“We are the Undying Legion of Nyarlathotep! We are an unstoppable force, crushing all those who oppose his will. The Crawling Chaos has ascended. The Vile Abyss that once served as messenger to the Elder Gods has swallowed them up and made us immortal. And yet…” the inquisitor gestured to the heretic, broken and disfigured before him, “here you are.” His voice boomed and echoed off the crowded grand cathedral’s walls, “The last of a breed. We have purged all unbelievers from the land but you by death or conversion. You think you can stand against the will of the Exalted Nyarlathotep? You have only sampled the pain and horror that we can inflict upon you.” He smirked, “You are the last heretic remaining. But you will not remain as you are. Not after this. What have you to say for yourself?”

The light of the full moon shot through the stained glass window, casting the heretic’s broken face in a kaleidoscopic glow. “Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life.”

“Nonsense and insanity,” the inquisitor scoffed and gave a signal. The three magicians hand in hand began their chant, an ancient song so cacophonous and confounding that it somehow sounded simultaneously subhuman and yet all too human. The tritones echoed in the dark cathedral once filled with row upon row of joyful parishioners worshiping the True Light, now filled with a mass of worshipers devoted to Nyarlathotep, each one blubbering gibberish, eyes darting all around, barely cognizant of anything, yet becoming more and more rowdy as the magicians’ song continued. In the midst of these haunters of the dark, somehow, though shattered bones peeked out of mangled flesh, the lone heretic emanated an otherworldly peace. It was against nature.

A dull rattle of swords mixed with the chant as the soldiers that stood on either side of the heretic and those corralling the worshipers began to quake in fearful joy of the imminent arrival of their dark master. Louder and louder the chanting grew, until a sound like an advancing tornado emerged from nowhere.

The assembly gasped as the roof was violently ripped from the cathedral and sucked up into the night. The magicians’ song grew more frantic and discordant as it meandered on recklessly. Without warning, and with deafening thunder, the star-lit sky was torn asunder. The remaining Abyss was filled with flashing lights and swirling colors unnameable, nonsense and confusion to any who looked upon them. The soldiers stood hypnotized and seizing. The magicians and the inquisitor veiled their eyes in the deep hoods of their robes. The worshipers were whipped into an unbridled hysteria, smiling like devils and frothing at the mouth as they danced to the horrible song. The bellowing of the void was so loud and thickly layered, composed of sounds of all sorts, some recognizable yet corrupted, like the sound of a bird, but deeply distorted; or an ocean wave that washes ashore, but somehow alien. These were mixed with indescribable horrors of sounds whose origins could not be placed, for they were born outside the realm of mankind and were never meant to be perceived by human ears.

The awful brew of terrifying vision and aural confusion mixed with the unmistakable scent of sulfur and then feces as the soldiers lost all control, their sanity breaking down at the overwhelming sensations. They were completely drawn in, their minds the necessary sacrifice to the overflowing void that was their god. They could no longer remember anything, could no longer think their own thoughts, control their own bodies. They were absolutely nothing but their master’s puppets. A foreign will utilized their bodies to hold their prisoner’s face towards the Chaos, the heretic’s eyes taking in the mystical trance-inducing display as the soldiers forced his eyes wide open.

Louder and more hallucinogenic the suspended abyss became, and louder and louder the chants of the levitating magicians grew as they were slowly drawn in by the vacuum of their worshipful master until, without warning, the infernal night rift was closed, the roof was drawn back onto it’s proper place, and all was deathly still and silent. The magicians gently floated down to their proper places around the altar, and the soldiers guarding the prisoner lay on the ground as dead men, disposed of by the unmerciful Swirling Chaos. The ancient daemon-god of Egypt was hidden once more. All was eerily quiet.

The inquisitor through the ordeal had closed his eyes as tightly as humanly possible. He had no desire to risk an accidental peak at even the reflection of Nyarlathotep in the sides of the burnished altar or on the polished floor tiles. He looked up at the prisoner. He gasped as his eyes beheld the man, broken and bleeding, standing before him with a face that remained serene as a lake on a windless day. He looked into the man’s eyes and recognized a fully sane and uncorrupted mind. The inquisitor flew into a fearful fury, knocking over whatever his hands could find, whether candlesticks or trays of incense. He shouted for fresh guards. They came in with expressions of fear on their faces. When they saw the prisoner, fear turned to abject terror.

