky.
Bulgan City, evening
The old truck barely made it to the port district. As it maneuvered in the tight streets, Katrin coldly watch from the sidelines of her own mind as Ana took over. What for the naive school teacher was simply a bustling port, an unknown place full of danger, for Ana was an area she could read like a book. She could tell who minded his own business, who was a member of the secret police and who to ask where to buy illegal wares. A plan was slowly forming in her head - a plan constructed by a cold and calculating mind, obviously used to this kind of work.
She left the truck in a side alley somewhere, taking whatever could be useful.The key she left in the ignition: with any luck, somebody would steal the car before the authorities showed any interest.
As she walked away, Katrin struggled to contain her darker nature. Her newly acquired skills and knowledge screamed she should now find a source of easy money - a tourist, or perhaps a drug dealer, to rob. This money would then facilitate her acquiring false papers, a weapon and transportation out of the country. Her very nature, the woman who spent her life doing things like these, believed it was a prudent, rational and only available course of action - but Ana wasn't herself anymore. Her conscience, that little nagging thought at the back of her mind, has now fully grown.
With trembling hands, she put down a knife she stole from a street vendor and turned around, leaving a young man dealing drugs on a street corner to himself - much to her own surprise.
As she walked down the street, she forced Ana to think of something else. Only one thing really came to mind - if she didn't want to steal, she'd have to earn her keep. Without paper or a legal identity.
That was always a plan. She walked into the first building she saw that had name over the door.
A boarding house? Why not...
"Hi. Are you hiring?"
Bulgan, Golden Palace boarding house, later that night
The smog mixed with the muggy air, stifling even the choking, rancid smell of my small room. I needed to get out of this town, like a rat leaving a sinking ship. There was this thought, at the back of my skull, that the longer I stayed here, the closer Death drew to me. I had to leave, to make good my escape and gain some ground on Him, before my time came. I couldn't face the ultimate without knowing my true legacy - without knowing who I was.
Rain. Pounding rain, of the kind that drives men insane. It attacked the dirty window, protesting that it can't get in. The wind howled in unison, forming a symphony I would never forget. It sounded like the sea - a raging storm, that took me from my former life and cast me away, far away from home.
And yet, there was a sound. A creak in the floor that, ironically, wouldn't sound out of place if it wasn't for the weather, which seemed to make men quiet and unwilling to move about.
A sign of things to come.
The door flew open and slammed into the wall, its weak lock splintering and bending in half from the kick. A lithe silhouette charged in, the lightning outside illuminating his quite non-
Mongolian Khitanese features, and glinting off the pistol he was holding.
He moved quickly towards the bed, passing an open notebook and missing the fact it was obviously been abandoned in a hurry. There was another man there, also armed, covering the tiny room from the entrance. When the first intruder approached the bed and reached out to drag its occupant onto the floor, though, things began to happen.
The closet - closet, of all places! Seemed to explode, as a human figure sprung out from it, tackling the first man and bringing him down onto the floor. The pistol flew away, spiralling somewhere under the bed, while the two men struggled against each other.
This was when it became obvious the intruders were professionals: despite laying on the floor, at a severe disadvantage, the first attacker expertly blocked the angry punch aimed at his face and punched the room's occupant in the gut with a quick jab. Then he grabbed his opponent by the head and slammed it into the wall.
The second attacker rushed to aid his colleague, dragging their target - it was obvious now they wanted to take him alive - to the floor and painfully pinning him there, while the first one fished for his handcuffs. They spoke a weird language with each other - not the guttural
Mongolian Khitanese, but softer, more melodic Japanistani. Despite their victim struggling, they managed to secure him and jerked him sharply to his feet.The man cursed them, but was cut off when they put a bag over his head.
At this hour of the night, the lobby - if it could be called that - was mostly empty. The proprietor wasn't about to ask questions of two armed men dragging another out of his boarding house: such things happened here, and making trouble for the attackers - whether they're police, mafia or someone else - was sure to be very unhealthy.
Other patrons had no such compunctions, though. A young boy screamed something in protest and tried feebly to defend the victim of tonight's assault. One of the attackers slapped him, hard enough for the boy to fall onto the floor.
An employee - freshly hired - reacted to the sudden move with shock, and rushed to help the boy - who now had a nasty, quickly growing bruise on his face.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!", she screamed at the brutes. The one who slapped the boy grimaced nastily, and aimed his gun at her.
"Shut up, or it will get a lot worse. Now get out of our way."
"Katrin, please, do what they say", the proprietor said, trying to urge his employee to back down. He didn't expect that kind of monumental stupidity when he agreed to illegally employ that woman...
She ignored him, staring down the barrel, looking straight into the eyes of the man holding the gun. It was the kind of man who would, without a doubt, not hesistate to kill her at a moment's notice.
He was also a Japanistani, her more rational, more trained side noted. Definitely not local police - perhaps an intelligence officer?
"Where's your arrest warrant for this man?", Katrin asked sarcastically. The part of her she still tried to separate, the one which did unspeakable things in the name of survival, tried to scream warnings and protests. To warn her it was all but suicide to antagonize the man like that.
The ominous click of the pistol's hammer confirmed that. It was supposed to scare her into submission, and it didn't work. Katrin braced herself for the inevitable.
Ana didn't.
In a flash, the gunman was on the floor, screaming in pain and holding his dislocated arm. His victim suddendly headbutted his other captor and dropped to the floor, expecting gunshots. None arrived, replaced instead by whimpering, choking sounds as Ana jabbed the disoriented Japanistani in his throat.
She surveyed the situation, captured pistol in hand. It was still a long way from being truly secure.
"You!", she pointed to the proprietor, "Call the police. Then get out of here. They're bound to have backup outside, they'll be here any minute."
Then she directed her attention to the man who brought upon himself such interest from mysterious Japanistani guests. She tore the bag from his head.
"Jesus christ and all the saints!"
"Will you help me up already?!", the Prime Minister of Shroomania shouted at her from the dirty floor.
This isn't happening..., she thought, giving him a hand.