A few days ago.

Moose walks through the palace’s spacious corridors. Why she is here isn’t entirely clear, all she knows is that she was summoned. Some servant is leading her around. She knows he is trying to confuse her, leading her through the same parts of the palace. He’s underestimating her, the second she got into the building she started mapping the place in her mind. It is one of the basics of her craft.

As the servant is about to take her on her third trip through the western wing she clamped a hand on his shoulder. Her grip was like iron, and she was fresh out of patience. “Either you lead me to my destination, or I’m leaving.” She snarls. Normally she would be more optimistic, happier, but she was tired, and she didn’t have time for this shit. The servant smiled in an obnoxious manner. “He said you would notice.” She raised her eyebrows. “Who said that?” The servant kept on smiling. “The director, and he said that you would ask after him as well. I’m instructed not to say anything, as to not spoil the surprise.”

She considered beating it out of him, but curiosity won it from irritation. “Show me to him.” He nodded and started walking. After a few minutes the servant stopped and knocked on a door.

“Enter.” A familiar voice said.

The servant opened the door. Inside there was a table, lavish dishes spread out on it, candles softly illuminating the room. At the other end of the table sat a man.

“Charles.” she breathed, as she lowly walked towards him.

“Hey Christina.” He said, a warm smile on his face.

But he was dead. Her thoughts were a mess, her feelings even worse. Slowly she closed the distance between them. He stood up from the chair and spread his arms. In a second, she was standing before him. He was taller, but thinner, carrying much less muscle. His smile however, was exactly the same.

“Christina I…”

Before he could finish the sentence, she punched him in the face as hard as she could. “Six years! Six fucking years Charles! You stupid wanker. You let me think you were dead for six fucking years! Who in the bloody hells did we cremate? I mourned you. And now you think that you can waltz back into my life after six fucking years, with dinners and fucking candlelight?” She took a moment to breathe.

“Christina can I…” Charles started as he got up from the floor. “I’m not done fucking shouting! You tosser.” Moose yelled. There were tears of anger in her eyes. “You and bloody Eli fucking abandoned me. You were dead, and Eli just left. God damnit Charles, I loved you, I told you as much.”

A long silence fell between them. The weight of six years heavy between them. “Listen Christina, I can explain. If you just sit down and listen, I will tell you the entire story. From the day I died, to just now if you want to.” Moose sat down, grabbing the nearest bottle of wine. She put it to her lips, without so much as looking at her glass, and took a big gulp. “Start talking.” She growled.

⤊

Now.

It started around ten pm. Complete and utter chaos spread through Mercia. Tens of thousands of citizens, who just an hour ago had been good men and women, turned obsolete. Like a sickness their veins turned black, as if tar flew through them instead of blood.

First came the disbelief. Only those who strayed from the path of God turned obsolete, didn’t they? Then how could good, Godfearing, hardworking citizens turn obsolete?

Then came the fear. The obsolete are outlawed, and subject to persecution. What if the government decided to send in the retributors? What if they send the army? Where they all going to die, for no reason at all? Had God truly abandoned them?

Following the fear came anger. Thousands of obsolete citizens marched through the streets. They marched to the churches, to the city halls, to the palace, all demanding the same thing, answers. Answers nobody could give them.

Last came the blind fury, the rage of the mob, carefully incited by men and women wearing green scarfs. The priests were the first to get lynched, loyal soldiers and bureaucrats soon followed.

The fires have been burning all through the night, the revolution has successfully seen its first dawn. The army is outmanned, and in some places outgunned. Victoria is the worst of the lot; there armed rebels have formed an organized militia that wages war against the garrison and the remaining gangs.

I listen as one of Charles’ men gives me the report. I’m still at the hospital, but outside Jesse’s room. She woke up a couple of hours ago, we’ve been talking about nothing. She’s hurt and she’s afraid, she doesn’t need to hear any of this.

“So, it has begun. What is Charles going to do about this mess?” I ask. “Mister Kingsburg will soon address the senior council of aldermen on the current crisis.” It is probably part of his plan. Charles clearly has a head for politics, he came up with this convoluted scheme. “He requests that you stand ready to move out with the team.” I shake my head. “I have everything I need right here, come get me when it is time.” The man clearly isn’t happy with the situation, but that is hardly my problem

I return to Jesse’s room, she’s awake, she’s been crying. I sit down beside her bed, and she grabs my hand. “It is going to be okay, I will protect you.” I say, but the words sound hollow even in my own ears.