The inquisitor was enraged and bewildered. Who was his prisoner? How potent was the magic that sustained him that he could resist the will of a god he himself dare not set eyes upon? The inquisitor spit on the heretic, his heart filled with a fear of the uncanny way of the broken man. A moment of silence was felt by all as the interrogator calmed himself enough to deliberate, glaring at his prisoner like a lion denied his prey. The attentive crowd watched in dumb wonder.

With much effort, the heretic inhaled and parted his lips to testify once more. But at a swift gesture from the inquisitor, he was run through repeatedly in the back by swords, his breath leaving him in a broken exhale. The worshipers roared to life, cheering and jeering. The prisoner had given up the ghost.

*******

A magician and a soldier stood side by side in secret. The heretic’s body had been burned back to the ashes from whence it came, and his bones had been fed to the unclean pigs. The magician had secreted away the book the man carried. And as the unlikely pair read the words together, they believed. Two heretics remained.

Our great Father in Heav'n,

We are imperfect men.

Save us each waking breath

From the power of sin.

As your Son taught to pray,

Lead us not to the tempter;

But if tempt us he may,

Save us by royal scepter.

By that rod, by that staff,

Strike the serpent of old;

For we are but weak sheep

In your eternal fold.

If the tempter attacks,

With patience doing right

Let us count it all joy,

For Christ’s burden is light.

May the blaze ever grow

And dross float ever higher,

So the rot burns away

And our gold shines like fire,

A great light for the showing,

Bright and not to be hid.

To our Savior, th’unknowing

By our works may we bid.

Suzie looked dreamily out a window of the third story of her father’s mansion, her golden hair fluttering as the wind blew into her room. She looked at the fiery red leaves adorning the woods on the opposite side of the quiet street below. Then she noticed something unusual, a ragged man walking the street. Her eyes were drawn to the man’s opened golden pocket watch. It glittered in the morning sun. Suzie smiled slightly, then frowned as he kept walking away. She slammed the shutters and window closed as her breathing grew heavy. She looked into her golden mirror, and by the firelight of the golden candlestick on the adjacent table she saw herself incomplete without the golden watch in her collection.

****** ****** ******

The ragged man walked down the street, staring down at the road. He noticed a long shadow on the ground and looked up. In the middle of the street there stood a small figure silhouetted by the setting sun. The man stopped. A girlish giggle that normally would have made him smile left his body tense. The shadowy figure circled him, and as it was illuminated, he saw a young girl with golden hair and a white sundress.

     “Hello. I’m Suzie Slasher. I saw your golden pocket watch this morning, and I really like it. Can I have it?” The smooth voice was not a young girl’s, but a full-grown woman’s.

     “No, you can’t. It was my fathers. And that’s a rather rude question.”

     Suzie clenched her fists. “My daddy will pay you for it. How much will it cost? Thousands? Tens of thousands? Just name your price.”

     “I’m not selling it to you. Now why don’t you leave me alone?”

     Suzie pointed at the ragged man, “There’s something you need to understand: I get what I want. You know, when my little sisters and brothers went to live on their own, I thought it was funny. Those fools had to work for themselves. But I’m especially youthful, so I’m my crippled old father’s favorite. When I make a demand, I get what I want.” She walked towards the man. “Now give me the watch.”

     As Suzie’s walk turned into a run, the man turned and sprinted into the woods. He did not look back. As he dodged branches, fallen trees, and rocks, his feet started to burn. He stumbled and fell, slipped off his inexplicably flaming shoes, and stood and ran through the pain. Suddenly the path was cut off by a wall of fire, as was any escape to either side. He turned around, and Suzie was standing, staring intently. He grabbed a knife out of his jacket but was abruptly unable to move. The small smiling figure now held the open stopwatch. She took the knife from his still hands and examined it. “Blades are so boring,” she said as she tossed it aside. She walked away, everything frozen in time, except the flame now melting the ragged man into eternity.

