BorderLand: Part I

Vacant eyes stared out across the wealds. The soft sigh of the summer breeze played about the lone figure, fluttering his rather ragged clothes.
This Wanderer had, at last, found the edge of this endless desert, and he was reveling in the lush greenery before him. It rather hurt his eyes, the grass seemed...too vibrant.
The sky was much farther away here, with the pine trees framing the horizon and limiting his vision. He knew, as soon as he crested the hill and descended into the valley below, the solid earth and rock would become too claustrophobic. The bushes, trees, mountains, and even the human habitation found therein would become oppressive. He would feel enclosed on all sides in an embrace of life and color, the passage of time and the struggle against it.
There was also the contest of clear plant-fed oxygen. There was most assuredly no dust down below, or if it was, the smell of fresh water, pine, cedar, moist earth, and the musk of animal life would suppress it.
He could drink all he wanted, bathe all he wanted, eat sweet fruits, and enjoy red-meat!
He'd suffered under the sun for 8 long years, and his Eden lay below...however...
'There always was a 'however'' He sighed, expelling a thin stream of smoke. He needed more time to think, and smoke in peace.

"Bam." The trigger clicked once again, but she hadn't placed the bullets in, not yet, so the sound was an empty one. The rifle remained motionless, balance carefully between two loving hands.
The Soldier had been following her quarry for a week, and now it seemed a perfect shot. He was on top of a hill, standing and staring...and smoking. She'd never seen a man smoke so often. The first thing he did when he woke up, was light up. He'd fallen asleep with a joint in his mouth several times, and almost set fire to his meager camp.
Horrible habit, there, he might kill himself with appetites like that.
Speaking of...she peered through the scope again and smiled.
Her sources were dated, the picture she had was nearly a decade old, and yet, other than a few dozen scars and an impenetrable layer of dust and dirt, he hadn't changed a bit.
Wide, baby blue eyes paired with naturally light brown skin gave him that exotic spark, not to mention the  curly black locks of his hair nor the white scars marking his arm and half his face. Yummy.
She adjusted the zoom and examined those, thankful for such an expensive piece of equipment. She was a mile away, on a rocky plateau, and she could see every detail.
She saw him shift ever so slightly as the wind pushed him forwards, as if urging him to journey into the safety of the weald, where, surely, humanity was of a kinder breed.
She saw him scratch at his forearm, where a particularly inflamed wound had been bothering him for days.
The man had the misfortune to tangle with a coyote a few days prior, and She'd debated shooting him then.
His picture struggled in her grasp, prompted by the wind, but her fist tightened on the slip.
She could easily see him being kind, if a little spacey. Generous...perhaps not, but who knew? She'd never heard him talk, nor interact with other people. But her Boss wanted him dead. That was enough to tell her what side this man was on, whether he knew it himself or not, was never to be known.
The contracted killer sighed and readied the shot. She would be expected back, and she had a long trek home to look forward to.
Her fingers slid the chamber back and loaded the weapon, years of practice turning her movements fluid.
As she lined up the shot, her eyes turned to the picture. The possibilities of who he could be, what he could be, flashed through her mind. It didn't stop her.
She'd been doing this far too long to hesitate now.
The picture would be the best she'd ever see of her victims, and she kept every one. She'd learned fast that people were uglier on the other side of the lens...or scope. In her profession, both cases were lethal.

Nash almost turned around and retreated into the desert. He was used to Silence, and the mere thought of noise and action all about him...he took a particularly long draw from his joint and sighed once again.
Godless isolation never felt so promising, yet, he had a nagging feeling, like an itch in the back of his skull...
Nash sneezed explosively and leaned forward, encasing his face in his hands on reflex, as if it were not mucous but his very brains he was ejecting from his nasal cavity. Something fast brushed the back of his neck, and seconds later, he heard the shot.
The very skies seemed to echo the sound, a roar of thunder splitting the air just as the bullet had. Nash wasted precious time looking about like a startled deer, but his instincts kicked in. He ran into the green valley, figuring any cover was much better than the open, accursed...beloved desert.
He glanced backwards one more time, eyes wide with confusion and more than a little horror, and spotted a figure. It was far off on a distant plateau, nothing more than a shadow, but he'd known the desert long enough to spot something foreign in Her endless sands.

