REMNANTS OF THE RAZOR’S EDGE PART I

James patiently waited at the scuffed wooden counter of the old bookshop he was currently visiting.

He had a mystery to solve, and it was a big one. He was a mercenary, and he’d been a mercenary for almost as long as he’d been stuck in this crazy world of magic and monsters, but now he had a problem, a real and honest issue, and he needed it solved before it blew up in his face.

He was getting old now, not as old as the old man that ran this shop, but still…he had some grey in the short curls of his black hair. He was a fairly big man and definitely still in shape, his athleticism for his age necessary for his profession, but what stood out on him was the scar that bedecked the dark skin of his face, that scar running from just underneath his left eye all the way down to the bottom of his chin.

He’d gotten that scar a long time ago from a particularly nasty encounter with a widow’s spawn back when he was barely out of his teens, and that scar was a warning, a warning of things that go bump in the night, a commandment that those things needed to be put down and permanently, that mission one of the main reasons he was a merc in this world.

His life took him where the wind blew it. He carried everything he owned on his back as he wandered this world, and it was a lonely life, but it was what he was used to. He just wasn’t the type to settle down, especially in a world where both actual magic and every nightmare imaginable could exist.

Of course, he couldn’t live the life of a breach-merc without the gear, and it had taken him many years to collect that gear, but that gear kept him alive, and that was the primary reason he had it.

He always wore his black tee, his brown cargo pants with many pockets, his brown leather outdoorsman boots, his brown leather jacket, and his black bullet-proof vest, all of that clothing enchanted to Hell and back, all with different, necessary enchantments for whatever situation was at hand.

His Hermes-Alliette helm was currently folded into his neck collar via spacial magic, and he would hit the button for it on his collar to summon it the moment he needed it. That helmet was one of the most important pieces of his merc-gear…It had saved his life more than once. It came with its own virtual intelligence, a V.I. that was programmed specifically for breach hunting, and it also sported night vision and sonic dampeners as well. It had been a pricey purchase, but it was a must for the field.

And then there were his weapons. On his left hip was his enchanted saber, a genuine 1860 Union Cavalry Saber he had found and carried over from his world. Because it had come through a breach, it was rift-charged, rune covered, and unbreakable. Plenty of weapons had been spit from breaches, but this one was special, because it was rune sensitive, making it easier to enchant than even a weapon forged in this world.

But he wasn’t here because of his saber or his other gear. He was here because of his gun.

His Rune Maker was in its holster on his right hip. The artifact six-shooter was different from guns forged in this world because it could stamp runes directly onto the bullets fired from it rather than shooting pre-enchanted ammo. It was archaic, true, but it was also versatile, stylish, and just plain cool.

The problem in question was that there were only supposed to be twelve runes on his Rune Maker, six on each side of the gun, and he knew what those runes did, but a thirteenth rune had showed up after his last job, that rune squarely on the bottom of his prized gun’s grip, and this had never happened before. True, the symbols on his piece weren’t actual Norse runes from his original world, but that’s what people here called them, so that’s what he called them, and to be fair, even the usual ones were dangerous, so having a thirteenth one of these damned things gave him some serious anxiety…

He did not know where this rune had come from or how it was even possible to alter the runes on his artifact pistol, but that was why he was here, to find out the answer to this very concerning question.

No, James wasn’t in this bookshop for the books. He was here for information, specifically information on the weird and unusual, and the old man who ran this place was a veritable sage when it came to that type of commodity. James’ old world had been fairly mundane until it had been destroyed by a monster apocalypse, but this new world had always been this way, the way of magic and monsters, so “weird and unusual” here was actually saying something.

At any rate, this mystery needed to be solved.

The old man he was waiting for came trundling out of a back room, a large and weathered, leather tome in the octogenarian’s wrinkled hands.

The shopkeep was a stooped and aged balding man dressed in a white button-up, a grey tweed vest, grey tweed pants, and shiny brown dress shoes. This old man had Captain-Picard-style hair, a ring of white around his head, but he also wore a green plastic head visor on a white band, something garish and tawdry, true, but somehow fitting for his age and occupation.

“I think I’ve found something,” said the old man. “I knew I’d seen that symbol before.”

“Good,” frowned James. “I don’t know what this is on my gun, but it appeared right after a job I did south of Hollowstone. I don’t like having strange symbols just appear on an artifact I’ve owned for nearly three decades…Makes me twitchy.”

“South of Hollowstone, eh?” asked the old man as he squinted one eye. “Did you go near the Mourning Field?”

“More like in the Mourning Field,” snorted James. “The place wasn’t a breach per se, but it acted like one giant one, but it’s closed now, or neutralized, or whatever. There is no Mourning Field anymore, or at least, it’s safe to go in now. It’s just a wide stretch covered with ash, rocks, and dead trees. I and a friend killed the big boogeyman that was infesting that place.”

“Is that so?” asked the old man with no small amount of surprise in his voice. “What was haunting it?”

“‘Haunting’ is an apt choice of words,” said James. “It was an Undying.”

“Undying are named,” said the old man. “There aren’t many of them. Some of them have been destroyed, but there are still some who are unaccounted for…Who was it?”

“Jack the Ripper,” frowned James. “You wouldn’t know him.”

“Ah,” nodded the old man. “I do know that one.”

“Wait, what?” asked James.

That was kind of hard to believe, considering the infamous serial killer was from James’ own world, not this one, not this crazy world of magic and monsters that James had stepped into way back when. He’d been a young man back then.

He was pushing fifty, and soon he would be fifty—his birthday was coming up—but he’d been living the life of a mercenary in this world since his mid-twenties, and as far as he understood, he was the only ‘riftwalker,’ a living person who had managed to cross a breach alive, that he knew of. He didn’t think this old man was a riftwalker, but how the old codger knew about Jack the Ripper was another definite mystery, but that mystery was solved a second later.

“I have an ancient newspaper called The Illustrated Police News in my collection,” said the old man. “It blew in through a breach. It came from another world, the same world, I suspect, that your Undying came from, considering the main article within it is on your Jack the Ripper. Because the paper is rift-charged, the hand drawn pictures in it move…It’s quite fascinating…Of course, that’s not quite as fascinating as having the honor of destroying another world’s monster.”

“So you believe me, then?” asked James in surprise. “I didn’t think you would.”

“Oh, I believe you,” said the old man. “That Rune Maker you carry is one of only a hundred-and-thirty-three ever made. It takes a pact with a demon to create one. The runes on these pistols are set for eternity by whatever demonic force created them, and new runes don’t just ‘appear’ on them.”

“I figured,” said James in slight confusion. “So what’s going on with it?”

The old man stared him straight in the eyes, wagged one finger at him, and gave him a knowing smirk.

“You’ve had dealings with Death, young man, haven’t you?” he said matter-of-factly.

This was surprising. This old man was really, really good at his job if he had figured that out just by research. Plus, James hadn’t been called “young man” for at least two decades.

“How in the hell did you know that?” asked James.

“The new rune on your pistol is an ancient, arcane symbol for the Angel of Death,” said the old man. “This symbol is pre-Urnian, which means it has been around since before the first Urnian settlers on our great content, since the time of the Originals.”

James was somewhat of a history buff, but this was mainly history from his original world, not Other Earth. This world he now called home had different time periods, mainly based off of colonization periods by stragglers from other worlds, ancient rift walkers, but James, as far as he knew, was the only recent rift walker any more. Walking through a breach was just too damned dangerous to attempt…

But that was beside the point. Point was, he wasn’t too up on Other Earth history.

“Ooookay,” drawled out James. “I’m not too familiar with that time period, Mr…uhhh…”

“Nebsmith,” said the old man. “The Originals were the first recorded inhabitants on Other Earth, Mr…”

“James,” replied James. “That’s the only name I use anymore.”

“Ah,” nodded the old man. “I do indeed know of you, Mr. James. You just confirmed my suspicions of your identity.”

“I did?” asked James in slight surprise. “How so?…I mean, you know who I am?”

“Oh, yes,” said the old man with a smile. “You have quite the reputation, Mr. James. I keep track of the federal registry for mercenary hires, and considering your age, the color of your skin, that scar on your face, and the fact that you only have one name, I figured you to be the mercenary in question whom I suspected.”

“And is that a problem?” asked James.

He didn’t really check the Fed’s registry that often. He mostly knew of other mercs through word of mouth, but if the Feds had been bad-mouthing him?…That wasn’t good.

“No, not at all,” said Mr. Nebsmith. “I do believe, however, that you have some extensive experience closing breaches, and in fact, am I not mistaken that it was you who closed the Blood March in West Bask?”

“It was,” said James warily.

“Are you familiar with the Marcos the Riftwalker books?” asked Nebsmith.

James cringed at that question. He was, unfortunately, very familiar with the fan fiction his fence and rune-technician, Lazarus Radditz, had written about him, and that fan fiction wasn’t so much fan fiction as it was a documentary.

“Unfortunately,” winced James.