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From: Strong-arm Security Corporation

To: #M1487

Subject: Probationary Assignment #2: Bank Security

     Recently, we have been contacted by Darcy Group, the organization that runs Croesus Bank. One of their sources has warned them of a possible impending heist to be carried out by the Elder Mafia. However, we do not know the details of the heist plans, as their contact with the source was unexpectedly lost.

     You will be a part of the security team defending Croesus Bank. Make your way there to be briefed by the on-site SSC coordinator ASAP.

     That is all. And remember, we have high hopes for your success.

-SSCX

     As Pierce approached the bank on foot in the oncoming twilight, he was struck by its dark grandeur. The ancient looking building was obviously designed to impress, an ornate church presumably dedicated to its patron saint, Mammon. With each step he took up the classical style staircase flanked by angled rows of imposing columns, he felt a little more dread creep up on him.

     He tried to shove from his mind the idea that he was once again giving himself up to be a grunt in a war he didn’t care about. He had no choice then, and he had no choice now.

     But even as he brought himself back into the moment, an unusual sense of impending doom sent a chill up his spine as the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Was it the building itself that made him so uncomfortable? He had seen buildings similar in history books, but never got this feeling from them.

     Walking through the door, he made a brief survey of the place and saw a group of mostly uniformed SSC personnel standing around a tall broad-shouldered man with a mustache. As he walked over to join them, the mustached man, evidently the SSC coordinator, asked him, “You a rookie?”

     “Yes, sir, M1487,” Pierce replied as he took a place in the semicircle around the coordinator. The coordinator made a mark on the sheet on his clipboard and began the briefing.

     “Alright, everyone, listen up. As you read in your message, there is a high probability that this bank is going to be attacked by a group of the Elder Mafia. They are well-funded and therefore well-armed. We have been told that the attack is likely to take place somewhere in the time-frame of now to two weeks from now. We have lookouts in plainclothes scattered throughout the neighborhood, and we have guards posted in various choke-points and corridors throughout the building. You each have a sidearm, but you will also be assigned an SMG, as well as a map of the building, a vest, helmet, and a radio. Go get set in that room over there, and follow the map you are given to your position. Radio in to me when you arrive. Now, you will be on guard in shifts, so you can get your rest and stay sharp. Any questions?”

     There were none. “Then get moving, men.”

     The whole group minus the coordinator walked into the armory and began to get themselves equipped.  On the far end were some SSC agents getting some shut-eye in three columns of cots. The first wave must have already had a shift, Pierce thought. A couple of guys were sitting, talking quietly yet heatedly.

     “It makes no sense. The Elder Mafia come from generations of wealth. Why would they want to rob a bank?”

     “Hey, if they don’t, then we get paid to do nothing. Do you have a problem with that?”

     “No, of course not! I’m just saying…”

     A chill shot up Pierces spine again. He tried to tune out of the conversation and focus on getting his gear on. But the seeming dissonance between the odd grandeur of the room, with its marble walls and vaulted ceilings, and its use as a sort of armory brought his mind right back to his discomfort. He could not wait to be out of this building.

     He slung the loaded UMP over his chest and looked at the map.

     “Hey, Keeper of the Cat, how are you?” One of the men who had been sleeping facing the back wall was now sitting up, yawning, and looking at him. Pierce recognized him as one of the guards of the Mendelson Lane apartment complex.

     “Fine.”

     “Good, good,” he said as he stood up. He was taller than Pierce by four or five inches, had slight stubble, and was probably in his forties. In some ways, he reminded Pierce of his dad. “Hey, you and I are gonna be working together on this job! Isn’t that something?”

     “Um, sure.” Pierce sounded unsure.

     “You bet,” he said, hanging his UMP over his chest and ensuring it was still loaded. “The name’s Jefferson, by the way.” He offered a hand, and Pierce gave it a solid shake.

     “Pierce.”

     “Good name. Follow me.” They walked out of the room and through the lobby, through a small hallway, down four flights of stairs in the normally closed off stairwell, through another hallway, and into a room at the left side of the far end labeled "Records." Odd, Pierce thought, the door had a lock on this side. The dimly lit room was filled with many rows of floor to ceiling filing cabinets, probably containing the meticulously recorded documents of every withdrawal and deposit for over a century. They walked to the far corner of the room where a single old iron door stood. On the map, Pierce saw that there was a long passage that connected this building with another one nearby.