⤊

Today is the worst day of Thomas’ life. The world has gone mad and everybody seems to be gunning for him. The sound of gunfire makes him curse and get his focus back at the current fight. What remains of his gang is holed up in their last safe house. Outside is a mob howling for blood. He’s probably going to die.

An explosion rips through the building. “Thom, they’re in the house.” Dimi shouts while running up the stairs. He is holding a pistol the size of a children’s arm. He’s one of the few men who can use the monster gun with one hand.

Thomas grabs the submachine, which has been his loyal companion trough this recent shitstorm. Together with Dimi they turn the thick wooden desk into a makeshift barrier. Between the two of them they have enough ammo to make this final stand last for another week at least.

Going by the sounds downstairs however they won’t have another week. Another explosion followed by shouting and pained screaming. Thomas lights a cigarette, handing it to Dimi. “For good luck.” He tells the man. Dimi lights one of his own, handing it to Thomas. He says something in a language Thomas doesn’t understand. It isn’t Kievan, the language of he old country, but something else.

Downstairs there is more shouting, followed by three single gunshots, then it becomes silent. Dimi takes a drag from his cigarette and checks his pistol. Thomas just waits and listens. The sound of boots climbing the stairs signals his approaching end. He’s quite calm about the whole thing. “Live by the sword, die by the sword.” He says in Kievan. Dimi brings his fist to his chest. “Let’s make the old gods proud.”

The boots come to a halt in front of the office. With a lock splintering kick the door is thrown out of its hinges. Dimi doesn’t wait for orders and Thomas doesn’t give them. Both men know what to do. Both men know how to die.

The sound of gunfire fills the room.

⤊

Karl steps into the shot-up building. “So, this is Aksokov’s tomb.” He observes happily. “Fitting.” The place is something between a drug den and a brothel. The furniture is tasteless, selected only because it was expensive. It is everything Karl despises about the drug trade.

“And the body?” He asks. A man wearing a green shirt leads him upstairs. There was a time when Karl knew the names of all his companions, it has long passed. Since he has taken over the rebellion’s reigns in Victoria his friends have risen to great heights, while his enemies within and without the organization have perished. He knows there is a nationwide revolution going on, but nobody can tell him more. It doesn’t matter, here he makes the rules, here he decides who lives and who dies, here he is God.

Not that he voices such thoughts, nobody knows where the retributors are, or what they are doing. Those crazy assholes will kill you for less. Once he is in charge he will have the mad dogs put down. They arrive at the place where Aksokov’s body is supposed to be. Some of the casualties have been removed, but there are still bodies littered around the place. Aksokov is lying in a pool of his own blood, shot to pieces. His face is barely recognizable due to the giant hole in his face. Karl’s lips curl into a smile, he’s sure it is him. “When you’ve taken our people out of here torch the place.” The man in the green shirt salutes. “With pleasure sir.”

Karl goes downstairs, lighting a cheap cigarette as he joins his guards. Someone hands him a long green coat. “What are your orders general?” Sandra, his right hand asks. Karl takes a drag.

“We’re taking the upper district, now that the others have been secured it is time we rip the head of the snake.” A car stops in front of him. Karl and his followers file in, every single one of them armed, all ready to do what needs to be done.

⤊

“This is getting out of hand, something needs to be done!” One of the senior aldermen shouts, slamming his hand down on his heightened bench. “Victoria has already fallen. The malcontents have almost reached the palace. The city guard can barely hold them off, soon they will be taking the square!” The first amongst equals motions for silence. “To the end of restoring order in both the city and country at large we’ve invited Charles Kingsburg, director of the internal security bureau, to speak to the council.” He motioned towards Charles. “Director, you have the floor.”

Charles looks up, at the senior council of aldermen, the most powerful people in the bureaucracy, up on their heightened bleachers, and smiles. All he sees is a group of frightened old men, afraid of losing their power, prestige and wealth. They want nothing more than for someone to take all responsibility, someone to tell them it will be alright. Fortunately for them Charles is just that man.

“Most honourable councilmen, we are dealing with a catastrophe off a scale this country hasn’t seen in a long time. Dire circumstances require dire measures, which is why I’m going to suggest a transfer of power.”

Outrage filled the bleaches as a group of very vocal aldermen. After a few seconds the first amongst equals quietens down the room. “Director, you still have the floor, but tread carefully, there is always time for an execution.” Charles could ask who was going to carry out said execution, since he controlled most of the garrison through intermediaries, but further aggravating the council wasn’t going to gain him anything.

“This transfer of power would of course be temporary, just until the current crisis is resolved. By my estimates that shouldn’t take too long. Already my agents have infiltrated the enemy leadership. Soon the three ringleaders of this revolt will be put down. However, to make sure that these leaders won’t be replaced I will need full control over the military forces under our nation’s command, most of which are still tied up in Armes.”