“I suspect those books are about you,” grinned the old man, “and, I think, we both know they are…You see, the latest book, Death’s Realm, by Lazarus Radditz, has our hero Marcos trapped in the Liminal by Death himself. Going off of what you’ve told me about the Mourning Field, and considering it takes the Angel of Death to destroy an Undying, I suspect Death’s Realm is not so much fiction as it is a factual account of real-life events. Therefore, I can only assume that you are one of the few people who have had dealings with Death and have garnered Death’s favor, Mr. James.”

“Wonderful,” muttered James.

The detective work on the old man’s part was not so surprising as was the origin of the rune. To be honest, James wanted nothing to do with Death, because Death had messed with him enough for one lifetime.

“If this rune was put on my gun by Death, then is it even safe to use?” asked James. “For one thing, I don’t trust Death at all, and for another, I try to avoid the heavy, ‘legendary’ stuff when it comes to magic. I prefer to keep breathing.”

“Invoking this rune will grant you one absolutely and completely lethal shot,” nodded Nebsmith. “Once the bullet is stamped with Death’s rune, that bullet will kill anything it impacts, no matter what it may be…However…because this rune is a divine favor, a…a ‘payment’ of sorts for services rendered, I suspect it has but one use…Use it wisely.”

“Understood,” nodded James.

This was interesting news. Apparently, Death had paid him for services rendered, because killing Jack the Ripper had not been easy. Nevertheless, it was James who now needed to pay the old man, because in all fairness, Nebsmith had done good work, quick and accurate at that.

“What do I owe you?” asked James. “I think we can come to a fair pri…Wait…What’s the trigger phrase for the rune? Death’s rune does me no good if I can’t activate it.”

“That, I cannot tell you,” said Nebsmith. “However, that particular arcane symbol that appeared upon your Rune Maker is called ‘Death’s Touch.’ I suspect that is the trigger phrase, but I’m not entirely certain.”

“Well, when the time comes, I guess I’ll find out,” grunted James.

“Hopefully, you won’t have to use it,” nodded the old man. “As for what you owe, that’ll be two hundred and fifty credits, Mr. James.”

“That’s fair,” said James. “A little pricey, but you do good work, Nebsmith. I think I’ll be coming around more often…Ridgewind’s a little out of the way, but I can occasionally swing by.”

“Excellent, excellent!” grinned Nebsmith. “You provided me a challenge, Mr. James, and I always look forward to a good mystery…So…are you paying all of your bill today, or would you like to start a tab?”

“I’ll settle up now,” replied James. “Actually, throw in one of those books on Other Earth history, New Continent. I’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Of course, Mr. James,” said the old man.

*****

James walked down some concrete steps toward the basement back door of The Bullet’s Hour, a bar he would sometimes visit anytime he happened to be in Ridgewind. The back basement door held the lower bar, a special place where only mercenaries like himself were welcome. Anyone could use the upper bar, and he could use the upper bar, but he felt like some special treatment for himself was in order. After all, he was packing Death’s Touch, and he had actually earned that nasty little bonus.

He opened the blue-painted metal door and entered a grimy, barely-larger-than-a-closet area where a single guard stood behind a blue wooden counter and a black metal ticket grate. There was a large grey metal door to the right of him, the locked entrance and exit to the bar he desired to visit.

“Identification, please,” asked a young woman from behind the counter.

This young woman was short, white, black hair in a crew cut, covered in tattoos…typical fare for this joint. Probably a local hire, probably armed with the standard SMG these guards were normally armed with.

“Here’s my D-card,” said James.

He slid his ID underneath the grate, and the young woman took his D-card. She briefly inspected his ID, picked up a clip board with a list on it, inspected the list, put down the board, and then slid his ID back to him.

“Yep, you’re the last one,” said the young guard. “You’re on the list, Mr. James.”

“I am?” asked James. “Wait…They’re doing a list now? I thought any merc could walk in here.”

The young woman shot him a thoroughly confused look.

“For the Castellan Crew, Mr. James,” she replied. “It starts in ten minutes. You’re just in time.”

“I am?” asked James in surprise. “I don’t understand…What is the Castellan Crew?…I mean, who are the Castellan Crew?”

“You don’t know?” asked the young lady in equal surprise.

“Uhh, no,” said James flatly. “I just stopped by to get a couple of beers.”

“You’re telling me you just ‘stopped by’ during Mr. Castellan’s recruitment?” asked the young guard. “You’re on the list, and you didn’t know about it?…Do you live in Ridgewind and come by every night or something? I haven’t seen you before.”

“No,” said James. “I was just here in town on unrelated business. I rarely ever hit Ridgewind…What is this…uhh…Mr. Castellan recruiting for?”

“Wait, you…Wait…” said the young woman as she shook her head in confusion. “You honestly didn’t know? Are you messing with me? The recruitment starts in ten minutes. Mr. Castellan has been sending out a buzz for the mercs on this list for a while now.”

James felt like smacking himself on the head. In the recent past, he’d checked his job phone quite often, and that little grey flip phone was in one of his jacket pockets somewhere, but with the advent of his new rift-charged smartphone, he’d completely forgotten about checking his job phone for some time.

“I’m not messing with you,” said James. “I honestly didn’t know. I was in town on unrelated business, like I said. I sometimes visit The Bullet’s Hour for a couple of beers, that’s all.”

The young lady’s eyes widened as she shook her head in surprise.

“Well, Mr. Castellan is starting his pitch in ten minutes,” she replied. “You can grab a couple of beers in there for free while he’s laying out the details of the job. Drinks are on him tonight.”

“Works for me,” snorted James.

“You really didn’t know?” asked the young woman again. “Seriously? You just showed up right now during Mr. Castellan’s hour?…What are the odds of that?”

James narrowed his eyes as he thought about this. The odds of this happening were indeed very slim…If Death was messing with him again…

“Unbelievable,” he frowned. “Well…I probably ought to check it out anyway. Free beer is free beer.”

The young door guard hit a button on her own left, a buzzer went off, and James could hear the distinct click of the lock opening on the grey metal door off to his right.

“You’re free to go in, Lucky,” said the young woman. “That’s your new nickname as far as I’m concerned. You’re ‘Lucky’ now.”

“It’s just James,” said James firmly.

“Nope, it’s Lucky,” said the young lady with a slight smile.

“Well, if I’m Lucky, then you’re ‘Shortcake,’” said James with a shake of his head.

“Hey, my name is Riley,” said the young woman in audible indignation.

“Nope, it’s Shortcake,” grinned James as he opened the grey door and entered the bar hallway.

 He shut the door behind him, thereby winning said verbal showdown.

Contrary to the exterior of the bar, the inside was highly refined. There were oakwood-paneled walls, soft lighting from round electric wall lamps, and round oak tables surrounded by finely crafted wooden chairs, those chairs seated with red velvet cushions. The bar was lined with round, padded, swivel stools, the bar itself made of dark wood that was shined to a clean finish.

There were other mercs in here, and James recognized them right away, mainly because they were heavy hitters, high on the registry like himself.

There was Jimmy Daw at the bar, a big white guy, a musclehead wearing a white tanktop and a sleeveless black leather jacket, but it was the tall green Mohawk on his bald head that really stood out. Next to him was Megan Shmidt, a young white woman with brown eyes, a ravenette with short hair cut like a boy’s, this young woman in her signature canary-yellow leather jacket.

At the tables, James recognized Sig “Hacksaw” Hogan and Marty “Pins” Redfern, two tough-looking dudes dressed in military camo with blocks for faces. Those two worked together as far as James knew, and they were extremely effective at what they did. Hacksaw was the white guy out of the two, and Pins was clearly of Native American descent, though from what tribe Marty’s riftwalking ancestors hailed from, James had no idea.

At another table was Carley “Gin” Rummy, a blonde white woman in her mid-thirties with a black eyepatch across her right eye, a good-looking woman who had more hormones than brains, but she was still a heavy-hitting merc. She had on a black leather jacket with a white playing-card spade on the back of it, but her front was covered by a white bulletproof vest she wore over said jacket.

Across from Carley was a black man in his early twenties, that man with a rising fro cut short on the sides, that man being Malik Simms, an up-and-coming star in the merc world. He had on a brown bomber jacket with a black bulletproof vest over that jacket, and James couldn’t help but see the boy as a younger version of himself.

Last but not least, at a table in a dark corner was…Mogil.

James frowned at this. John Mogil was a Fed, and James had experienced more than one unfortunate run-in with Mogil before. The tall lanky white man in a white button-up, grey business suit, and grey tie had on brown shades to accent his short, curly, brown hair. With his clipped mustache, the man looked like he’d stepped out of a ’70s cop show from James’ own world…James did not like him, and he certainly didn’t trust him. If Mogil was here, that meant Mr. Castellan’s “venture” had attracted the attention of the State, and that was never a good thing.

Nevertheless, James wasn’t here for any of these people. He was here for the free beer.