     Two guys were smoking while standing next to the door.

     “Finally, some reinforcements,” one said.

     “This is wearing me down,” said the other as they gave a joking salute and a wave, respectively, to the newcomers. They left the room and closed the door behind them.

     Jefferson hit the button on his radio, “This is Jefferson and Pierce, in position.”

     “Affirmative. We were told by the bank manager that the odds of them knowing about that tunnel are almost zero, and our network should be able to pick up on anyone coming your way in advance. That said, we don’t want to leave anything to chance, so stay sharp you two.”

     “Roger that,” Pierce said.

     Jefferson gestured to their setup, “This is it, our very own guard station.” There were two metal folding chairs, one on either side of a crate that had recently been used as a card table. After they sat down, Jefferson took a cigarette box out of his pocket and offered a smoke to Pierce. “Want one?”

     “No thanks.”

     “It’ll calm you down,”

     Pierce realized his hand was shaking. After a pause, he grabbed a cigarette from Jeff’s pack with his stable one. “Thanks,” he muttered. Jefferson reached over to light Pierces, then lit his own.

     “I don’t like this.” Pierce said.

     Jefferson sighed. “Me neither,” he admitted, I feel it too. Everyone does. Something is off with this job.”

     “And this building rubs me the wrong way somehow,” Pierce offered.

     “That too.”

     Pierce sat there for a minute deep in thought as Jefferson shuffled the deck of cards. Then a questioning look appeared on Pierce’s face as he asked, “Why would the bank keep files in paper form instead of using computers? And for that matter, why are there no security cameras in the whole building?”

     “You were well-named, weren’t you? You are sharp. Best I can figure it, some sort of extreme op-sec. For what, I couldn't tell you...”

     Pierce's hand had stopped shaking, the cigarette had done its job. It had been a long time since he’d last smoked. He definitely couldn’t afford it as a habit anymore. But he was glad he had this cigarette. Jeff finished shuffling the cards and began to deal them out.

     “Now, lets see how good you are at blackjack.”

     For hours, the two sat there, playing cards, looking at the map and talking about tactics, and challenging each other to exercise competitions, among other things. As uncomfortable as Pierce had felt coming into this, he had to admit, he couldn’t imagine a better partner for this sort of scenario than Jefferson. He was a solid man who, from the stories he told, could definitely handle himself in any situation.

     After their long shift was up, they swapped places with their relief and  headed to the armory for some food and rest.

     Pierce was in the barely-lit center of a shrouded room looking down into the face of his sister. He could feel the fear of loss and overwhelming guilt creeping up on him, feelings he had to constantly fight to keep down. Everything will be alright, he tried to tell himself. Her face was so motionless, so void, but the doctors had told him she was alive, thinking, dreaming, listening. A deep resonance burst in on his awareness. His pulse quickened. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The earth began to shake. He looked around the room, trying to figure out what was causing this. But he wasn’t in the hospital room anymore. He was deep underground in some sort of dark pit. He felt trapped with no air and no escape. Was this his grave? He started to hyperventilate. His vision became bleary, but suddenly from out of nowhere there stood before him a towering man, putrid and decrepit. Though he could not see him clearly, there was a wicked light in the man's eyes that pierced into his soul.

     He hit the marble floor with a resounding thud. He opened his eyes and saw that he was back in the armory, with several concerned pairs of eyes on him. Jeff hurried over and helped him up. “Are you okay, buddy?” He said.

     Pierce rubbed his back, then responded with a weak, “Yeah, I think so.”

     “Hey, you’d better eat something, it’s about time we get back to the grind.”

     Pierces throat felt dry. He took a big swig of water from his old military issued canteen and sat back down on his cot.

     “This place is really messing with everyone's heads,” a man with the thousand-yard stare who sat on a nearby cot said to nobody in particular. “Nobody can sleep and when they do they wish they hadn’t.”

     “The longer we stay here, the less chance we’ll make it out of here sane!” someone else offered.

