Sheets of newspaper skid across the cracked sidewalk, clinging desperately to the rough, dirty surface. The wind tossed its violent hand, spreading the light waves of paper, cardboard, and Styrofoam – all of which contaminated by some form of waste – to fly freely towards the nearest graffiti stained wall.

     The vast and carefully placed network of freeways and overpasses collapsed years ago, and only the skeletal frames remained, like that of a long deceased dinosaur. The sun shined as brilliant as ever, but the scattered remains ensnared most of the city in darkness and it would take an organized effort to relieve. With the increasing rise of chaotic violence, such a task would rightfully seem near impossible.

     But this condition illustrated the misery that plagued the people of the long lost city. The structures that once proved useful and deemed necessary for civil life were brought down by a series of horrific events. Blocks of buildings decimated by repeating waves of carpet-bombing. Coastlines inflamed by relentless loads of napalm, while a nuclear showdown acted as the finale for a war that refused to end. All of which designed and created by man, and by mans own doing, so was the cradle of ruin that consumed them all.

     Perhaps the idea of civilization died years ago, or perhaps the doom and gloom condition that made up their reality blinded the masses, but somehow the people lost their way. From an evolutionary standpoint, we became the savage beast that we supposedly developed from, falling back into a fold as if to relearn an important lesson. However, creationist would have us believe that the world, for all its wrongs, flaws, and blessings, was created by one omnipotent being, God. If such a being exists, then we ought to question his ways of teaching lessons. 

     Violence erupted, even more than before. Without corporate jobs, thousands were placed in the street trying to make ends meet. With all the banks completely raided and trashed, the flow of cash had taken a more secretive route. Without a structured welfare system, or a government institution to fund it, those that couldn’t fight, steal, lie, and cheat were forced to starve. Thus, morality melted from the face of humanity, erasing the stigma placed on such loathsome activities. If survival depends on taking the life another, selling flesh, and stealing from malnourished children, then you may find yourself contemplating a decision that would, in another society, hang you high just below the high noon sun. This world, however, seemed to have lost everything. 

     The law wasn’t so absent, in fact even the most corrupt cops become honest when their final hours were tested, but crime and those supporting it out numbered. In a society, completely bankrupt of funds, food, and supplies so were the morals and humanity of the average person. The cops had a beast to tackle and it was only a matter of time until they completely ran dry of men willing to stand against, and the funds to keep the last few grains of morale intact were burning fast.

     The dark curtain of nightfall draped heavily upon the grounds of the abandoned warehouse. The few and scattered light fixtures, the ones that managed to suck the few remaining ounces of energy left, failed to shine through the misty air. The teetering globes of light exposed the lingering feathered hands of fog in a dull illuminated aura. The scent of sun-scorched fish trickled on the salty, irradiated taste of the nearby harbor, which sounded with its usually peaceful song. All in all, it was the perfect place for a crime, and even better place for a man that flourished in such loathsome activities. McKenston’s men patrolled the area with precision, but such a location featured too many blind spots for a complete inspection. With the shadow as my only ally, and a fair weathered one at that, I climbed to the highest ledge. The touch of cool steel along my back provided a sense of comfort, but the level of security waned to the nearing and distancing sound of footsteps. A moment of complete certainty would be too much to ask, particularly in this line of work, and especially in the midst of the cradle of ruin.

     With gun drawn, I dared to step further onto the catwalk with as much grace as I could muster. My feet clanged on the rusted surface, but that sound, which could have given me an unwanted introduction and an early grave, went unnoticed. A commotion of sorts engulfed the circled group, and together they communicated in uneasy tones with abrupt, fragmented sentences, the most of which were too distorted to offer any clarity.  Their possible awareness of my position anchored me to the wall, taking the cover of shadow in exchange for a risky observation. I feared their breaking moment. Images of McKenston’s goons running up to the hovering catwalks, peering onto my line of sight seeped into my mind, and wrecked my concentration. Where I stood, there were two points of entry, and a possible solution just a few feet away. A small office of rusted sheet metal taunted me with possible security, but above all else, the location of the man I sought for. After a short period of shuffled footsteps, only the industrial creaking filled the silence, giving me the opportunity to either secure a deal, or die trying.

     The office lacked the fitting image I imagined. Though it seemed complimentary with the warehouse as a whole, it remained untouched, and thus seemed unfit for one of the most important figures of this organization. A wide, metallic desk ran along the back wall, while a simple industrial cabinet stood adjacent near a small window. The smooth, poorly reflective top of the desk contained only a pencil, a battery powered fan, and the tools necessary for a traditional habit for its owner’s profession. I felt at peace in his lair. The pivot point for a machine designed to reign in complete chaos. Though the cogs of this organization seemed almost impossible to reason with, the generator of their inhuman motion retained a bit of his ideal keepings; thus giving him vulnerability. Overwhelmed, I didn’t know if I should engage in my enticed emotions, and do my curiosity a favor and search through his things. Needless, how tempting the drawers and locked cabinet may be, I already had an ace ready for use.