He planned to sit down at the table with Gin and Malik, maybe shoot the breeze, but he wanted a drink first, so naturally, he headed for the bar.

He signaled to the barkeep, a young white woman in a white button-up and a red vest, and then he sat down at the bar just left of Megan and Jimmy.

“Look what the cat drug in!” grinned Jimmy. “It’s James!”

“James!” repeated Megan in excitement.

“Yep,” grunted James. “What’s up, kids?”

The pair next to him chuckled as James requested a beer from the barkeep. The barkeep slid him a glass mug full of the foaming alcoholic beverage, James took a sip, and then he turned his attention upon the two excited youngsters sitting beside him.

“We didn’t think you were going to show, old timer,” said Megan.

“Yeah,” said Jimmy. “Honestly, I thought you were dead. Ain’t heard from you in a stone’s age.”

“It’s all good,” said James. “I’ve seen this, and I’ve seen that. Been around.”

“Heard you closed The Blood March,” grinned Megan. “That’s one I hadn’t been to. Closed it before I could get there to show you up, didn’t you?”

“Guess I did,” shrugged James.

“What was guarding it?” asked Jimmy.

“Djinn,” replied James.

“That must have been a fight,” said Megan.

“Nah,” said James. “I gave him a better deal. Told him to hightail it back through the breach and close it behind him…He took my offer.”

“Cool,” said Jimmy.

“Where’s Honey?” asked James.

“Got killed,” frowned Jimmy.

“Elder vampire got her down in New Lowland,” sighed Megan.

“Austin?” asked James.

“Got his legs bitten off fighting a wyvern,” said Megan. “He got some cyber-rune replacements, but he retired after that. It’s just me and Jimmy now.”

“So when are you two going to retire?” asked James. “Seems like dangerous work to me.”

“Says the old man,” snorted Jimmy. “You’ve been doing this longer than some mercs have been alive.”

“Ain’t ready to hang up my gun just yet,” shrugged James.

“Neither are we,” said Jimmy.

“Well, you sure are a welcome sight,” said Megan. “We sure could use some more experienced help with this job.”

“I’m just here for the beer,” grinned James. “I don’t even know what the job is.”

“Seriously?” asked Jimmy. “You don’t know what the…Nah…He’s messing with us, Meg.”

If there was anything more to be said, it was put on permanent hold. A voice spoke up loud and clear from in-between the tables, a man’s voice, one bearing pride with a hint of regret, an affect of vocal merging that indicated a tragic backstory of some sort, something James immediately picked up on due to long years of experience dealing with job brokers.

“Attention!” came the man’s voice. “Could I have everyone’s attention, please!”

James turned his own attention to the speaker. The white man in question was somewhat short, only around 5’6”, mid-thirties/early forties in age—hard to tell—with short, curly, blond hair, a pudgy baby face, and dark blue eyes. He wore a brown business suit and a black tie, and his clothes were, for all intents and purposes, of the higher-priced fare.

“Because everyone has arrived, I’ll start now,” said the stranger. “As you already know, I’m James Castellan.”

Another James. It was interesting how the names in this crazy world were still relatively comparable with James’ previous world, though James was only going to think of this guy as “Mr. Castellan.” As far as James was concerned, he, himself, was the only “James” worth concerning.

“Let me get into the gist of my problem,” continued Mr. Castellan. “We all know that Ridgewind was terrorized by the opening of the Razor’s Edge over a year ago, but a young mercenary, a young man by the name of Kit Moncada, recently closed the breach with the use of a Bacon-Scott orb.”

James was well aware of Kit and the boy’s claim of closing the Razor’s Edge, but this Castellan character had just confirmed that as fact.

“Guess Kit wasn’t lying after all,” muttered James.

Of course, after Kit’s performance in the Mourning Field against Jack the Ripper, James had already figured the boy had been telling the truth about the closure, so there was that. That meant, of course, that Kit had actually killed a manticore, just like he’d claimed.

Whatever the case, James turned his attention back upon Mr. Castellan.

“The breach was closed, yes, but we all know these breaches attract powerful rift-creatures, and the Razor’s Edge was no different,” said Castellan. “If you know anything about the Merlin-Crowley line enchantments, then you know that the Merlin enchantment destroys breachers while the interwoven Crowley enchantment attracts them. This allows us to contain the area around a breach to minimize loss of life and property.

“Sometimes, a creature of incredible power will walk through a breach, and that creature is of such power it is immune to the Crowley enchantment, thereby ignoring the call to self-immolate at the Merlin-Crowley line. These creatures are typically of a Class 5 designation and can keep the breach open as long as they wish without cultist or necromancer intervention.

“Because the Razor’s Edge was closed with a Bacon-Scott orb, any Class 5 creatures that crossed over to Other World through the former breach were never destroyed, as there are no reports of such.

“Well…the problem is there is one area in the former breach arena that is still designated as a hazard zone, so the Merlin-Crowley line has not been removed from around it. That area…is my property. It’s my real-estate, and within it is even my childhood home, and…I’m obviously not happy about it.

“From what we know, that area still contains a Class 5 Breacher of unknown classification, and any attempts to cleanse the area with local mercenaries has ended with their…permanent disappearances. My offer is simple: Kill this thing and free up my land so I can start reconstruction. This is why I hand-picked my invitations to all of you, because you are the best, and I want this job done in a quick and clean manner, and that’s only going to happen if I have the best.”

“Kit closed the breach, but didn’t kill the boss,” snorted James.

This wasn’t surprising. Kit was still green around the gills.

Breaches were inherently unstable, so even if they were opened by cultists or a necromancer, they would eventually collapse without the direct intervention of said cultists, necromancer, or…something else. Hence, the boss of a breach arena. Without the cultists or necromancer, the breach could only stay open with a Class 5 Breacher keeping it open, so you kill the boss, you cut off the breach’s energy supply, and the rift closes. End of story.

True, the Merlin-Crowley line attracted breachers, but a Class 5 could ignore that call, as could some lower-class breachers such as some Lovecraftians or damn-near all Undead. If local mercs had disappeared in Castellan’s “hazard zone,” that meant the odds were pretty good whatever was in there wasn’t a low-level Lovecratian or Undead. That meant a Class 5, and that meant some serious pay for this job.

“We will meet back here tomorrow morning at eight sharp,” said Mr. Castellan. “I’ve got a driver and a van to take you to the Merlin-Crowley line in West Ridgewind. The quarantined area is not very big compared to the original breach arena, but considering what it’s keeping contained, I’d say size doesn’t matter in this case.”

James heard Megan give a quiet chuckle as Jimmy chastised her with an equally quiet “Quit it.”

James shook his head as he pursed his lips into a tight line. He needed to make a decision right now about this job, and that decision was a financial one.

“How much for the job again?” voiced James. “I’d like to know the pay one more time.”

Of course, he had no idea what the pay actually was because he’d never heard it in the first place, but he didn’t want to look like a newb who’d just walked in off the street, even though he had just walked in off the street, but that was neither here nor there.

“The pay is twenty thousand, just like in the listing,” replied Mr. Castellan.

James whistled in his own head. Twenty grand would cover a lot of expenses. This job wasn’t looking too bad after all. A Class 5 anything was no joke, but he had some top-listers with him, so this job was actually doable.

“Is this competitive pay?” asked James.

“No,” said Mr. Castellan firmly. “No, the base pay is twenty grand for every mercenary on this job, and that I’m paying out of my own pocket. Ridgewind State of Affairs is offering a further five thousand for whoever pacifies the hazard zone, although that pay is evenly split if there are multiple finishers. Finally, the Federal Bureau of Breaches is paying a total of ten thousand to all who remain after successful completion.”

Ridgewind State of Affairs had a bounty, but that wasn’t surprising. What was surprising, however, was the F.B.B.’s involvement, which meant this job was extra dangerous. Nevertheless, the pay was too good to pass up.

“Okay, I’m in,” said James firmly.

“Excellent,” smiled Mr. Castellan. “I know all of you have closed breaches before, so I know all of you have experience with dealing with breachers of this severity, so I’m counting on you all to be here tomorrow. Anyone that wishes to duck out now should do so. Speak up now, please, because I need a headcount for tomorrow.”

“We’re in!” called out Megan.

“I’m in,” said Malik.

“In,” said Carley.

“Me and Marty are in,” nodded Sig with a stoic face.

James noticed that Mogil said nothing and did nothing, the federal agent preferring to remain silent and still in his own dark corner. It would be good if the man just quietly went on his way, but James was quite familiar with the Feds…If Mogil was here, that meant he was working this job whether anyone liked it or not, and that also meant he was getting paid via taxpayer money.

Well, James knew he, himself, would make do one way or the other, because this pay was too good to pass up.

“I’m certainly happy to hear that everyone is onboard,” said Castellan. “In that case, enjoy the drinks. I have the bar for an entire hour before the usuals come in, so enjoy.”

An hour wasn’t a long time, but it was more than enough time for James to enjoy a couple of beers.

