Chapter Two: All of The Talent

Tag pressed a gun to my forehead.

The nozzle felt ice cold. It would leave an imprint. That’s if he didn’t fire first.

It wasn't the first time that I'd had a gun in my face, and I doubt it would be the last. There's something final about it. As if all of your lies and excuses hang in the balance, and one wrong step will send you over the edge. A person with a gun says 'pay attention to me'. There's nothing that can make you more significant in a shorter space of time. For one moment in their lifespans, a man with a gun can erase everything and feel significant. The catch is that pointing a gun at someone else means that eventually, maybe today or tomorrow, there will be a gun pointed back at you.

I tried to inch away from the nozzle. But Tag moved with me.

They had knelt us center room —execution style. I figured if they were going to kill us, at least we'd go out together. The rest of the thorn crew crowded around, a few still glanced up at the sky every now and then.

“Which one of you is it?” Tag said. “Talk or you’re all dead.”

I didn’t know what he meant. The other’s glanced around in confusion.

“The Harkons can smell strong talent. We don’t bring those players with us.”

“Talent?” I asked.

I recalled the imp mentioning them. One of the rules said that you shouldn’t share your talent with your allies. And the rules were not meant to be broken.

Tag levelled the gun in front of Poppy’s face. The twelve-year-old stared down the barrel. If she felt fear, it didn’t show.

Dux stepped beside Tag. Her metal gloves clinked against the white armour on his forearm.

“Maybe we should slow down for a second.”

Tag cocked the hammer on the pistol. “How about you? You notice anything strange, little girl?”

Poppy scowled. “Only your face.”

Tag pushed the gun against her eye. “You keep talking pretty and your face will make mine look gorgeous.”

“Tag,” Dux said.

Poppy moved the barrel of the gun on to her forehead. “If you shoot me in the eye, you might not kill me. I’ve seen it happen before.”

“This kid . . .” Tag said, aiming.

One of the crew members cursed and walked out. My heart raced. Watching a twelve-year-old asking to be killed made me feel sick to my stomach, and at the same time, I felt like reaching out and giving her a hug.

Poppy must have seen and experienced terrible things. Trying to think of what those experiences were, sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t something I wanted to see in the real world. Being in Hell didn’t change my morals. It only made me want to figure out Poppy before her past ruined her.

“What about the rules?” I said.

Tag swung the barrel to me. “You got something to say now?”

I kept my mouth shut, happy that the gun was on me instead of Poppy. I didn’t want to get shot. But if anyone could figure out how to survive on their own, I had confidence in my ability.

Once I’d spent a month on the streets, after running away from my stepdad. Downtown wasn't easy to navigate. You had more chance of being picked up and thrust into the sex trade than you did finding a stranger to buy you a Big Mac.

I’d robbed people. Double-crossed others for a place to stay the night. And I’d learned that if you were desperate enough, drunks were the easiest targets. Something about alcohol dabbled with the conscience.

I’d had a gun pulled on me twice in that month. Once when I took something I shouldn’t have and another time when someone took something from me. After that, I stole a screwdriver from home depot and kept it close. I didn’t think I had the courage to use it. Until my stepfather taught me that I did.

“If you’re going to shoot, do it,” I said.

According to the rules, I’d respawn without the things I had collected. I had no weapons but my words and my integrity. Killing me would only sharpen both.

"Don't tempt me," Tag said.

I didn't like this man. He had a self-centeredness that stretched beyond his role in the group. You could see it in the way the others looked at him. They tolerated him because they had to. Maybe they were afraid or maybe they had seen worse in other parts of Hell. I didn't know. But if they had screwdrivers in Hell, I might have to keep one nearby.

Tag scoffed and walked over to Tom. “I didn’t want it to be you. We could have used the extra manpower.”

Tom sighed. “I . . . I . . .”

Tag knelt and pushed the gun under Tom’s chin. “Come on now.”

“Tom, don’t do it,” I said.

He knew the rules. But then he shook his head. “If I tell you, and I break the rules, what happens?”

“There are no rules in hell. That's something they tell freshies.”

“And if I don’t tell you?”

“Do you see what is in my hand?”

Tom swallowed. “Okay. . . I . . ." He battled with the words. "I can see every talent in this room. They hang over each one of your heads as icons.”

“Scanner,” Dux said.

Tag frowned, holstering his gun. “That’s usually a pretty shitty skill. Switch over there can do the same. Maybe yours is stronger. Marin can decide.”

Dux perked an eyebrow. “Back to HQ?”

“I’m not taking any risks.”

"The crew are just getting warmed up."

With the way they talked, these two were either good friends or intimate. She stood too close, for someone that wasn’t at the very least a good friend. But the way she challenged him gave it away. When you’re afraid of someone, the very idea of saying something coherent without your voice breaking seems impossible. When you know someone well, there's nothing to be afraid of.

Dux's challenge had no hesitation in it. In fact, it seemed rather personal.

“We should talk,” Dux said.

Tag sighed. “Alright people, search the area for guns, ammo, and map particles. And try not to do anything stupid, these freshies are giving me a headache as it is.”

Dux walked out of the house, onto the lawn, and around the corner. Tag followed.

The other members of the unit rifled through cupboards, holes in the walls, and drawers. A young man with no guns and who twitched every few seconds watched us from the corner of the room. His grey beanie had an NY logo on it, and his jumper and pants matched.

“Y-you th-three are g-going to l-love it here,” he said.

The stutter made me pay attention to every word. The act of getting them out made the words feel more important. Poppy perked up, too.

“You really like this place?” Tom asked.

“N-not really,” he said, laughing at his own joke. “Th-they make you l-like it. I-I’m Switch by the w-way.”

Poppy frowned. “There was a boy like you where I used to live."

“G-get outta h-here,” Switch said. “Where you f-from?”

Poppy stood up and dusted herself off. “Everyone used to burn him with their cigarettes.”

“Okaayy! Let’s find something to help with," I said.

Poppy grabbed the back of my pants, sliding up against my hip. The dark haired kid became attached easily. I didn’t mind it. Somehow she made me feel safe. However, it was the things she said to other people that irked me.

Tag and Dux walked back into the room. Their black armoured boots crunched across the concrete.

“Change of plans,” Tag said. “You’re all heading to HQ with Dux and Switch.”

Dux nodded.

“R-rad,” Switch said.

It really wasn’t. But it would be better than here. The man with the gun and the threat of the angel made me glance about every few seconds.

“Don’t engage in combat. You run south if you’re attacked. Keep going until you find a bridge. HQ is under it. Don’t use your ability, try not to think about it if you can. Marin will explain.”

Tag dropped his eyes to us. I thought he’d been talking to everyone.

“You two are to fight until you can get away or until you die.”

“We aren't bait,” I said.

Tag scoffed and walked to the door. “You’re either talented or you aren’t. It’s that simple.”

“Asshole,” Poppy mumbled.

I squeezed her shoulder. We would do what we had to, to survive.