     The knob turned, signaling me into the pocket of shadow that draped behind the door. A classic childhood prank, but a method most tend to overlook, even by those that glance over their shoulder while walking. A tall man of Irish origin entered the room, closing the door behind him. Most men in his position wore clothes of vanity, projecting a sense of strength and power, but his simple nature limited him to jeans and a T-shirt, which formed over his broad chest and muscular arms. With his backside towards me, I took the window of opportunity to seize him into a chokers hold. He swung near the finale of my approach, breaking the fluidity of my motion. In response, I grabbed his wrist with one hand and pulled it behind him, while slamming his face down to the desk with the other.

     “It took me a long time to find a way into your nest,” I said, hoping he would remember our not too distant moments.

     “Oh,” he said, with his Irish accent only remotely changed from the last time we met. “If it isn’t the old fossil himself. It’s been years since I had to worry about the police.”

     “We’ve been pretty busy with another,” I said, knowing full and well all the other reasons for one of the highest crime streaks in years. The police force, at least what remained of it, was pregnant with internal conflict. The heroes of the days long passed reverted to a more drastic approach in maintaining justice, all the while aware that survival was of the most importance, placing the security of themselves over others. While my efforts may have changed, my cause remains as true as ever.

     “Chivo, you mean,” he said, spitting out some blood, I hadn’t realized the degree in which I roughed him. “I think we can both agree he’s insane, and ought to be stopped.”

     “Indeed, he has become a common enemy, and one none dares to touch,” I replied, releasing my grip just a bit, while anticipating a counter blow. “I think I enjoyed it better when it was just you and I. The son-of-a-bitch Chivo should get his due, and rumor has it you know something.”

     “I don’t know shit,” he retorted, while its delivery seemed honest, I knew differently. “C’mon, I would really hate to mess up an old friends face more than I have to.”

     “Friend,” he said, followed by laughter. “You’re not my friend. Don’t think I can’t handle the pressure. Chivo is mine. I don’t need a lunatic, megalomaniac to help me out. You’re a dying breed Michaels, a dinosaur that skipped extinction.”

     “Now that’s just insulting. You would seriously think that I wouldn’t know,” I said, waiting for a change in expression, but the doubt failed to melt the mask of confidence. “You’ve been trading with them. I know you have a secret that you are dying to exploit. Why haven’t you?”

     “Who the fuck told you that,” he said, wiggling out from my grip. As strong as he was, it was an exercise in futility to try to break from my grip.

     “And, they have someone important to you,” I said, grinning so smugly. “I know you have been troubled by the loss of your niece, such a pretty young thing. I suppose it is to your advantage that there are still a few dinosaurs like me to witness these things.”

     “Alright, I’ll speak, but you better not be joking,” said McKenston, hesitantly.

     “I think my reputation still proceeds me to this day, so don’t belittle me just yet,” I said, releasing my palm from the back of his head. I retrieved a small photograph from the inside pocket of my duster and dropped it on the desk. “Please, begin.”

     “Chivo doesn’t protect his shipments at the loading point from what we can tell. With only two men watching the truck it would be an easy exploit, but we have nothing else. Even if we were to try it, our efforts would be in vain,” he said, pausing briefly as if troubled by a sudden thought. “They better not trace this back to us. I swear. If they do, it would be all over. It’s bad enough that he might be using snipers against us. I would be thankful for just one day without a body count.”

     “Leavire McKenston, don’t you worry a single bit. From what I can tell, you’re little group of thugs is a blessing compared to the evils of Chivo. His hand single handedly brought this city further down into the rot we strive to bring it out of. I’m tired, but determined. After this, consider me an unlikely ally,” I said, gritting at the bitter truth. I toyed with the idea for a while, and within the quiet recesses of my mind it began to sound plausible, but simple utterance shown the light for what it really was. A dirty deal by one of the few honest cops left. Perhaps I fooled myself in thinking that this dance had an end, that perhaps the song was one with a structured pattern. The chorus slowly grew in arrangements of cellos and pianos, but the ghastly change in the verse haunted me like an unrelenting entity, with a simple plot to destroy, steadily, the reason for my purpose; the reason for my breath, and the little honor I had left.