As he turned back, Varian gave him a grim smile. She'd gotten out the goggles, and was more than ready for a game of cat and mouse, especially into the night, where she would be top predator.
What she didn't see, with all of her telescopic gear, was the resigned look of a man taking up arms, with all the sorrow of one putting down a favored dog infected with rabies.
As he ran with the sun to his back, into the tree cover, Nash rummaged his knife out of his knapsack, and tucked it safely in his boot. Next, he found a vial of wire, and slowly put on some thick leather gloves.
He had a lot to do before sunset, and he knew without a doubt his attacker would come for him at night. Twas the manner of their kind.
He only wondered if the man knew exactly what type of quarry he was pursuing so recklessly.
***

Night fell fast in the valley, mainly attributed to the height of the mountains to the west. The thunderclouds fast approaching merely hastened the twilight, turning the skies first a opaque grey, then, steadily, into darker hues of black. Once the sun disappeared from the world, and the storm broke, the darkness would be absolute. The small town of Torck settled in early, the people within this isolated borough eager to retreat into the safety of their homes as the skies above roiled, the air turned frigid, and the light retreated away from the storm's oncoming wrath.
Perhaps the only place still open for business, the Steadfast Waif, sat on the edge of the town, and the only reason this establishment was open for business was that people had reported seeing a Traveler on the roads, and this inn was awaiting and keen for the new blood.
Travelers did not pass by often, or lightly. Torcke was seated in an oasis of a valley surrounded on all sides by either rugged desert, or uninhabitable swamplands. Other than her sister townships, Torcke did not meet anyone from the modernized world outside the desert often.
When the raging winds passed, and the sun returned to her throne in the sky, the people would flood the streets, eager to get a look. Businesses would give him anything for free, if only to hear a story from the wanderer. Anything he had would be held with awe-struck eyes.
This man had crossed the entire desert, and they would laud his bravery and strength.
As for now, Conrad, BarKeep Extraordinaire, would serve the poor, drenched soul some food and keep him company while the winds howled.
As He entered, Sand cascaded from His clothes, the mark of a true adventurer. Conrad strained forward to get a glimpse of the man, head to foot, before he came too close and the bar blocked his view.
The Traveler was dressed in layer upon layer of rags. A torn and burned jacket covered a shirt, so bleached by the sun the original color could not be determined. His pants were in similar wear, and they, along with his shirt, were tucked into his clothes, in order to better keep the sand out. His boots themselves were fine, made with leather and some form of curious metal giving them stability.
It wasn't until the man sat down that Conrad spotted the pale blue scarf, so tattered it hung rather limply down from his neck. The man placed his hands, stained with dirt and covered in the small cuts and callouses of a working man, on the counter and spoke, his voice oddly quiet and soft despite such a rugged frame.
"Something warm, please."
Conrad nodded, transfixed by the exotic color of the man's skin, the way he moved, heck, even his eyes were off, even though they were as blue as his own. "No need to pay, er...what was your name?"
"Nash." The Traveler spoke to the table, face turned down. Conrad felt a little let down, this man was meek. His face was youthful, and held a slightly goofy edge to it, his ears stuck out from his head, his wide eyes looked constantly startled, surprised, and naive, his hair looked soft and silken, and ran down to his shoulders like a young boy's, not a wearied adventurer. The only saving face he had was his height and built, the first being tall, and the second being lean and strong.
As Conrad gathered together the remnants of dinner he'd shared with the customers not a couple hours before, he noticed, in the change of light, scars all along the boys arm and face. Quarantined to the left side, they were debilitating, or overly noticeable, but they were many and varied.
Conrad set down the bowl of soup, and the Traveler treated him with a smile, one made into a grimace due to a long slice in his face, reaching from the corner of his lip up to his ear. "Thank you kindly."
The youth stubbed his cigarette and wolfed down the bowl in a matter of minutes, accepting a glass of whiskey from the man and inhaling that. The second his bowl was emptied, he lit another cigarette, and commenced smoking.
Conrad watched in silence, taking the man for the quiet type. The type that needed time to talk. Judging by the way Nash's hands shook, and how greedily he sucked in, the man had been through some kind of struggle.
He could wait, he was a patient man.