This time the bleachers remained silent. After about a minute the first among equals asked the question on everybody’s mind. “If you’ve been aware of these malcontents for some time then why haven’t they been dealt with before? And why wasn’t this council informed?”

Charles’ face radiated innocence. “My agents obtained most of this intelligence only recently, most honourable alderman. As to your second question, isn’t the answer to it obvious?” He could almost see the suspicion spread. The enemy is already amongst them, maybe has been all this time. “Aldermen, if you give me the resources I need I will make swift work of the rebels, those outside as well as those within this very room.”

A deadly silence ruled the council room. Who could vote against this proposal? The director of the ISB had always been trustworthy, a patriot, a man so thoroughly vetted that there was no possible way he could be a revolutionary. He was the only logical choice to solve this crisis. Voting against the proposal made a councilman look guilty, a possible traitor.

The best thing about this whole situation was that the actual traitors all thought that this was part of the plan. They thought he was just spinning a tale so that there could be legitimate power transfer. He could see their faces, Scott, Watts, Gray, Meadows, Fox, and many more who had helped him get this position in the first place.

“The matter will be put to a vote. Director Kingsburg, could you temporarily leave the room, while the council makes its decision.” The first amongst equals asks. Charles bows and leaves the room. Outside one of his men, Harriot, is waiting. “Are they in session?” Harriot asks. Charles nods. “They will shout some more, then give in. Call the Butcher, tell him to move.” Harriot looks up. “On whose orders?” He asks. Charles give him a predatory smile. “By order of the Lord Regent.”

As soon as Harriot has disappeared Charles has a phone brought to him. The extended landline is a luxury few can afford, but in the palace, it is nothing to write home about. He dials a number and waits for the other side to pick up. There is a lot of noise on the other end of the line, but when Charles says a code phrase it suddenly becomes very quiet.

“Tell your leader that an unmarked goods train will soon arrive at Victoria station. Tell him to be ready to meet his boss.” He doesn’t say anything more or waits for the person on the other end of the line to respond. These people are hardly worth his time, but it is always good to tie up loose ends before they can become something more.

The second call he makes is far more important, for the recipient is one who has a future, one for whom Charles has a use.

“Eli, it is time. My men will take you to where you need to be.” Eli is silent on the other end of the line. Knowing him he is wondering about something unimportant, like whether he’s doing the right thing, or something. “I know how badly you want to hurt her for what she did to Jesse. It doesn’t make you a monster, it makes you human. When you kill her don’t feel guilty, she’s a criminal, responsible for thousands of deaths all over the world. She doesn’t deserve to play a part in our dreams.” Eli sighs. “I will contact you after it’s done.” He finally says. He hangs up. “Happy hunting.” Charles mutters.

“Director Kingsburg?” Charles turns to see an attendant waiting for him. “The council will see you now.” Charles follows the attendant inside.

Less than half an hour later he comes out as the most powerful man Mercia has ever known.

⤊

I hang up the phone. Jesse looks up. “Who was that?” Her tone is neutral, but I know that she’s concerned. “An old friend of mine, who needs help with something.” She tries to look sceptically, but the bandages ruin it. “Friends? You? And I thought the world didn’t have any miracles left.” It is a pale shadow of her usual sarcastic humour. Not really funny, yet I still chuckle. It makes me believe that face wounds or not she will recover.

“Are you going to leave?” She asks. I look away before nodding. “Yeah, but just for a short while, I will be back soon.” As a child I saw enough movies to know that you should never say those kinds of things, because it usually ends with you dying somewhere. This is real life however, not some dumb action movie. Here the odds are stacked in my favour, since my enemies don’t know that I’m coming, and I’m taking a lot of guys who are willing to die for their mission. Who said fanatics were useless?

“You better, we’re going to buy so many hats when you get back, I’m going to make you wear all of them.” I give her hand a squeeze, she returns it. I stand up, it is time to leave. I’m led around by Charles’ minion, whose name I don’t know. Outside we get into a car without windows.

“There is body armour in the chest beside you, the director insisted on it.” I open the chest, recognizing the armour immediately. It is the one we used to wear on our missions for August. Just like old times.

⤊

The King of the West is pacing through the room. He’s alone, while he shouldn’t be. The other members of the council of kings are taking their sweet time. He abruptly stops when he hears footsteps. Electricity cracks in his hands as he stares at the door. Charles steps through, raising his eyebrows at the lightning.