     I left McKenston’s hideout the way I came, like a disgusting fiend clinging to the shadows, trying like hell to remain unseen. Unfortunately for my old Irish familiar, I was left with no choice but to knock him out. Though it may destroy the chance for me to ever waltz through the front door of his heavily guarded warehouse, I could probably rely on the fact that my rat hole would go undetected. Speculation and chance, but I lived on it, thrived on it, and sure as hell made a life betting on it. For the air I breathe today, I’m one hell of a lucky bastard. I survived the gauntlet of a war gone terribly wrong to fight another that only seemed to continue with an endless wave of new faces, new toys, and new places.

     Along that thought came the subtle horror of Chivo using snipers. For the length of time spent battling his goons, and trying with blind precision to catch the guy, we’ve been spared from his sniper’s wrath. McKenston might not have lived an honest life, but he talked with an honest tongue, something I wished out of anyone from Chivo’s crew. If the madman had snipers on payroll, then we should’ve heard about it from our own body count, and yet the few of us that remain continued to stomp the streets without the slightest fear of a perking marksman. Perhaps he didn’t exist at all, an urban legend traveling among the contagious tongue. If he did, he would’ve made examples of us by now. Further speculation, the type that brought shivers throughout my body. It would do me right to act wisely to the idea, but just the same with ghosts and goblins, there was nothing tangible to hold onto, not a single damn example.

     Through my lonesome walk my lips hungered for the taste of scotch, it distracted me from the objective, rightfully enticing my senses with what pleasure I would feel from what might be my last drink. Not one to pass on the chance to savor another small favorable thing, I took a detour though a destroyed alleyway littered with mounds of trash and the shattered remains of the nearby buildings. In the distance, I could hear cries, yelling, and the occasional gunfire, and normally it would direct me to an honorable task, but not today, not now in the midst of these godforsaken ruins. Conflicts and hostility ran amuck throughout the dying city and the only way to obtain some sort of resolve was from slaying the many Goliaths that fuel the madness. But, first and foremost, I needed a break from it all. With only a few feet away from my safe house—a roughed up apartment with shattered walls and a ceiling bound to collapse located right above a bar—it was only customary to cave to the simple pleasures, as they were the only things left.

     Almost giddily, I walked over to the scorched mahogany bar. My boots crunching over the shattered glass, sounding an introduction for anyone willing enough to do me in. Reaching over, I grabbed a random bottle, in these times anything would do, and treated myself without further delay.

     “Give it up,” sounded from behind. Something I could only guessed to be a gun pressed against the back of my head. “There is no use fighting. Just do exactly as I say.”

     “Convincing,” I said, providing a moment for the man to retort. Smiling profusely, I couldn’t help but interrupt. “But as you know. Everything is up for grabs. What’s mine is yours.”

     “What if I want that jacket,” said the stranger.

     “Then we would have a problem,” I said simply. I took a swig of scotch, swallowing the bold taste, all along thinking how pathetic it was to even try. “But, then again, I know it is you. Captain Williams.”

     “I figured you would smell me on mere entry,” said the Captain, while igniting the tip of a cigarette that teetered on the tips of his cracked and weathered lips. The tobacco smoked with brilliant cinders.

     “Perhaps I did,” I said, turning around with a glass in hand. Sadly, he refused my offer, and though I tempted to toss the seriousness that usually followed as insignificant, the Captain never joked while wearing that face. Even after the fallout of the bombs had snuffed the last of anything remotely decent, he continued to dress like he was running the joint. A grey wool suit, spared from the filth that found its way on everything else in this hell hole, with a neatly pressed dress shirt worn with such confidence as to ignore the fact that the world spun closer to an end faster than ever. “Or, maybe, I just really wanted a drink.”

     “You shouldn’t be doing this to yourself. Remember what we had to drag you out from before, that ought to be enough to ward you from this,” he said, without the slightest regard for the frown that slipped past my otherwise sturdy face.

     “Like it matters anyhow,” I said, taking another swig. “Every where around me there is rot and death. I might as well treat myself like a spoiled king.”

     “I’m not talking about that,” he said, pocketing his hands, delivering bewilderment throughout his expression. “You ought to know by now. This crusade of yours is going to kill you faster than the booze. You should really take this time to, relax a little.”

     “And let this world fall any faster than it has so far,” I asked, refuting the remotest possibility of ever ceasing from my profession. Dedication echoed in my thoughts above and beyond the call of duty. Those that wished to consider me their equal only fooled themselves. Though I appreciated their work and effort, they could never measure up, not in this life, nor the next.

     “You said it yourself, the world is gone. Why not take the time to enjoy what you have left,” said Captain Williams, taking another drag, while walking slowly towards the shattered windowpane.

     “As long as blood pumps through these guns of mine, I’ll be fine as I am.”

     “Bullheaded fool,” he said, tossing the words away like garbage. “I can’t convince you, but whatever you do, do not go after Chivo. He’ll take care of you real quick.”