The cigarettes piled up on the bar. One, two, three, four, five...Conrad couldn't help himself. The silence was becoming oppressive, despite the racket of the rain outside.
"Um...sir? You'll catch your death, smoking like that. We're supposed to breath air too, you know?" He tried being humorous, but he was feeling odd, watching the man so desperately. Conrad could feel himself treading in unknown waters.
Nash held up one hand and stubbed out the fifth, "I need it, one more, then we'll talk."
Smoke streamed out of his nose, and the Traveler lit the next one.
Conrad shook his head, and sniffed for smoke. Other than the faintest of odors, he couldn't smell anything. Considering the man was smoking like a chimney, he should be hacking away. Perhaps it was some new world modern joint, one that didn't smell.
Conrad leaned on the bar, starting to feel slightly lightheaded and nauseous.
Time seemed to pass by slowly as he waited for Nash to finish his nicotine fix. To pass the time, Conrad examined the windows, watching for lightning and trying to catch glimpses of the bowing and thrashing trees. Shadows seemed to flit across his window, moving into town. He watched them for a minute, as they were imperceptible against the black sky and he wasn't sure if they were the trees, rain, or the shadows detected often by an over-attentive eye.
The storm was pelting them with erratic rain, and the thrum of the water would stop and start again in time with the wind. He found himself weaving with the pattern, eyes drooping with weariness. Today had been a long day, and surely the Traveler would have enough time tomorrow to talk.
Conrad jolted awake, and looked up to see Nash staring expectantly at him. "Er...what?"
The Traveler pointed to his latest conquest, and held up empty hands. "You're curious, we can talk now." His voice cracked with seldom use, but he seemed eager enough. Conrad roused himself with great effort, and tried to keep his eyes open.
The first question tumbled from his lips, uncontrolled, and impulsive, "Where are you from? What brings you here? Did you meet anything exciting?"
Nash took his time answering, and just as he opened his mouth to reply, a massive explosion shook the building. Conrad's hearing was reduced to nothing more than a high pitched buzz and his already muddle head grew thicker. He ducked behind the bar, "What in the name of God was that?!"
Nash didn't stir from his seat, the only sign of surprise marking his features was his brow stretching a little higher.
"Garn, thought it would take him more time to reach that one...That means he's already bypassed the pit and the trees...that leaves the wire..." Acting on their own, Nash's hands reached into his pocket for another cigarette.
Conrad leaped up, demanding, "What was that?!" He was unsteady on his feet, and cursed as he knocked over a bottle of wine. "Bastard- that was homemade! Tell me what trouble you brought to my town!"
The man calmly got to his feet and spoke slowly, "Funny how quickly opinion turns. I've brought danger, but don't worry." He leaned forward, inches from Conrad's face. The barkeeper dare not flinch away.
Nash's breath warmed his cheek, and Conrad got the briefest scent of the smoke, not strong, hardly there, but smelling of something burned, something sickly sweet, and something heavy, almost as musk. "I'm going to fix it. Sorry again for the trouble."
Conrad swayed, he couldn't control his tongue. He wanted to catch that scent again, he leaned closer, almost crashing into Nash's chest as he tried to lean over the counter. His hands latched onto the scarf hanging around the Traveler's neck. What this would signal to the other man, he didn't care. That scent was addicting.
Nash's hand tangled in Conrad's hair and the barkeeper was brought eye level with the Traveler, "Don't go outside until morning. Once again, I apologize."
Nash slammed the barkeeper's fragile skull into the counter top. The man crumpled into a heap, breathing shallow and heart slowly, but steadily beating. Nash pulled the body into the back rooms, away from any windows, and left him there.
Time to get to work. Thankfully, the storm should keep the townspeople in their buildings. Hopefully they wouldn't venture outside to explore that 'particularly loud blast of thunder' and remain in the safety of their thin wooden walls.
No one needed to see this.