     Jefferson spoke sternly, “Enough of that kind of talk. We’re all here to do a job, and we’re going to do it. Don’t let fear get the better of you. That will only get you and your friends killed.”

     The chatter stopped, though a couple men glared daggers at Jefferson.

     After they finished their meals, Pierce and Jefferson refilled their water, went back to their position, and checked in with the coordinator.

     After they smoked in silence for a while, Jefferson noticed that Pierce could not stop fidgeting. This is getting to him too much, Jefferson thought. “Hey, do you know why you’re teamed up with me?”

     Pierce shook his head.

     “Because I wanted you to be.” Pierce looked confused. “I saw your face when when you came back from dealing with your last job. Then I read your report, and I read your file.”

     Their files were supposed to be confidential. But, Pierce thought, if anyone was going to look through his file, at least it was this guy.  

     “You’re a solid guy,” Jefferson continued. “I know a lot of those guys up there are good men, but you have more experience, energy, and motivation than most of them.”  

     Pierce wondered exactly how much the company knew about him. A distant rumble caught him off guard. The voice of the coordinator buzzed on the radio, interrupted repeatedly by gunfire “All units, get…positions! They’ve breached…All positions prepare and engage, repeat…prepare yourselves!”

     Pierce and Jefferson were standing and checking their weapons. Both men looked at each other for a brief moment. Pierce knew he could trust Jeff and he knew Jeff trusted him. They were going to make it through this and get paid. A sense of relief washed over him, cleansing him of his dread. They were going to make it.

     A voice from their relief team spoke through the radio, “Jefferson, Pierce, we’re on our…,” cut off by gunfire.

     “Roger that, make it snappy,” Jefferson replied, adjusting his ear piece.

     In confident silence, they both flanked the door by positioning themselves in the relative cover of the walls of filing cabinets on either side of the door.

     Moments seemed to drag on slowly, the adrenaline forcing Pierce’s mind to race at a thousand miles an hour. The lights flickered off, and he focused on his breathing.  He kept his SMG pointed at the steel door. A sudden bright orange flash was accompanied by a loud explosion that was filtered down through his helmet’s electronic ear protection, followed by the thud of metal on concrete as the large door fell inward.

     Pierce’s flashlight aimed at where the large steel door used to be, and the light reflected off of something. The sound of a small object bouncing on the ground triggered his instinct, and he pulled down his anti-flash face shield as he brought his full body behind cover. The flash-bang went off without affecting him. He flipped up his visor quickly, and peaked out of cover, shooting several rounds into the swarm of Elder Mafia members before backing out of the way of return fire. I brought one of them down, he thought. These guys were every bit as professional as they were made out to be. Seeing how many men he was up against down here, he wished he had been given grenades, but the bank wanted collateral damage kept to a minimum.

     He fired as he backed toward the far end of the aisle, and turned the corner to lean against the end of the row of cabinets as he let a magazine drop to the ground. While replacing it with one from his vest, he looked to his right and saw Jefferson in the same position on his aisle. Jefferson pointed at himself and then at the door, and indicated for Pierce to follow and cover him. Sweat dripped down Pierce’s face as he nodded his assent. Jefferson counted down on his hands: three, two, one. Pierce made his way to Jefferson, firing a burst down each aisle as he passed them, and they moved together towards the center where the door was in the same way . Jefferson reached the closed door, Pierce laying down fire at the mafia men who were themselves peeking around the corners on the other end of the aisle Pierce could see down.

     Jefferson opened the door carefully, poked his head out of the room, and put a hand on Pierces shoulder. Footsteps came closer as the Elder Mafia advanced down the aisles the pair couldn't cover. They both slipped out of the room and Pierce closed and locked the door behind them. The stairwell door was hanging open off-canter on its frame, and a door previously closed right across the hall was now open. Pierce remembered that the map had that room labeled as another record room, and the plaque on the door said the same. But through it, Pierce saw an old arched brick tunnel, lined on either side by torchlight. “What is this?” he muttered.

     Jefferson ignored the question. “I have a feeling our guys aren’t coming down to back us up after all.”

     “Yeah,” Pierce agreed.

     “Come on,” Jefferson said as he motioned Pierce to follow into the tunnel.