*****

James climbed into a white unmarked van along with the other mercenaries. He noticed that Mr. Castellan was in the driver’s cab with Mogil, who happened to be Castellan’s “driver.” The federal agent had on his grey business suit, but he was lacking his shades.

This was concerning. James did not want to be promised a job with great pay only to be gassed in the back of a van and wake up in a federal facility somewhere…Stranger things had happened. Of course, if any trouble did go down, James was ready to hit the button to summon his helmet. That piece of gear did have limited gas-mask protection.

James took a seat beside Jimmy Daw, who was already sitting next to Megan. On James’ left sat Hacksaw, and across from Hacksaw sat Pins. Across from James and to his right sat Malik, with Gin sitting next to him. It was Malik across from Jimmy and Carley across from Megan, so James was the odd man out, no one across from him, but that was fine. He was used to being alone.

After they had all piled in, the van took off, and they were on their way to West Ridgewind toward the remnants of the Razor’s Edge. James could look through the front grate of the van and see the direction they were going, and that was good, because he still did not entirely trust Mogil to take them where they had all been hired to go.

James gave Malik a single nod in recognition.

“You ready, kid?” he asked.

“I’m ready,” snorted the young man. “You ready, old man?”

“I do this for a living,” said James.

“So do I,” replied Malik, and there was a hint of derision in his tone.

“Is that right?” asked James.

He shook his head and gave Gin a knowing glance.

“Is he ready, Gin?” he asked.

“Mal’s got the chops,” said the blonde. “He’s a little new, but he’s not green. He doesn’t know any other mercs, though.”

“Don’t need to,” snorted Malik.

“You should,” said Gin. “That’s Jimmy and Megan. They’ve been doing this since they were teens…Over there is Hacksaw and Pins. Those two have seen real combat. They’ve been in some border disputes, but they do merc jobs now. They know how to handle the big things…And that man there is James. He’s got more time under his belt as a merc than all of us put together.”

“Is that right?” asked Malik in a clear mimic of James’ earlier statement. “I thought the merc life was for people who don’t need joint cream and a cane.”

James wasn’t about to take the bait. For one thing, there was no reason to. This kid would either cut it, or he wouldn’t, and if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be around to fix whatever mistake he had made, so it didn’t matter.

“I’m not that old, kid,” smirked James. “What weapons you got? Whatchya packin’?”

“Jacobs-Brill light 650,” said Malik. “Danford hawk semi .45 as backup. Couple of frags. Lourdes combat knife just in case. I prefer to go light. Keeps me from getting pinned down.”

“The 650’s a good choice,” said James.

“Very good,” said Hacksaw. “The old JBs don’t jam like the newer models. The newer ones have better aim, higher rate of fire, and more ammo, but they aren’t as reliable.”

James nodded once at Gin.

“Are you still using that Ailer piece of crap?” he asked.

“Ailers are good guns in spite of what you think,” said the one-eyed blonde. “Besides, it just takes a little training to figure them out.”

“I use an Ailer,” said Jimmy matter-of-factly. “I’ve got the 1450, but I hear the 1500 Diamond is coming out soon.”

“I’ve got a 1450, too,” grinned Carley. “We’re gun buddies! Wanna show me your gun? I like big guns. I’ve heard from Megan that you’ve got a pretty big one.”

“Hey, hands off my man!” warned Megan. “You’re always after him for some reason. What gives, Gin?”

“I like men,” shrugged the blonde.

“Really?” smirked James. “You’re never after me.”

“You’re past your expiration date,” said Gin with a snarky look. “I like young men, James, but you already know that, so stop messing with me…That reminds me…Where’s Austin?”

“He’s living with his mom,” said Jimmy in both visible and audible unhappiness. “Lost both legs fighting a wyvern. He killed it, but it was his final job. He’s got a couple of cyber-rune replacements, but he’s not going back out into the field.”

“Sucks,” frowned Gin. “And Honey?”

Megan shook her head no.

“She got taken by an elder vampire down in New Lowland,” said the young woman.

“Is she dead, or is she dead dead?” asked Gin.

James didn’t need an expert’s advice to figure out that question. What Carley wanted to know was whether Honey was actually dead or whether she had been turned into a vampire.

“We don’t actually know,” shrugged Megan. “She got separated from us when we were down there for Fat Tuesday. She was in the crowd one moment and gone the next…Honestly, I’m hoping she’s dead. I already spilled tears over her. I don’t think I could handle it if I saw her again as a vampiress.”

“We spent an entire month looking for her,” said Jimmy unhappily. “Yeah, with the number of vampires down there, they probably ate her…All we found was her jacket covered in blood and shredded all to hell…And we know it was Benoit who took her. That nasty witch sent a couple of messengers to let us know. It was toward the end of our search. We smoked ’em, the messengers, but then we gave up looking for her.”

“Did you get her?” asked Gin. “Benoit, that is.”

“Hell no,” snorted Jimmy. “It would take a party like this to get that bloodsucker.”

“I could take her,” said Malik with the utmost confidence in his voice.

James successfully resisted his laughter, but Hacksaw and Pins had other plans. The two ex-soldiers laughed long and loud as if they had just heard the funniest joke in the world.

“The boy thinks he’s invincible,” chuckled Sig.

“You clearly ain’t fought a regular vampire before, let alone an elder one,” said Marty.

“So,” scowled Malik. “You light ’em up like any other undead.”

“It’s not that easy,” snorted James. “A regular vampire can tear off one of your arms and beat you death with it. They are that strong. An elder, though, will be in your face before you can do anything about it.”

“Even the regular ones are fast,” said Megan. “Jimmy and I nearly got killed down in New Lowland, but we did manage to smoke five of them. Seven, if you count the messengers Benoit sent.”

“Wasn’t easy,” said Jimmy. “We both got thrown around like ragdolls a couple of times, but at least we didn’t get torn apart…The trick is to piss them off. You get them mad, and they start acting like school bullies rather than just trying to kill you. I guess it’s part of their psychoses.”

“I still ended up with a couple of broken ribs,” said Megan. “They’ve pretty much healed, but they’re still tender.”

“All vampires are nuts,” frowned James. “They all have some deranged habits, and it usually centers around torture, violation, and murder. I’m talking serial-killer-type stuff.

“I remember hearing about one vampire…uhhh…a vampiress that liked to catch and torture little kids. She liked to break limbs before finishing them off…That woman did some terrible things to children. Of course, something stronger than her came along and folded her into a human napkin. A vampire takes enough punishment, they turn to ash. Guess what goes around comes around.”

James knew this because he’d read about Jack’s escapades on his smartphone, and that smartphone was actually a rift-charged artifact that was connected to some other universe’s internet. Of course, James did not like to think on Jack or the time that he’d traveled with that darkness, but he’d had a morbid curiosity about what the actual Boogeyman had done over in James’ previous world…Plus, there was nothing like reading about the exploits of Spring-Heeled Jack to pass the time.

Malik looked like he was going to say something on the subject of vampires, but a bang on the front grate of the van turned everyone’s attention toward their employer.

“We’re pulling up now!” warned Mr. Castellan.

The van rolled to a halt, and the back doors opened a minute later. James exited the vehicle along with everyone else, but the first thing he did was take in his surroundings.

It was a gloomy, overcast day threatening rain, but even if it hadn’t been, the scenery would not have improved by much…This part of town was a wreck. It was not quite a ruin, but it was definitely a wreck. The buildings were grey and red empty hulks of shattered windows and storied emptiness, abandoned wastes where even the homeless wouldn’t enter.

“Typical breach aftermath,” muttered James.

He turned to watch Sig “Hacksaw” Hogan ready his Marley-Stine SMG model 73. The man loaded in a color-coded clip; the red stripe on the end of the clip clearly identified the ammo as Ifrit’s Rage rounds.

“We go in as a group first,” said Hacksaw. “We can split up after we enter.”

“Why split up?” asked Megan.

“So it can’t kill us all at once,” frowned James. “Except for Hacksaw and Pins, none of us are used to working in teams anyway. One well-placed grenade, explosive magic, breath weapon—whatever—could kill us all.”

“Works for me,” said Malik. “I’ll head in with Gin.”

“Well, Jimmy and I will be together,” said Megan. “Are you coming with us, James?”

James took a side glance at Mogil. The tall and lanky fed in the grey suit was readying his pistol, some weird futuristic thing that James couldn’t even begin to identify in company or model. Mogil’s gun was a big chrome pistol with a sleek, rounded, 1940s-dieselpunk flare that screamed “mad science funded by the government.”

It was clear the man was going in with them.

“Maybe, maybe not,” replied James. “We’ll see.”

Somebody needed to keep an eye on Mogil.

His attention, along with everyone else’s, however, was pulled back toward their employer.

“I’m heading back to safety,” warned Mr. Castellan. “Contact me after the job is done. If I don’t hear back from any of you…well…”

“Affirmative,” said Mogil. “No contact order means federal military intervention.”