***

Varian was understandably pissed. She'd slogged through the mud for hours, almost fell in a pit full of spikes, got hit by a tree, and, more recently, exploded on some old mines. This looked bad. In every way.
It'd taken her three more days than it usually did to kill her target. She missed him in her first shot, which was unheard of. And the target had the gall to set these little booby traps up as she tracked him through the pitch black, pouring rain.
After the pit incident, she'd moved slower, taking less stock in keeping close to him and more into not tripping his inane traps.
Her targets had never fought back, none had ever even known she'd been there. And this one just so happened to not only avoid her shot (in the most humiliating manner possible) but he also knew how to jerry-rig a tree to fall over on her as she passed without leaving a trace.
Varian could only take so many coincidences without calling bullspit. The landmine had been an interesting set up. They were placed in the air, strung up between two trees and rigged to fall should a trip wire be engaged.
Or so she thought. She'd stepped over the trip wire, ever so carefully, and triggered another trap. A log fell out of the sky and rammed into her, causing her to fall into another damned pit. And the said mines hanging in the trees had been dropped on her.
The only thing saving her had been that the mines were old. Decades old. Antiques, compared to her equipment. None of them had exploded, through some sheer force of luck, and Varian had had time to scramble out of the pit and nurse her wounds.
Causing an explosion in hopes the target would think she was dead was a simple matter. The mines were old, but they could still explode.
Especially with a few grenades to speed along the process.
Now, on the edge of town, she took a moment to take stock. She'd lost a few rounds of ammo for her Glock, but there was nothing to  cry about. Her rifle was useless in close range so she'd broken it down and stored it in her bag. She still had a couple grenades and her knife. Her pistol should be more than enough, she just needed to keep a handle on the ammo.
So other than being miserable and a tad angry, she was okay.
So, he'd hidden himself in the town. How cute. Safety in numbers was a lie, and the verification that he was a coward made her smile. Every little bit made the job easier, which meant getting out of this strange storm faster.
Her goggles were of no use here, the water would soak through them the second she opened their case. She couldn't see out of them anyway, not with the deluge like it was. Infra-red? Ha.
She would be okay. Things would go great. This target was no different from any other, he just came with more military background than she was used to. Nothing she couldn't handle. No horrible implications here, a lone assassin sent into No Man's Land to fight a man who happens to know exactly what he was doing. Just coincidence.
Varian wished she'd been born with a tad more naivete, but her mind was whirring with the possible concurrence, and what it would signify for her.
No no no. He was still outgunned. She was born and bred to do this, fear was a misnomer. Onto the task.
Her eyes caught the feeble light of the closest building, and as she head for it, she could see the shapes through the windows. Her target was inside...and getting fairly close to the man in the shop too.
She rolled her eyes and grumbled, "Of course." She focused on creeping closer through the deluge, and spotted the wire.
Yet another trap, right here out in the open. The treeline was a yard to the back, and all that lie between her and the inn was an open yard of mud and grass.
Varian crouched next to the wire and tried to trace it. It should've been easy. The rain caught on the thin metal wire and ran in rivulets off of it, giving her a clear view.
After a few seconds of fruitless effort Varian stepped over it, grimacing as mud squelched under her boots. Screw it, the wire was in the open, the ground here was too soft for any pits, and she would lose her shit if another tree fell on her. What else could he do?  She thought she heard the sound of wings over the raucous noise of rain, but she could see nothing. Not in this groggy weather. She chalked it down to the trees and advanced.
She spotted another one, and stepped away from it to walk around. What was he stringing these to? Slowly, she maneuvered the yard, noting how the pattern of wire narrowed at the center, and she stayed the hell away from it, circling around the outside.
Varian was no fool. As she neared the window, she pulled the black band around her head down over one eye. She had the feeling this would be a long chase, and she'd need one eye for darkness, and one eye for light, if this idiot decided to hide in everyone's homes like he was doing...now.