     Pierce felt sick to his stomach as they stepped softly yet quickly along the echoing tunnel. His head began to throb. He could feel his will to go on bending, but the image of his sister reappeared in his minds eye, and he knew he had to stop the Elder Mafia so he could get paid.

     They followed the tunnel as it turned right. Suddenly they heard an explosion from behind them. They picked up speed and kept following the tunnel right, to the point where Pierce thought they must be going in circles. It felt to him that they had been walking in the tunnel for hours. Pierces mind began to fade. Time became meaningless, and he couldn’t really make sense of the voices that he began to hear.

     Suddenly, there opened up before him a large extravagantly decorated dome room with two men in the center, trying to pick up a shining box. He made one last effort to comprehend the meaning of the scene before him before his vision faded to black.

     When he woke up, he remembered nothing. He looked at the tall marble ceiling overhead, sat up and looked around, and realized that he was back in his cot in the armory. Around him were several men being treated by SSC medical personnel for wounds they had received in the fight.

     Slowly, he remembered everything that happened up until the long walk through the brick tunnel. He got up and began to ask around for Jefferson, but nobody knew where he was. Pierce's mind tried to piece together what could have possibly happened to Jefferson, how they had been separated, anything. But he came up blank.

     The coordinator, noticing that Pierce was up and about, made a mark on a sheet on his clipboard and asked him where Jefferson was.

     "I have no idea, I've been asking around, but no one else knows."

     "Alright, well, have a medic clear you and make sure to file a report before you go home. And make sure to get some good rest"

     “Yes sir." Pierce started to walk towards the medics, but a thought occurred to him. "Sir," he turned and asked the coordinator, "did we stop the Elder Mafia?”

     The coordinator's eyes gleamed, “They didn’t manage to get one cent."

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From: Strong-arm Security Corporation

To: #M1487

Subject: Welcome, probie.

     Thank you for choosing to work for Strong-arm Security Corporation. SSC has a reputation for getting the job done, no matter what. As you know, we pride ourselves in hiring only the best for our high-profile, well compensated assignments.  Therefore, in order to qualify for these jobs, you must complete five missions for us. Due to your background and our resulting high expectations for you, you will start with the following assignment:

     Make your way to Building C, 32F on Mendelson Lane on the East Side. This is the second home of a high ranking member of the city’s elite. Once there, you will escort the lone resident for a nighttime stroll around the city, ensuring her safety.

     That is all. And remember, we have high hopes for your success.

-SSCX

     A dark-haired, lean-built young man walked the nighttime streets, skyscrapers piercing through the low-hanging haze that perpetually enshrouded the city’s skyline. He took in everything on this side of town, all of it being relatively unknown to him. He lived on the industrial side, so the hazy strips lit up by various elaborate neon signs flashing their advertisements for sex, spirits, and many other vices were rather new to him. The streets were crowded with rowdy people dancing and shouting as the sounds of voices blended with obnoxious music. All this created an atmosphere of constant motion, a complex problem for anyone who wants to remain situationally aware. But he had experience. As he walked on, he slightly adjusted his casual suit’s jacket, eyes scanning the scene, his heart beating quickly in his chest.

     Eventually he found the street he was looking for and turned down it. There was a row of fancy apartment buildings, and he entered the one indicated by the email. He was greeted by four burly men wearing various large sidearms, and uniforms with SSC badges on the left breast. One of them asked his business there.

     “I’m doing a job for Strong-arm.”

     The security guard smiled and asked, “32F?”

     “That’s right.”

     “The new probie!” The second guard said.

     “I wonder how far he’ll make it,” stated the fourth.

     The first guard nodded at him and smiled, “Make sure to take good care of her, okay? Be on your way now, my friend,” and he indicated the elevator.

     The young man replied, “I’ll do my best,” and the guards laughed. He walked to the elevator and pressed the button. His heart started beating more regularly now, the relaxed nature of the exchange putting him somewhat at ease. The doors slid open, and he walked on. He had never met any of the city’s elite before. He wondered if she was attractive.

     When the doors slid open, he walked to the door marked F. He knocked twice. After a brief moment, the door opened, and he was greeted by the stench of death, as well as a robotic voice. “Welcome,” it said.

