The lights were low in the little warehouse. The dog barely stood on his four legs, every part of its body trembling. He tried to reach for his master hand, his balance shifted and he began sliding on the little table.

Pxan hit the tabled furious >

A little man with a long beard placed a hand on his shoulders > he pointed to a metal ring on the dog >

>

The man raised an eyebrow >

Pxan looked down > he paused >

The little man nodded.

While Pxan was going away the man continued to watch him. Pxan didn't know it but he gave that man a lot of information "that is a dangerous man." he had observed him for the past hours, how he moved his hands, what he said, the slight imperfection in his prosthetics and he realized that man would be dead in a few years maybe less, the prosthetics couldn't hold so much. Yet why keeping him alive if that was the case?

After a bit, every job was similar to every other job. The inquisition wasn't exempt from this rule. At least the daily variation of tasks ensures that he wasn't bored. One day you kill a gangster another you retrieve papers from an archive, one day you are an innocent librarian and the other a cold-blooded killer. He didn't know if he liked it.

Regardless of this, he had managed to locate a small archive far from the populated buildings. Which, if data was correct, several files were. Including his.

Entering the archive was really easy, one of the windows was broken and several empty cans lay on the ground. Someone had been here more than once. The whole place was falling apart, the walls were fulls of stains and black spots, the floor wasn't stable and the wood, if that was wood, was collapsing. And to top it all off there was a rat infestation.

He began to search through the archives for some kind of file > he glanced at the file with his name and skimmed through it. > he said throwing it away >

> a deep voice said. The figure of a hobo came out of the shadows >

>

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