She peered inside, but both the target and his friend were gone. The room was empty, but there was broken glass on the floor.
Shit. Had she triggered some kind of alarm?
Lightning flashed, and Varian felt the subtle prick of a knife at her back.
She froze, ignoring her instincts to leaped backwards and attack. There were wires everywhere, behind her, who knew what would happen if she tripped one.
The thought bounced right back at her - what if the wires were fakes, meant to make you take your sweet time crossing an open clearing? You got bluffed into a vulnerable position.
The man was so quiet she didn't catch his first line, "...so don't turn around, and don't move, unless you want me to stab you."
Varian glanced backwards, and stared at the Target. Soaking wet, the lightning sparking behind him, with pale eyes full of silent fury, he was better than his picture, even with the evil grimace sliced into his face.
He leg shout out and the steel-enforced combat boots slammed full force into his kneecap. Bright pain seared into her calf as she did so; she'd caught on the wire and pulled it up as she'd kicked, and it was cutting into he flesh, threading deeper as if a knife through butter.
Her reflexes made her jerk, but the wire wouldn't shake loose, and her struggles only embedded it deeper into her flesh. The target had collapsed, but was quickly rising, wounded leg bent a tad too far back, and bleeding.
Something clicked, whatever trap he'd set was now active. Varian threw caution to the wind and grabbed the razor wire, ripped it out of her calf,and made her way out of the horrifying web, which was rising and tightening over any still within it.
Wings again, she felt something brush her neck before losing her footing. Her eyes turned up into the roiling skies, but again, nothing was there. She ran out of the wire trap as quickly as she could on her legs, and ignored any half-heard rustles and cries she might have heard along the way through the darkness.
She crashed into a rough cobblestone road, but was thankfully out of the mud and safe from the wire trap.
She turned to watch the Target become the victim of his own razor wire, smirk ready on her face despite the searing pain in her leg.
He was struggling to stand, his injured leg sticking out at odd angles and prodding the wires as they closed around him.
His wide eyes turned on her, and he smiled.
Varian had always boasted a high tolerance to pain, and she'd had special training in order to place her own injuries second to the job, but what she saw next brought the panic back full force.
The Target reached down and bent his knee back into shape, shattered kneecap and all, and strolled over to her, avoiding the web and walking with only the slightest of wobbles.
She...she could still see shattered bone and ruptured flesh glinting in the light, he...he...couldn't...
He's not human. He can't be.
She drew her pistol and fired. 1, 2, 3, 4...
Perhaps in the most ridiculous maneuver she'd ever seen, the second her finger had tightened on the trigger the Target had fallen flat on his back and rolled, much faster than Varian had imagined possible, off to the side.
Biting back fury, she whirled and raised the gun to shoot at the man again, but something slammed into her wrist and cut through the delicate muscle keeping her grip on the gun. It fell into the mud and Varian rocked back on her heels in agony.
A knife blade had slid through her fingers,missing the bones but cutting through muscle. She held it up and caught sight of the Target's hand, languidly holding a sheath. Her eyes traveled from the sheath to the knife.
The blade was sleek-pointed, but midway up the blade curved down, like a hook, or a spear. A wire connected the two, and her eyes flickered up to the Target, wide and pleading.
There was a slight click and the Target gave the line an almighty jerk, ripping through her hand and pulling Varian to the ground.
"You ffff-ffffah...augh." She stifled the moan and leaped to her feet, stumbling as her wounded calf almost gave way. Her free hand scooped the Glock, but by the time she'd aimed it, he was standing, and pointing the bloodied knife at her.
A stalemate. She was sure bullets traveled faster than whatever contraption was powering his knife.
"Shhh." He took another inhale from his cigarette, and thunder crashed around them. Varian jumped, and hissed in pain, she was getting nervous, shadows were everywhere, and she thought she could hear things in the storm. The Target wasn't speaking, but he wasn't attacking her either.
Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her standing, she needed to end this.
"Shhhh." Another toke from his cigarette, she could see his eyes cross slightly with each inhale. "...Are you a pirate?"