“Are you going to hit me with that?” He asks, a lazy smile on his face. The older man scoffs. “I just might if the others are any slower.” The electricity dissipates, and the King of the West starts pacing again. “Don’t worry so much, everything is going off without a hitch. Come sit with me, have a drink.” Charles says, offering him a glass of whisky. The King of the West takes it, throwing it back, downing the glass without so much as tasting its contents.

For a while they sit in silence, then the King of the West tries to stand up. Suddenly his knees are weak. His eyes mist over, shrouding the world in a fog. He looks at Charles, who is quietly watching him, without a hint of surprise.

“Betrayal.” The old man croaks. Charles nods, his smile is apologetic. “I’m sorry old man, but it has to be.” He says, as he grabs the old man’s arms. The King of the West tries to summon the lightning from before, but it won’t come. “We will be having none of that now.” Charles says calmly.

“I saved your life.” The old man growls.

“And now I’m taking yours for the good of the country.”

The old man loses his strength and sags in his chair. There is only the fog now, and far away, Charles face looking down on him. “From all the betrayals this one is the hardest. You are a good man, I truly believe you wanted to make this country a better place, but your goals were the wrong ones. Don’t worry, Mercia will be safe, I will see to it personally.”

The world is grey, darkness gaining ground at the edges of the King of the West’s vision. Charles is speaking, but the words mean nothing. His thoughts are focused on Mary, poor Mary who didn’t deserve what she got. As the world goes black the King of the West is calm, and for the first time in a long while he is at peace.

⤊

It is around noon when the palace in Kinestorm is overrun by angry revolutionaries. They tear through the building, looting everything that isn’t bolted down, killing anyone with any tie to the government. The freshly minted Lord Regent is suspiciously absent. The revolutionaries hiding in the mob search for him desperately, they don’t want this new figure of authority to escape. There however isn’t a sign of the man.

“Find him! Find him even if you must burn down the entire city! If we don’t she will have our heads.” The leader of the revolutionaries calls to his subordinates. It is another betrayal amidst a hundred others. An attempt at regicide which comes far too late to matter.

⤊

Across the sea, in the capital of the Rosharian Monarchy nobles and diplomats implore the king to make use of the current chaos in Mercia. Their words are just a formality, the king made up his mind when word of Mercia’s plight first reached him. An hour later a messenger hastens out of the palace, heading for the Rosharian Kievan border. In his satchel he carries a declaration of war.

⤊

The car grinds to a halt. I get out and survey my surroundings. About thirty or so men and women are preparing for a frontal assault. They aren’t military. They’re all wearing the nondescript body armour I’m wearing. “Who are you people?” I ask my driver who has joined me. “ISB black operations, untrained, trained to keep the country safe.” He says proudly.

“Director on the scene.” He shouts so that everybody can hear him. With military preciseness the men and women line up for inspection. With their masks on and in uniform they’re impossible to tell apart. Even height seems to have been factored in.

“Director?” I ask, a bit perplexed at the turn of events. “Congratulations sir, you’ve been promoted by the Lord Regent. You now lead the ISB.” The driver says, a polite smile on his face. I don’t have to ask who the Lord Regent is, apparently Charles’ plan worked. Still it is a little difficult to wrap my brain around this. A few hours ago, I was a chief of security and now I’m the director of the ISB. I hardly feel suited for the task, isn’t this more in Moose’s wheelhouse? Once we’re done I should talk to Charles about this. Right now, however I have other things on my mind.

“Ehm, stand down?” I half order, half ask. The people around me relax. “All right people, back to work.” The driver yells. He reminds me a bit of Dobber. “Give me the situation, …” I have no idea what this man’s rank is, even though he seems to be someone important. “Assistant director Wells, sir.” I nod.

“The target is holed up inside a mansion just over the hill, it is one of several in her name. Which is good news, since she hasn’t been here long enough to prepare the place. She doesn’t know that we’re coming, there have been no signs of increased security. We have three guards with dogs patrolling the grounds. Our snipers will take them out. Inside we have five confirmed hostiles, but we assume that there will be more. We will breach at several entrance points, goading the enemy into a killing zone. The target is believed to be on the second floor, at the heart of the building. Our snipers don’t have a clear visual, but I believe that we will be able to get you to her without a problem.”

I nod once. “Excellent work Wells, how soon can we start the operation?” Wells looked around the camp, then he fished a timepiece out of his pocket. “Fifteen minutes director. You will let our boys do the heavy lifting and you will be in and confirm the identity of the subject within half an hour.” I frown. “I won’t be going in with the ground forces?” Wells shook his head. “With all due respect sir, you’re too important for groundwork now.” I nod reluctantly. In more ways than one I feel like a puppet, dancing to Charles’ tunes.