     He stood there at the door, looking at the inside of the apartment in confusion. He could see that there was a kitchen on one side, and a room for entertaining guests on the other. However, all around, kept out of the way of the needs of human functioning, tucked in corners and on walls was a playground, the kind built for cats. “Please, do come in,” the voice insisted.

     After a brief moment of consideration, the man entered the apartment, and the door closed behind him. He looked back, startled, then walked further in. As he turned the corner to the right, he saw the rest of the apartment that was hidden before, and he realized that he was the sole human in the unit.

     At the end of an odd hall that went off of the main room, he saw what reminded him of a tiny alter before a small pedestal covered in what looked like animal hairs. On the alter lay the bloodless remains of several of the cities rats, fairly young by the size of them, innards spilling out.

     “Mr. Pierce,” the disembodied voice said, if you will turn your attention to the corner behind you, you will see who you must guard tonight.” He turned around, and in the middle of a bunch of stuffed animals, he saw what he missed on his first look around the room, a black cat lying lazily on its side.

     “Are you serious?” the man asked the voice, disappointment washing over his countenance.

     “Quite. This cat belongs to Adrian Belle, one of the most important women in the city, and its safety is therefore a high priority assignment. SSC usually gives this job to those who have already passed probation. However, there are a few for whom the Company sees fit to make an exception. You are one of them. May I ask what experience you have had that makes you so qualified?”

     After a brief pause, he replied “I was a soldier.”

     “Oh, well, thank you for your service. Go ahead and escort Miss Fluffles around town.”

     “Where do I take it?”

     “Just follow behind her. She is a smart beast. She knows her way around the city better then most beings.”

     “I see,” and turning to go, he said, “Well, um, come on cat, let’s get going.”

     At that, he heard a loud rumbling sound. He saw Miss Fluffles turn to look at him. The feline’s eyes were filled with fire, glaring at him.

     “Treat her with a deal of respect, Mr. Pierce, or you will not have a good evening.”

     Pierce nodded cautiously and stepped aside to make way for the black cat. The door opened up, and they got to the elevator. They stood side by side in silence as they descended. There was something about this cat he didn’t like, beyond the fact that it was some wealthy politician’s spoiled child. He could feel the glare of the cat as it looked up at him, daring him to make eye contact. His discomfort grew, moment by moment. The door finally opened, and the cat walked out, now looking ahead. He let out a sigh of relief.

     Miss Fluffles led the way past the snickering guards, out the hotel door, and into the street. She ambled along under streetlight after streetlight, down the road lined with high-end high-rise apartments and onto a street with large Gothic mansions that looked like relics of the ancient past when compared to the apartments. He looked at them as he followed the cat. “Well, this is a weird situation, isn’t it cat?” he asked, hands in his pockets. The cat glared at him again, and the odd way it did so sent a shiver down his spine. He averted his gaze. The wind whistled eerily over the chimneys of the evil-looking houses. The gnarled branches on the barren trees on the front lawns looked like bony fingers stretching in preparation for grabbing any passersby and pulling them into the ground to drown in the soil. The black cat led on.

     He was happy when he finally started to see other people as they made their way along the edges of the same sin-ridden part of town he walked through to get to Miss Fluffles' place. It was less crowded on the outskirts, which was good. He could follow the cat and scan the people with some level of ease. He saw some men hanging around outside of a bar, slurring their curses leveled at their tyrannical bosses. He saw women, young and old dressed in skimpy but gaudy clothes, making come-ons at the passersby. He saw a beggar with a sign asking for handouts, playing on some notion that the good deed of giving to him would offset whatever dirty deeds the regulars of the district were about to commit. Everyone of these people gave a wide berth to the black cat and him.

     Maybe it was fear of bad luck. He hoped that this job was not some kind of bad luck. He needed the money. Desperately. He would do whatever it takes. But he wondered why he needed to guard this cat? Who in their right minds would try to do anything to the beast? It had such a bad energy about it that it actively repelled anyone near it. And if someone tried to do something to it, he had a feeling it could take care of itself.