Her aim shook, and she almost dropped her arm. "...What...?" She took a step forward with her good leg, and winced. "You are about to be shot, murdered in cold blood, and you ask me something stupid like that? Do you want me to kill you slowly?!"
He mirrored her moves, and shrugged, "You have one eye covered."
Varian's teeth cracked with the force of her snarl. "Shut up, just shut up and die!"
She moved to shoot him between the eyes, he wasn't trying to evade, he looked rather relaxed. The rain was even letting up. His arm remained steady though.
He would shoot as she did. So all she needed to do was shoot and duck, right?
Pull that fall on your ass trick, and just lay there as his corpse fell.
"You're not even curious as to why, who wants you dead." She spat at him, and shook her head.
"A lot of people want me dead. Do you?"
She shrieked, baring her teeth and holding up her wounded hand, "Of course I want you dead! Now look! I'm going to kill you. I'd normally give someone who's thwarted me THIS long a few last words, but no! Take one last breath from your cancer stick and kiss your ass goodbye!"
She strode up and pressed the barrel to his forehead, batting his knife away. She wanted to see him bleed, to feel brain matter and other shrapnel splatter on her soaked clothes. She wanted to see his eyes as they lost their spark, for all this nuisance had cost her.
He let it go, limply, taking no notice as it fell in the mud. "My name's Nash."
She growled, "Shut up and take your smoke. I'm going to enjoy killing you."

"Can you blame me for defending myself?" He drew one last breath from the joint, his fingers tapping the cylinder and making a odd flicking motion. He leaned into the barrel, closing his eyes.
"Yes, I can." She pulled the trigger.

The trigger cracked and fell from the gun, along with it's barrel. He held up the cigarette sheepishly, and she saw he had been wearing gloves, twined between which a mass of wire. He grabbed her arm as she tried to flee and swung her close.
Varian struggled like a wildcat, but the blood loss was making her nauseous and dizzy. She let out a shriek.
"LET ME GO!"

"No, Varian." He blew smoke into her face, twisting her arm and making her gasp. Varian snarled and spat, and sank her teeth deep into his forearm. He didn't fight, he held his arm out and let her bite as hard as she could. Another scar among the many peppering his arm.
She tried to bite harder, but her strength was leaving her, she slumped down into the muck. He fell with her and blew another rush of smoke into her face.
She was nodding off, but she fought to speak as the scent of burning flesh and decay filled her nostrils, "M'name..."
He pushed her down and laughed, "Sorry, Vars. Not this time." He took his scarf and ripped it into pieces. He cleaned her wounds as best he could and bound them, speaking conversationally, "Now, next time you try, don't be so angry. It clouds the thoughts, and makes you reckless."
He was speaking to deaf ears, Varian had lost consciousness and was gone to the world.
"And next time there won't be civilians, so I won't hold back." He retrieved is knife. Those wide, dilated eyes narrowed for a moment, "Aw...my smokes are low...Vars, it' suit you kindly to kill me before they're gone. You too."
He pat her cheek and struggled to his feet. His knee would need tending to, but he needed to disappear. Somewhere safe, somewhere where he knew he could hide for a few weeks without interruption.
The houses looked dilapidated as he moved down the road. Their doors were shaken, and chipped from the strength of the wind and the furies of the storm. Gashes gouged out of the wood grain stood stark on the peeling paint, and both the water pooling about the porches and the water rushing from the gutters was tinted red.
The Wanderer got up and slowly trudged towards the desert. He held up Varian's bandanna, tied it around his neck, and smirked, "I still think you're a pirate."