The man had not said a word since their departure, and he’d spoken next to nothing the night before, but James knew quite well what Mogil’s statement meant. It meant that Ridgewind would probably be wiped off the map if this job wasn’t done. A rune-nuke would see to that.

“Enough talk,” said Hacksaw. “Let’s get going.”

“Yep,” replied James.

He drew his Rune Maker as the rest of the party moved forward in a group, a shiver of human sharks ready to commit to a feeding frenzy of bullets for whatever horror lurked within this abandoned part of the city.

James crossed the Merlin-Crowley line alongside the others. The enchanted runes on the cracked pavement glowed with a white light bearing a hint of blue as James crossed over, and he felt the slight buzz and burn from those magics as he did.

He reached up and pressed the button for his helmet, and that steel banded helm formed one band after the next to cover his entire head. His surroundings turned to amber as his small, rectangular amber visors covered his dark eyes.

They entered into the hazard zone and walked in straight line down an alleyway that turned left at an “L” in the distance. They were headed south, at least by James’ estimates, so that brick wall in the distance opened up east. They hit that wall, turned east, walked down that alley, and came up to another wall that directed them south again.

“Eyes open,” said James as they all rounded the corner to head south down another alleyway.

They walked down that alley and out onto a typical, nice, urban-neighborhood street.

Beyond the alley, the dark, trashed, abandoned buildings gave way to sunlight and a pristine urban-neighborhood, showcasing a small two-story house nestled between two very large brick apartment complexes.

“What the…” trailed off James.

Something wasn’t right here.

“This is new,” said Jimmy. “Didn’t expect to see an eye in the storm.”

“I guess the damage wasn’t as bad as it looked like from the outside,” said Megan.

The youngest merc, Malik Simms, stopped as if he’d been nailed in place. James immediately noticed this, so he immediately commented upon it.

“What is it, kid?” he asked. “Did you see something?”

“There’s someone in that house,” said Malik quickly. “I just saw someone.”

“First stop, then,” said Hacksaw as he raised his weapon.

“Hold up,” said James quickly. “Protocol Gamma. Scan for hostiles.”

“No hostiles detected,” came the soft feminine voice of his helmet’s virtual intelligence, though only he could hear it.

“V.I.’s not picking up hostiles,” he said. “If you saw someone, Malik, then they must be a survivor.”

“A V.I. can’t detect a monster of the human variety,” said Hacksaw.

The big man took a moment to spit a glob of saliva onto the concrete walk.

“Better see if it’s a cultist, a necro, or some other kind of two-legged roach,” he finished.

James sighed at this, but he understood Sig’s logic. Better safe than dead.

“I’ll check it out,” he said unhappily.

“I’m coming too,” said Malik.

“Suit yourself, kid,” frowned James, though he knew Malik could not see that frown. “Stay behind me.”

“You can stay behind me,” snorted the young man.

James sighed yet again. This cocky little turd was starting to rub him the wrong way, but James was getting too old to get into it with an overgrown twelve-year-old. Yeah, he’d had his differences with Kit during the whole Whitechapel experience, but at least Kit hadn’t acted like God’s gift to mercenaries.

James holstered his gun as he followed Malik across the street. The young man he was following trotted across the street, hovered next to the side of the two-story’s front door, and waved James onward.

James sighed yet again and walked up to the front door. He rang the doorbell and patiently waited for a response.

He did not have to wait for long.

The door opened in a gentle swing a moment later. James stared in surprise at the mild-mannered expression of the old white woman in front of him, but it was her reaction to him that actually caught him off guard.

“Oh, my…” said the old woman in slight fear.

James shook his head at his own thoughtlessness, reached up, and pressed the button for his helmet, that button located on his brown leather jacket’s neck collar. His Hermes-Alliette helm collapsed back into his jacket’s collar, and he inspected the old woman with his own eyes outside of any amber shielding.

The old woman standing before him was in her early seventies, about 5’4”, Caucasian, average weight, kindly in the face as if she’d led a good life, wearing a white dress with green prints of fresh spring flowers.

“Good day, ma’am,” nodded James. “I and my colleagues are evacuating people from the neighborhood due to…hazardous circumstances. It’s dangerous for you to be here right now. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your neighbors have already evacuated, and if they haven’t, we’ll have to warn them too.”

“Oh, dear…” said the old woman.

Malik appeared upon James’ left, stepping out from behind the cover of the house’s exterior wall. The boy’s face was one of confusion mixed with disbelief, something funny James’ struggled not to smirk at.

James waved behind himself to signal the team that all was clear. The merc group walked forward without hesitation after that, but James’ attention was thoroughly upon the old lady in front of him.

“Did no one warn you about a breach nearby?” he asked. “The breach is closed now, but as far as I understand, The Razor’s Edge was open for a year before it was finally sealed.”

“Well, I knew about the breach, but it’s never bothered me here,” replied the old woman. “I didn’t know it had closed though…

“Where are my manners? Why don’t you come in young man. Your friends can come in, too. I don’t have much in the way of food to offer, but I do have some tea I can make.”

James followed her into her home, and the place was cozy enough inside, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about all of this. Of course, his helmet would have warned him if anything was awry in the breach department, so it wasn’t like he was wired with paranoia, but he also wasn’t stupid. Nevertheless, there was no reason to be rude or hostile to a random old woman.

James gave the home a rundown. The place indeed fit the bill for a single septuagenarian living alone with assistance. There were a couple of couches, a TV, bookshelves along the light-tan walls, and pictures hanging up and about the place. It was very homey, and it gave James a slight burn in his heart. He hadn’t seen a place like this in a long time.

The others entered the old woman’s home, but their host seemed accepting or even unaware of the crazy mix of people and styles that had entered her domicile.

It was Mogil who questioned her first.

“Are you aware this area of the city has been evacuated, ma’am?” asked the federal agent. “Why didn’t you leave over a year ago?”

“Oh, dear,” said the old woman. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“How have you been living here all by yourself without supplies for a year?” asked Megan. “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m being rude. My name is Megan…I’m not trying to be rude…”

“Oh, that’s all right,” waved off the old woman. “My son stocked the shelter down below a couple of years ago. He had the basement converted just in case there was an emergency. I’ve been living off of the emergency supplies, because my son hasn’t come by lately…”

James stared intently at the picture of a younger James Castellan on the east wall of the living-room area they were all packed in.

“Is your son, by chance, James Castellan?” he asked.

“Why yes!” said the old woman in excitement. “He hasn’t come by in over a year! Have you seen him? Is he all right?”

“Your son is James Castellan?” asked Jimmy. “He mentioned something about his childhood home being in this neighborhood.”

“He failed to mention his mother was still here,” snorted Malik. “I don’t see how you can just abandon your mother.”

“That’s probably why he hired us,” frowned Carley. “I knew something was up. I knew this wasn’t just about property reclamation.”

“So you’ve seen him?” asked the old woman.

“We’ll get you out of here and take you to him,” nodded Jimmy. “He hired us to clear out the area.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I want to leave,” said the old woman. “I’m Agatha, by the way, Agatha Castellan, but you can call me Aggie.”

“Well, Aggie,” frowned Mogil, “this area is too dangerous for you to remain in. You’re going to have to come with us.”

“Oh, dear…” said Mrs. Castellan. “But this is my home…”

“Why don’t we just kill the Class 5 and be on our way?” asked Sig. “There’s no point in evicting her if we just clear the area. She’s been here for over a year, so it’s not like it’s an emergency for us to just shoo her on out. There may not even be anything here. We should at least cover some ground and make sure there really is something here.”

“Yeah, that sounds fair,” said Megan.

None of this sounded right to James. If there really wasn’t something here, then why had local mercs disappeared in the area? Why was the place still sealed off in a Merlin-Crowley ring? This…wasn’t adding up.

James wandered over to a bookshelf parked against the east wall and took a look at the books there, but the titles of them were…odd.

He ran a leather-gloved finger over the hardbacks present upon the top shelf. There was “Pudding Call Enter George,” “Jacob’s If Love Counter,” “The Sword and the Utility Drench,” and “Gilbert Gnome Keeper Bee,” to name a few. Either this woman had a really strange genre interest, or her son did, because these titles sounded like the authors had all had strokes.

James picked up “The Sword and the Utility Drench,” by Fascist Hollandaise.

“Huh…” he grunted as he opened the book. “That’s quite a pen name.”

He flipped through to the center of the book and briefly gazed over a couple of lines:

Steps in barley SUV is eleven brisket coriander. Gerald semper oligarch dragoon if why nodded in steel parsnip. Mix well.

Either this was a recipe book for someone with a head injury, or something really screwed up was going on here, but if the latter was the case, James wasn’t feeling any kind of oppressive cloud or heebie jeebies over the place…Still…

“These books are little strange,” said James. “Actually, they’re a lot strange…They don’t make any sense at all. Do you know anything about this, Mrs. Castellan?”

“Oh, James’ books?” asked Aggie. “James likes to read thrillers, but he found those joke books somewhere years ago. He said he likes to prank people with them, but I think he’s forgotten about them.”