“Proceed.”

⤊

It is an hour past noon when Karl receives word that the train with his special guests is imminent. Ever since the phone call he’s been preparing the station for the grand arrival of his colleagues in the revolutionary leadership. Indeed, he sees them as colleagues, not as his masters. He took Victoria, he gets to keep it. If anyone has a problem with that he will just have his own little revolution.

There is a skip in his walk as he leaves the station’s office. He shrugs into his long green coat. Somebody hands him the green scarf he’s been wearing since the start of his revolutionary career. Now that everyone’s veins are black he no longer has to hides his marks, so he wears the scarf loosely. Lastly, he is handed his pistol. No revolutionary is complete without his weapon after all.

He walks down the stairs and the crowd explodes. It feels as if the whole world is cheering his name. Karl, the brave leader of the Victorian freedom fighters. He raises his hands; the cheering only increases in volume. He smiles and waves, feeling every bit the royal, he is.

He turns as the train arrives, blowing its horn three times. Everybody who has been of any import during the liberation is proudly standing next to him. They’re all eager to meet the men and women who’ve made this entire operation possible.

As one the doors of the goods train are thrown open. For a moment it is too dark to see the insides of the compartments. A single moment in which Karl realizes he has made a mistake. Everybody who is anybody is standing on this platform.

Sunlight reflects in red glass.

Dozens of soldiers wearing grey uniforms with black stripes are aiming their fully automatic Rosharian assault rifles at the revolutionary leadership. The Butcher’s regiment has arrived.

“Light them up boys.” A voice growls.

The bullets mow down every single person on the platform. As the soldiers swarm out of the train, steadily shooting on anything that moves. In minutes the station is deserted, safe for the soldiers.

The butcher strolls onto the platform, looking very pleased with himself. “Not bad, not bad at all.” He lights a big cigar and takes a long satisfied drag. “You know, I like this new Lord Regent. He knows how to properly wage a war.” He nods to himself. “Now then, sweep the city, kill anything that wears green. If they’re willing to lay down arms or surrender spare them, I don’t want to be court martialled.” He looks at his officers who haven’t moved yet. “Hop, get to it my little chickens, I don’t have all day.”

The butcher’s lips curl into a smile again as he walks down the platform, stepping on the bodies of former rebels. “The Lord Regent and I are going to be the best of friends.” He says as he looks at Karl’s now permanently surprised face. He takes another drag, blows the sweet-smelling smoke into the air and marches on.

⤊

It is strange being this close to an operation, knowing everything about it, yet not being a part of it. I watch as Charles men move in on the mansion. They are quick, silent, well trained. After a while I see light flicker inside the mansion, they have engaged the enemy.

We wait a while longer. I’m quite tense, even though Wells isn’t. He raises an eyebrow as I shift my weight to my left foot. This might not be his first time leading an operation of this size, but it is mine, so fuck him. After a while a green flair lightens up the evening sky. “They’re ready for you sir.” Wells says. I nod and follow him to the car.

A short drive later I’m standing in front of the mansion. I step inside through the ruins of a door. There are a couple of bodies left and right, but none of them are guys from my side. “She’s on the first floor, you will recognize it when you see it.” A woman says to Wells. Before my assistant director can say anything, I head up the stairs.

The first floor has an odd construction. It is entirely empty safe for a single square room dead in the centre. My people have got the place locked down tight, so I proceed without hesitation. I open the door of the strange room. Inside sits a woman, her back towards me. “You know Charles, if you wanted to see me, you could have just requested a meeting.” She says. Her voice is steady and calm, as if her house wasn’t just stormed by an unknown number of assailants. She turns around, looks at me and frowns.

“You are not Charles.” She states.

“I’m not, but you’re the individual who calls herself the Queen of the East.” I say.

“You’re the assassin.”

“You’re the woman who sent the murderers that cut up my girl’s face.”

She bits her lip.

“I can explain, if we just get Charles we can talk about this.”

“I don’t care.”

I fire three times. Two in the chest, one in the head. For a second, I look at the body. I don’t feel happy, or satisfied, or righteous. I don’t really feel anything, except for a kind of faint relief that I just closed this part of my life. I turn around and walk out of the room. I stop briefly at the ruined entrance to light a cigarette.

“Where to now director?” Wells asks. I look up at the darkening sky. Snow drifts lazily down, Jesse is going to hate it. “To the hospital.” I say. It is the only place in the whole world, probably in two worlds I want to be.