***

"...Nash...?" Conrad shook the man's elbow, but he remained still. "Nash!"
Those eyes remained fixed on one point, looking slightly alarmed. His mouth was hanging open slightly, and turned down at the corners.
Conrad had been watching him stare at the cactus in apprehension for about five minutes, and he was starting to feel anxious himself.
"Nash! Wake up!" He shoved the taller man over and Nash fell bonelessly into the sand. He blinked, letting out a small huff, and looked up at Conrad with confusion.

"What is it, Comrade?"

"I told you my name is Conrad. What were you looking at?" He helped Nash stand to his feet.

"Hmm...I was just thinking about the day we first met." Nash's eyes never focused on one thing, Conrad had been quick to learn. The man was always moving, looking, staring, and being bewildered by whatever he saw.
"Oh, you mean when we met a week ago? Oh yeah, real good memories there." Conrad used sarcasm almost every day now. He had to lay it on thick with this man, or else he'd agree with everything Conrad said.

"You're right." Conrad cringed as Nash spoke. Always predictable, and yet not at all. He shook his head.

"No, not good. Being drugged by a crazy man and waking up to find a homicidal bitch threatening your life covered in blood is not among the memories I'd count as good. How's your arm?" He pointed to the man's forearm.

"It'll scar beautifully." Nash hobbled to their spot in the shade and sat. They'd set up a temporary camp outside the village under a large slab of rock. Nash was right at home sleeping under an unstable boulder, but as for Conrad sleep had been sparse this past week. "There was something else...something sad...

Conrad sighed heavily, "Yes, the entire town was..." He stared at his hands, "dead."

Nash didn't reply, and the bartender looked up at him sharply, "You're sure the assassin wasn't responsible?"

"Vars wouldn't kill everyone out of spite. I know what did it." Nash glanced at the shorter man, "You still want to kill it?"

Conrad nodded, swallowing. The bodies had been mauled and torn to shreds. Something had taken bites out of them and feasted upon their organs. None of the children had been found. This monster needed to die. He didn't care if he'd had to join up with the assassin to do it, he'd make sure it was exterminated.

"My price for killing it for you is simple." Nash kept a level tone, as he always did. Conrad had never heard Nash utter a word that wasn't in that monotone, unless he stole the mans cigs, but even then the irritation directed at him was minuscule.

"Hey now, you didn't say anything about a price when-"

"I want someone to talk to while we hunt it down. This shut Conrad up. He knew he had no chance of fighting the monster, he was a barkeeper for Christ's sake! This man, he sensed some immense strength in this man, despite his drugged state. Nash could do it, if the hit-woman's wounds had been any indicator. But...a demand like that...

"What did you think I would ignore you throughout the entire trip?!"

Nash nodded. Conrad punched him. "...isn't that woman gonna come get us?"

"No, she swallowed her pride and retreated. She wont bother us for a while." Conrad almost missed the next sentence it was so tonelessly delivered, "I can't wait." The man tugged at the bandaged binding his knee. The setting had been messy, and it had unnerved Conrad to watch Nash try to piece together his own kneecap which, thankfully, had only been fractured. The man had been too high to care, and now Conrad was careful about breathing whatever toxic smoke Nash kept exhaling. "It's going to be so fun."

Conrad was unsure if he meant the assassin or their hunting of the monster responsible, but the smile on Nash's face was of a child's. Happy, excited, and impatient, Nash grinned, no sign of the somber man he'd met just a week before. No sign of the man who'd fought so easily with a trained assassin either,
He wondered sometimes exactly what he'd gotten himself into.

Hello! This is a short little introduction to the Adventures of Conrad and Nash in the mystical, endless, boring desert BorderLand. Each Part won't be too related, and I'll stick to the plot...loosely, so I figured short installments would be appropriate.
I like writing these shorts when I'm having trouble with other plots. Feel free to rate and review, I always love feedback, and I'm psyched to finally have posted something on this site! : )
~Zekkie