     As they continued on, they crossed over into Chinatown. He did not like it there. It reminded him of when he was a soldier. Those were not good times. He continued to follow the black cat, but the more he looked around at the busy foreign faces, the more he looked at their hieroglyphs flashing in neon, the more he heard their gibberish language as they bought and sold their devilish wares, the more unsettled he became. He had an odd feeling that he was being watched. His heart beat an irregular rhythm as he looked from person to person, sweat dripping down his head.

     Now is not then, he repeated over and over again in his head. He ducked into an empty narrow alley and leaned back against the side of one of the old brick buildings, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing. Slowly, his heart started beating regularly again, and he opened his eyes and wiped the sweat off his brow. He quickly stepped out of the alley, and looked around through the neon-bright smoggy haze, the cat nowhere in sight.

     No. No, I can’t fail this job, I need that money!

     He began frantically asking if anyone had seen the cat, but they either had seen nothing, couldn’t understand him, or didn’t care enough to respond to the outsider. He began running in the direction that he had been going before he lost her, when he suddenly heard a shout around a corner further down the street. It sounded like one of the local residents was in pain. He recognized some of the Chinaman's swears.

     He turned the corner and saw a short man with a bloody apron standing to the side of his butcher stall, cleaver at his feet, nursing long bloody claw marks on his left arm. Pierce asked the man where the cat went. The man pointed down a side street. Pierce ran around the corner and saw a hooded man with a brown sac in his hand running through the crowd, knocking people out of his way as he went. Without giving it a second thought, he began chasing the man, shouting at him to slow down. The man gave a brief look back and Pierce saw the thick-bearded man’s face, a bloody scratch over his right eye.

     Pierce chased the man from street to street. Eventually, the stifling atmosphere of Chinatown was left behind, and a calmer attitude was seen in all of the pedestrians that he passed. The bearded man was closer now. He was getting tired. But so am I, Pierce thought. The steeple of a Gothic cathedral loomed large a few blocks away. Who is this man? Why is he stealing a stupid cat?

     He was just about within reach now. Pierce gave one last burst of energy and grabbed the old man around the waist with one hand, pulling him to the ground, while he grabbed the brown bag with the other hand. They grappled on the ground, each attempting to grab the bag. The old man managed to land one solid punch on Pierce’s face, and in that brief moment the old man pulled the bag right out of Pierce’s hand and struggled to his feet, about to run.

     Pierce stood and pulled his handgun from his shoulder holster and pointed it at the man. “This is as far as you go with that sac,” he panted. His suit was torn on the knee and his lip was bleeding. “Give it to me,” he beckoned with his free hand.

     “I have to take the cat to the priest.”

     “Give me the cat.”

     “You don’t understand what you’re doing! It’s not what you think it is!”

     “Give me the cat!”

     The old man stood there. He looked at Pierce. He looked and saw that he was serious. And he saw fear. He put the bag on the ground and started to walk away.

     “Hold it.” Pierce opened the bag and looked inside. Miss Fluffles lay unconscious in the bottom. “Alright, walk away.”

     The old man walked away, looking back over his shoulder every now and then as he went.

     Pierce began retracing his steps with the unconscious cat in the sac, now slung over his shoulder. When he got to the Gothic neighborhood, the cat had woken up and was meowing angrily. He let it out of the bag, and it looked at his bleeding face. It smiled a wry smile and led the rest of the way to its apartment. Pierce was glad that this job was almost over.

     He followed the cat into the apartment building. The guards looked at the exhausted probie with surprise as he walked by.

     “What happened?”

     “Was a little walk more than you could handle, newbie?”

     “Are you sure you’re cut out for this job?”

     Pierce, exhausted from the rough night, turned around in the elevator and said, “No. But I have to do it.” The doors slid closed.

     Pierce stood in front of the bank screen and tapped on his balance. He saw the payment for his completed job, a good amount of money, sent by Strong-arm Security Corporation. You couldn’t get this kind of money working for the police. He never made anywhere close in the army. He tapped the screen, opening up the bills tab. The number was huge. He transferred some to the food service, some to the housing service, and put the rest into the hospital bill. He sighed, then logged out of his account and walked home. He made it to his grimy apartment by sunrise and tried to sleep for the rest of the day.

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