“Not the only thing he’s forgotten,” muttered Jimmy, but James heard him.

James shook his head at all of this, but Mrs. Castellan’s explanation of the books was a valid one. Still, Hacksaw’s suggestion of exploring the neighborhood was the most logical plan at the moment. For one thing, no one wanted to escort the old woman out of the hazard zone, because doing so might forfeit their pay from the feds, specifically from the feds, so it only made sense to investigate the area first.

“I hate to interrupt, but the clock is ticking,” said Megan. “What does everyone want to do? What about you, Agent Mogil?”

“We’ll sweep the area,” said Mogil. “If there’s something here, we’ll find it. After that, I’ll make a call to Mr. Castellan and see what he wants. We’ll go from there.”

This was surprising. James hadn’t thought Mogil was going to cave to peer pressure, but considering they were still following federal regulations, it wasn’t all that surprising. Mogil was a “by the book” kind of guy, which was one of the many reasons James didn’t like him.

“We’ll search the area, ma’am,” said Sig. “We should get started on that.”

“Oh…All right…” said the old woman.

The others filed out the front door, but Jimmy and Mogil wandered over to where James was standing in front of the bookshelf. Jimmy picked up a book, opened it up, and shook his head once.

“Must be some kind of code,” he said. “Looks like gibberish to me.”

He put the book back and followed the others out the door. James followed him, but he turned to see an amused smile on Mogil’s face. The tall and lanky man was scanning the titles of the books.

“That is hilarious,” said Mogil quietly. “That’s some offbeat humor.”

James shook his head and followed the others outside, and Mogil followed him a second later.

“We should head deeper into the hazard zone,” spoke up Hacksaw. “We’ll split up in pairs. We’ll cover more ground that way. I’ll head out with Marty.”

“Jimmy and I will be heading out, then,” said Megan.

“It’s me and Malik,” said Gin quickly.

James looked over at Mogil as the agent looked back at him. They both frowned at the same time, a visual expression that spoke worlds of what they thought of each other, but traveling in a pair was probably best for this little venture, if only for this little venture. A Class 5 anything was no joke, and Mogil was an extra gun…Plus, if worse came to worst, the man was cover if anything else, and no, James had no guilt over that thought, because he knew the federal agent was thinking the exact same thing.

“We’ll head in different directions,” said Hacksaw. “Pins and I will head east. Gin and Malik can head south. Jimmy and Megan…hit the north near the line. James and Agent Mogil can search these buildings around here.”

“Why are they getting the easy job?” asked Malik.

“Buildings are more dangerous than open terrain in a breach arena, kid,” grunted James. “This hazard zone is no different. Too many ways for something to jump you in a building. We don’t have the ‘easy’ job.”

“Okay, then why do they get the hard job?” asked Malik.

This kid was too much. He whined one way or the other, but Sig shut him down without further argument.

“Hard jobs are for hard hitters,” said Hacksaw. “Hard hitters are hard to kill. You should keep that in mind. You’ll live longer.”

Sig and Marty left after that, heading east. Jimmy and Megan took their cue and also left, heading north as instructed.

Malik gave a rather loud humph after most of the team’s departure. He shook his head in clear disapproval before motioning toward his blonde partner.

“Come on, Gin,” said the young man. “Let’s go cover the baby area.”

He walked down the street with the one-eyed blonde before both of them turned the corner into an alleyway, both disappearing from sight after that.

“She has some serious net worth,” said Mogil, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Carley Rummy is the very definition of a sugar momma…He’s got to be giving her some ‘male-oriented benefits.’ That’s the only way she’d be putting up with that nonsense.”

“Yep,” grinned James. “I hear you there.”

They at least agreed on that.

“I don’t know how this kid made a name for himself, but I expect Gin had something to do with that,” said James.

“He’s too green,” frowned Mogil. “He’s going to get himself killed, or worse, he’ll get someone else killed.”

“Then we’ll show him the ropes,” shrugged James. “Either that, or we’ll whip him with those ropes until he figures it out.”

Mogil gave a short chuckle, but that was James’ cue to get moving.

James reached up and hit the button for his helmet. His helmet formed around his head, his V.I. activation in his HUD turned on, and he was good to go.

“I don’t think we’ll find anything, but let’s get started,” said James.

“Affirmative,” said Mogil.

The tall and lanky agent readied his weird futuristic pistol, and that was James’ cue to draw his own Rune Maker.

“Is that Rune Maker registered?” asked Mogil.

“We’ve had this same discussion at least five times in the past,” sighed James. “You already know it’s registered. I don’t carry around unregistered artifacts.”

That was a lie, but Mogil didn’t need to know that. James was carrying around his smartphone in one of his jacket’s pockets, and that artifact was definitely unregistered, mainly because he didn’t want anyone to know about it.

His phone was in a special pocket he’d had sewn into his jacket after he’d acquired that phone, and that pocket was only special in the fact that it was simply a normal pocket, no enchantments at all. His phone had its own honorary “place” within his jacket, because dammit, he’d earned that phone, and he’d been looking for such an artifact for a very long time, so no, he wasn’t going to mention it to anyone, especially not to a fed, especially if that fed was John Mogil.

Plus, there was his artifact med-kit and a few other things he kept from the prying eyes of the feds, but that was the point. The feds had no business “confiscating” anything from him. He didn’t own that much to begin with. Everything he owned he carried on his person.

But this was neither here nor there. They had a job to do, so James was not about to put up with any verbal intrusions from Mogil. In fact, he countered the federal agent’s verbal intrusion with a verbal intrusion of his own.

“Is that weird gun you’ve got there registered?” he asked. “What in the hell is that thing anyway?”

“Prototype,” said Mogil. “This is actually a field test for it…Classified.”

“Uh, huh,” snorted James. “Come on; let’s get this over with. Maybe there is something here; I don’t know, but let’s find out.”

There was no more discussion after that.

They started their investigation with a rather large brick building across the street, so James crossed that street as Mogil followed suit.

“How are we going to do this?” asked James. “A): I don’t like investigating buildings in a hazard zone, and B): I’m not used to working in teams.”

“We’ll try the front door,” said Mogil. “It looks like these buildings are evacuated anyway. Mrs. Castellan may be the only person left in this neighborhood.”

If they were going to start anything in any format, that action was permanently delayed. Their discussion was interrupted by the distinct sound of submachine gun fire from the south.

“That came from south of us,” noted Mogil.

“Damn that kid!” yelled James. “Come on!”

He hoofed it toward the alley both Gin and Malik had traveled down. He was getting too old for this kind of life, but he was still in good shape, so putting out some jogging when necessary was still good for him, even if the mercenary life was not.

Mogil followed him closely behind. James still did not trust the federal agent, but it was better to keep him within eyesight rather than lose track of him.

They ran down the alleyway, exited the alley and crossed another street, ran through another alleyway, and then ran into another street.

The entire band of mercenaries, everyone that had arrived here in the van, had been drawn here by the gunfire, and they had gathered together on this normal, nice-looking, neighborhood street. In fact, if it weren’t for what James knew about the job they were all currently working, this neighborhood wouldn’t have been a bad place to settle down.

“Malik!” called out Gin.

The one-eyed blonde had been there all by her lonesome when James had arrived, because the young black man she had brought with her was most definitely not with her.

“What’s going on?” asked Hacksaw.

“Malik is gone!” said Carley in a panic. “I think he went down one of these alleys…I only lost track of him for a few seconds, and then I heard him shooting…”

“We’ll find him,” grunted James.

“Everyone, sweep the area!” called out Hacksaw. “Split up! We’ve got to find this stupid kid.”

“He’s not stupid!” argued Gin. “He wouldn’t just leave himself open! He wouldn’t just get himself killed! He knows the trade!”

James shook his head. It was highly doubtful anyone here actually believed that.

“Let’s go,” he said unhappily.

He picked an alley and headed north. At this juncture, everyone was in close proximity to each other, so there was no point in forming pairs. They could cover more ground this way, what little ground there was to cover.

He tapped his helmet. His V.I. was working, but as of yet, it had said nothing.

He traveled through the alleyway, turned onto another nice neighborhood street, and headed toward another alley. He didn’t want to go too far from the others, but he could at least cover a little more ground this way.

He walked down a slightly darker alleyway than the others. There was trash overflowing from a large dumpster here, but that was not so unusual. What was unusual was the lack of vermin or insects in the area, as this sort of exposed garbage often attracted such things.

“Huh…” said James.

His attention was drawn to the end of the alleyway. Beyond the alley, out in the street, crossed Malik, but there was something seriously wrong with him…The boy was naked, for one thing.

The young, nude, black man twitched and stumbled in a hurky-jerky manner, a clockwork motion of arms and legs that bore an uncanny-valley, unnatural gait, and his face was twisted in intense pain, as if he were undergoing tremendous suffering. Malik crossed out of sight after that, and his sudden appearance had startled James, but only for a second.

“What the fu…” began James. “Malik!”

He bolted down the alleyway and out into the street, but one look around told James all he needed to know…

There was no one there.

“What is going on here?” he asked himself.

James hustled back down the alleyway, crossed the street, and made his way back to where everyone had gathered.

What he had seen disturbed him, because the apparition he had witnessed had all the hallmarks of a ghost, but his V.I. had said nothing, and that was even more disturbing. His V.I. should have notified him of a Class 2 or 3 Incorporeal Undead, but his helmet’s V.I. had said nothing, and James was not one to hallucinate…He trusted his own instincts.

If Malik was a ghost, then the boy had been killed shortly after his gunfire had sounded out, but killed by what, James did not know.

James ran out into the middle of the street, pointed the barrel of his Rune Maker skyward, and fired a single shot in the air. That would get the others running.

It did not take long for the others to show up. Sig and Marty showed up first with Jimmy and Megan right behind them.

“What’s going on!” demanded Sig.

“I saw him!” said James.

“Yeah?” asked Hacksaw. “So where is he?”

“That’s just it,” frowned James, though he knew the others could not see that frown hidden behind his own helmet. “I think he’s dead. What I saw had all the makings of a ghost, at least a Class 2 Incorporeal Undead.”

“That’s not good,” said Jimmy in a concerned tone.

“How do you know what you saw?” asked Sig. “You could have seen anything.”

“James doesn’t lie,” said Megan with absolute certainty in her voice. “He doesn’t make big mistakes, either. If he says he saw a ghost, then he saw a ghost.”

“Wait…where’s that federal agent?” asked Marty.

They looked around for Mogil, but the tall and lanky fed was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Gin?” asked Megan.

Her question was answered by a loud and piercing female scream one street over.

“Carley!” yelled James as he took off in the direction of the grating sound.

Everyone followed him as James cut through an alley and entered the original street Carley had been on. Unfortunately, there was no sign of the one-eyed blonde save for her weapon, her Ailer 1450 lying out in the middle of the street.

“What the…?” asked James. “Now Gin’s gone…We need to be more careful.”

“We need to split up again,” frowned Sig. “James, you go with Jimmy and Megan. We need to find out what’s doing this. We also need to keep an eye out for that agent.”

“Well, Mogil was with me when Malik disappeared,” replied James. “I don’t know where he is now, but it’s probably safe to assume he’s dead.”

“Maybe,” said Hacksaw. “We don’t even know if Gin and Malik are dead.”

“Hope for the best but prepare for the worst,” frowned James. “Alright…let’s split up again. Problem is, I’m not getting any readings from my V.I. It’s not telling me anything.”

“Maybe it’s busted,” said Jimmy.

“Maybe…” grunted James.

They split up yet again, but this time James went with Jimmy and Megan.

“Come on,” said James. “I’ll take you to where I saw Malik.”

“We’ll search around here,” said Hacksaw.

They parted ways with Sig and Marty, and Jimmy and Megan followed James without question as he led them back toward the street where he had seen Malik’s apparition.

“This whole place is beginning to feel like a nightmare version of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood,” said James. “Say what you will about Malik being a green showboat, but Carley wouldn’t have just been taken so easily. Mogil, as much as I dislike that man, wouldn’t have been taken by surprise, either. Something really funky’s going on here. I don’t like the smell of it.”

“Yeah…” said Megan nervously. “Maybe we should leave and call Mr. Castellan.”

“We do that, and the State nukes this city,” said James. “Even if they don’t, they’ll drop a mini-nuke on this whole area. No, we need to find this sucker, whatever it is, and end it.”

“I hear you,” said Jimmy. “We’re gonna have to stick together on this one, though. No more splitting up.”

“If we’re gonna die, we might as well die as a group,” frowned James.

“I’d rather not die, guys,” said Megan unhappily. “I enjoy living.”

James led them down the alleyway where he had seen Malik walking down the street. All three of them watched as Mogil crossed the alley exit in front of them, but the tall and lanky fed looked fine, though he had his weird-looking pistol out and raised up in a ready position to fire.

“Mogil!” called out James. “John!”

The agent turned and walked toward them.

“Where in the hell have you been?” asked James. “We’ve already lost Malik, and now we’ve lost Carley.”

“I was following her,” said Mogil.

“What?” asked James.

“I saw her, and I was following her,” said Mogil.

“Why?” asked Megan.

“That’s a good question,” said James.

“I was following her because there’s something wrong with her,” frowned Mogil. “She was completely naked and stumbling along, and it looked like she was screaming, but she wasn’t making a sound.”

“That’s what I saw with Malik,” said James. “Same M.O. Something really screwed up’s going on here. We’d better meet back up with Sig and Marty and let ’em know.”

They headed back toward the street where Gin had disappeared.

“Where were you, anyway?” asked James.

He had directed that question toward Mogil, but the fed simply shook his head once.

“I was scouting the area,” said Mogil.

“Didn’t you hear Gin’s scream?” asked James.

“I heard her, but I caught sight of her right after that,” said Mogil. “I followed her, but she disappeared after she rounded a corner. I was in the process of heading down the street to see if I could locate her again.”

“Uh, huh,” frowned James. “That doesn’t make any sense. Gin disappeared south of here…How could she be in two places at once?”

Something really wasn’t right here.

“Well, let’s just head back,” said Jimmy. “We’ve got to let Hacksaw and Pins know what Agent Mogil saw.”

The loud, rattling sound of a Marley-Stine SMG model 73 echoed across the neighborhood.

“Come on!” yelled James as he bolted forward.

They traveled back from whence they came, and all four of them hit the street running, the very street where Carley “Gin” Rummy had vanished, but James’ tan outdoorsman boots skidded to a halt at the scene playing out before him.

In the center of the street was Sig “Hacksaw” Hogan, and directly in front of him was an amorphous mound of goo of a distinctly orange hue, like some kind of giant amoeba, but grainy looking, as if it had absorbed dirt and debris from off of the street. This terrible thing raised up, changing shape to that of a long bar or rod, and then it dropped down, only to slam into the section of street where Sig had been standing, “had” being the keyword, as the experienced merc booked it down a southern alley after that.

Marty “Pins” Redfern opened up fire after Hacksaw had fled, hammering the orange, grainy amoebic thing full of glowing orange rounds, rounds clearly enchanted with the “Ifrit’s Rage” flame enchantment.

The ensorcelled bullets passed right through the creature to spark and flash off the brick wall of the building it was in front of, with little to no damage to speak of to the amorphous glob.

“What is that thing!” screeched Megan.

“I don’t know!” cried James. “Just shoot it!…Ymir’s Breath!”

The cold-enchanted rune engraved upon James’ Rune Maker lit up in a bright blue. He fired four rounds into the gelatinous, blobby mass, but the bullets passed through it, just as it had with Pins’ rounds.

The orange creature slithered in one huge grotesque worm-like crawl down the alley Hacksaw had retreated.

“Damn!” shouted Marty.

The man’s swarthy brow wrinkled as a look of panic overrode his normally calm face.

“It’s going after Sig!” yelled Pins. “That blonde whore led us into a trap!”

“Blonde whore?” asked James. “What are you talking about?”

“Gin!” cried Pins as he took off in a dead run toward the alley where Sig and the creature had disappeared. “She led us right to it!”

The sound of Sig’s Marley-Stine rattled off in the distance.

“Come on!” commanded James as he followed Pins.

The four of them hit the alleyway right behind Marty…Unfortunately, there was no sign of the creature or Hacksaw.

“Hacksaw!” yelled Marty. “Sig!”

There were several busted out windows higher up the alley walls, and James did not like this fact one bit.

“Let’s duck out of here,” he said quickly. “If that thing entered a building, it can easily trap us in this alleyway.”

“I have to find Sig!” barked Marty.

“I get that,” said James calmly. “Let’s just back out and look for an entrance into one of these buildings. We’re sitting ducks right here, and there’s no helping Hacksaw if we get wiped out.”

The big merc’s swarthy face worked up into a storm of visible unhappiness.

“Come on!” ordered Pins.

The five of them backed out of the alleyway and walked out into the middle of the street.

“What was this about Gin?” asked Mogil a second later.

“That blonde manhole ran off when we saw her,” frowned Marty. “We followed her to this street, and that’s when that thing came out of that alley and was on us in nothing flat. Gin disappeared after that.”

“Was she wearing clothes?” asked Mogil.

Marty turned and gave the agent a very visible “Are you stupid?” look.

“Of course, she was wearing clothes!” barked Pins. “What kind of question is that! Are you trying to be funny!”

“She was naked when I saw her,” frowned Mogil.

“Was she walking all hurky-jerky?” asked James. “I think you mentioned something like that.”

“Yes,” nodded Mogil. “Why?”

“Well, she couldn’t have been in two places at once,” said James. “Didn’t you say you were following her?”

“Yes,” said Mogil. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking a Doppelgänger,” said James.

“I thought so, but there isn’t much data on them,” said Mogil.

“What are you two yapping about?” asked Pins. “We should be looking for Sig!”

“We are,” said Mogil. “We’re trying to narrow down what’s going on.”

“Whatever’s going on, my helmet’s V.I. isn’t working,” said James.

“You’ll have to deal with that later,” replied Mogil. “What do you know about Doppelgängers?”

“Not much,” shrugged James. “I know they take the place of people, but that’s about it. I don’t even know if they’re corporeal or a spirit.”

“Some report them to be an evil spirit, while others report that they’re corporeal,” frowned Mogil.

“Wonderful,” said James unhappily.

“What do we do?” asked Megan. “Is that what that thing was? Was that orange thing a Doppelgänger?”

“I don’t know,” said James. “I don’t know what that thing was. I’ve only seen that kind of thing in the movies, and I seriously doubt you’ve seen those movies…Truth is, I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the Doppelgänger’s true form…I’ve no idea.”

“What we need to know is how to kill it,” said Mogil flatly.

“I’m with you there,” said Jimmy.

Unfortunately, their conversation was going to have to wait.

“I don’t have time for this!” growled Pins. “I’ve got to find Sig…Wait…What the…! There he is!…Sig!…SIG!”

The big merc ran down the street toward something, but if the man had seen Hacksaw, James certainly hadn’t.

“Wait, Pins!” yelled James. “Marty, wait!…Dammit!”

He took off after the big man yet again, the others right behind him.

Marty “Pins” Redford ran in front of one particularly large brick building with a number of untouched windows.

The amorphous blobby mass that had attacked them before spilled from two separate windows to drop down onto the street, shattering the glass of those windows with little effort. Marty opened fire upon the thing as it dropped down in front of him, but his gun was met with a loud “CLICK” as his current rounds ran out.

“Marty, get out of there!” yelled James.

The amoebic mass raised up as a towering pillar, and Pins yelled out as he pulled a cord on his forest-green flak jacket. A number of pins popped from the grenades lining his jacket, and then the orange, fleshy mass dropped directly down upon him, slamming to the asphalt like dropped pudding mixed with glue.

“Everybody, down!” commanded James.

He hit the street as the explosions went off in muffled bangs, but the one-use weapons did little but cause flashes of light inside the disgusting creature.

“Damn, that thing is tough!” called out Jimmy.

“Fire at it to keep it off us!” yelled James. “Dammit, we need a plan! There’s got to be some way to kill it!”

He hopped up and backed away along with the others as everyone unloaded into the thing. It absorbed the bullets, but the enchantments did not activate, and this…this was a problem.

“Raijin’s Thunder does nothing!” cried Megan.

“No response from Ifrit’s Rage,” said Mogil.

“Ymir’s Breath doesn’t work either!” yelled Jimmy.

“It’s absorbing the kinetic force!” exclaimed James. “The enchantments won’t activate unless the bullets lodge in something solid, but…”

He stared at the thing but then had an epiphany. He reached up and hit the button to recall his helm, and then he studied the creature with his own eyes as soon as his helm had retracted.

This glutinous, blobby mass was indeed orange outside of his helmet’s amber vision, but it was the floating chunks of debris that caught his attention. He could see spent bullets, bits of shrapnel, and the inorganic parts of clothes caught within the thing, metal buckles and such, and an idea formed for him, but how he was going to implement it, he did not yet know.

“What we need is something to grain it together!” said James excitedly. “It’s picking up debris, so if we can get a solid impact from a bullet in it, we can activate an enchantment that will end it!”

“Like what!” said Mogil as the man reloaded his weird, futuristic gun, popping a giant chrome clip into it.

“I don’t know!” said James unhappily. “We need sand, or gravel, or something like that! What we really need is some cement mix, and then we could—”

“You mean like that!” asked Mogil.

The tall and lanky agent pointed toward a wall on the opposite side of the street, and James’ vision followed that pointing finger, only to have that vision land upon a large, resting, white sack with the dark red words “CEMENT MIX” labeling it.

The odds of this, of a pristine bag of cement mix appearing out of nowhere, were astronomical, but there was no time to ponder this insanity of probability, so James simply took that boon without question. He’d have time to think about it later…if he survived.

“What the…!” said James in surprise. “Yeah, that’ll do!”

“Even if this works, we don’t know what enchantment will kill it,” frowned Mogil. “We may only have one shot at this!”

“Fire and electricity didn’t work in the movies…” muttered James. “Cold seemed to stop it, but it didn’t die; it just froze…Wait…Wait…I’ve got it!”

“What is it, then!” demanded Mogil.

“You get that bag in that thing, and I’ll kill it for good!” cried James. “We’ve got to get close enough to throw the bag without getting eaten!”

“This better work!” exclaimed Mogil.

“It doesn’t matter!” cried Jimmy. “It ain’t slowing down anymore, so if we’re going to do something, we’ve gotta do it now!”

“Affirmative!” said Mogil. “Let’s grab that bag!”

This creature moved forward without any visible means of locomotion, and it was closing in on them without any visible means of…well…vision.

“Hussle!” yelled James. “Megan and I will slow it down!”

Jimmy and Mogil rushed to grab the bag of cement mix as James quick-loaded his next six rounds.

“Switch rounds!” ordered James as he turned his attention upon Megan. “Ymir’s Breath!”

A bright-blue light glowed upon James’ Rune Maker as he aimed his piece. Megan switched out her rounds with her own Ymir’s Breath clip, and then both of them opened fire together. Their rounds passed through the creature and ricocheted off the street as the creature continued to surge forward.

“The rounds aren’t activating!” yelled Megan.

“I know!” yelled back James.

Jimmy and Mogil ran back to their original position with the large bag held between them. The bag was made of thick woven plastic and had to weigh at least 80 lbs. True, only one man was needed to carry the bag, and Jimmy could have easily hauled the bag himself, but James had to give the two men credit for temporarily working as a team.

“Drop that bag on the ground and we’ll retreat down the street!” barked James. “Once that thing rolls over it, I’m going to put a few normal rounds in the bag, and then I’m going to do something the movies have never done! I’m going to finish this giant hock of snot once and for all!”

The big bald merc with the big green mohawk ripped the bag of cement mix away from Agent Mogil and tossed the ungainly plastic thing to the street. Both men backed away after that, drawing their guns while firing at the same time as they looked to put distance between themselves and the monster they were currently and pointlessly filling with enchanted bullets.

“Here it comes!” yelled Jimmy.

James reloaded his Rune Maker just as the mass of orange jelly pulsed its way toward the heavy bag of cement mix.

“The Mean of Humanity,” stated James in a clear voice.

This was the command to return his piece to regular rounds. The artifact pistol would no longer fire enchanted rounds, which was exactly what he needed. Normally, his Rune Maker would continue to fire the enchantment he had last commanded until he removed his hand from it (holstering the weapon), but sometimes—and it was rare—he needed to end the enchantment early.

The bright-blue rune on his gun faded out its light as James aimed toward the barely-visible bag within the translucent orange mass of living gel. He fired all six rounds in quick succession, and the rounds barely penetrated the bag as the bullets shredded the plastic and puffed out small clouds of cement mix.

“What are you doing!” demanded Megan as James reloaded his Rune Maker.

“Just stirring the pot,” he replied.

The creature oozed its way over the bag, and small streams of mix entered its gelatinous body.

 “Medusa’s Gaze,” said James firmly.

A bright-green rune on James’ gun lit up in a dazzling glory as he activated a rune he almost never used, mainly because it was too dangerous.

James aimed his Rune Maker at the swiftly vanishing bag of mix. The creature’s orange, translucent body made the bag difficult to see, so he aimed for the darkest part of debris where the bag had been.

“Thankfully, it doesn’t need to ‘see’ in order to eat this enchantment,” grunted James.

He fired off one round and waited a few seconds, but nothing happened.

“Come on,” said James in a hushed voice.

He fired off one more round and waited, but once again, nothing happened.

“Oh, come on!” yelled James as he unloaded the remaining four rounds into the thing.

A dark-grey, almost black, swirling cone, like a miniature tornado, came spiraling upwards from the small cement nucleus within the orange amoebic creature. The blobby mass then hardened into a strange asphalt-like piling, as if someone had suffered a massive seizure while paving the road and had just dumped an entire load of asphalt all at once.

The three mercenaries and the federal agent stared at the petrified creature for a few seconds before any reaction registered.

“Yeeeeaaaah!” yelled out Jimmy. “All riiiiight!”

Megan jumped up and down as she gave out a cry of joy. Even the stoic federal agent that was John Mogil cracked a slight smile.

James holstered his Rune Maker and shook his head once. With that thing out of the way, they could at least contact Mr. Castellan and tell him one part of the job was done.

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Remnants of the Razor’s Edge Part I Copyright © 2025 bloodytwine.com Matthew L. Marlott

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Author’s Note: The picture for this story was generated via artificial intelligence courtesy of Canva.com.

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To Remnants of the Razor’s Edge Part II→