     “You gonna stop me,” I said, leaning against the bar, trusting that he wouldn’t dare inflict any harm towards me, nothing more than empty words.

     “You’ll ruin a very good thing, something we’ve been working on for a while, something that will clean this dump faster than any atomic bomb. We were promised a clean slate, and in the next few days, that promise will be finally be fulfilled,” he said, squinting at the brilliant flickering of a distant neon light.

     “What is that, exactly,” I asked, expecting to be briefed, but only silence returned, the type of silence that chilled into one’s spine, reaching all levels of discomfort.

     I didn’t wait for the Captain to leave, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand around waiting for a response, that sort of punishment would leave my head spinning with all sorts of anxieties. I stormed out of the place with as much composure as I could muster, just enough to spare an ounce of hospitality towards my former boss. Not that I didn’t like the man, but he knew me all too well, and knew how to slide beneath my skin like some possessive wench, though the reality made the worst of women appear like angels. Such rubbish through my head, I couldn’t afford to allow my senses to fly loose like that. The little girl needed my help, even if it meant walking through the gates of hell.

     The heavens erupted with a tremendous clap and released a downpour as if it were years overdue. The deserts bake in torment, waiting for the day that an ounce of something moist would touch its surface, similar to me. But unlike me, this city didn’t care for the seething, toxic touch. The droplets shattered upon impact, granting freedom to a cloud of steam. A heavy collar covered my neck, but I could feel the acidic liquid licking at my scalp, trying to burn through the skin. Wiping with a cloth offered little help. A metallic roof offered plenty of protection, for others and myself. In the old days, I would’ve tossed them a dollar or two, but in these less than decent days, a dollar wouldn’t even serve well to wipe one’s own ass. Dodging the hungry, I ran through the twists and turns until I closed in on the location.

     Normally, I would’ve expected the place to be heavily guarded, but from the recent news from McKenston, I strolled in without the usual precaution. I hugged the shadows, feeling comfortable that in the moment of trouble I could recoil into the nothingness just in case McKenston misspoke. However, despite my lurking doubts, the place was clean of anyone, with the exception of a few rats. Though an old trick, I took to the heavy metallic crates, stashing myself in a container of what smelt like packages of condensed food. It pleased me that my scheme would grant me, not only a break, but cover from the burning rain.

     Chivo’s lair rested within the walls of a luxurious government building that somehow managed to remain remotely sound during and after the nuclear devastation. Ironically, the new unchallenged crime tyrant set his base in a building that once stood for government policy. I wondered if the governor could’ve spun himself out from his little image-tainting debacle, assuming he wasn’t among the thousands dead. These thoughts, though entertaining, couldn’t elude me from the growing discomfort that staying in a fetal position for more than eight hours can do to a person. It helped that I could feel the movement of the truck, but even that failed to save me from wanting to prematurely leave my cover. Amazingly, the crew driving the truck didn’t bother to place anyone to watch over the cargo. I waited ever so patiently behind the crates for the delivery to reach its destination.

     With gun drawn and ready, I crouched with arms extended. My fingers itched at the trigger, eager to send a bullet into anyone that dared to release the hatch on the cargo door. The stuffy air increased the intensity of the heat, causing me to sweat as if it were my first time on the job. Salty beads trailed down my forehead, clinging to the thin hairs of my eyebrows, and stalling the inevitable. The truck had stopped for minutes and yet the precious cargo remained as if not important. I waited with ears as sharp as knives, but with metallic walls as thick as these an elephant could walk by without being heard. Giving up on the idea of my enemies coming to my rescue, I took matters into my own hands and pulled the door upward. My doubts retreated back into their far corners, huddling away from the sudden relief I felt. Someone might’ve forgotten to lock the hatch, but encountering that much luck in the Cradle of Ruin, let alone the presence of Chivo’s men was absurd.

     The passenger took a bullet to the head and was bending backwards over a railing. The driver--my curious mind couldn’t help investigating—was faced down in a blood-drenched steering wheel with fragmented glass around. From mere observation it screamed tactical, and though I should’ve embraced the wonderful, surprising gift, it came with yet another unforeseen condition. The sniper McKenston spoke about just illustrated the extent of his reach, and he was very real. The cold embrace of fear trailed my spine, but I couldn’t allow myself to give in. Fear shadowed and it readied me for the danger ahead, but I questioned just how long I could out run it, while remembering my previous not so welcomed visits at the governor’s building. The basement of the facility contained a number of hallways, all of which tarnished by the natural occurrence of rust and overlapped by a toxic stain.

     Navigating blindly, avoiding the ever-curious beam of lights that sliced through the pervasive darkness, I shifted carefully closer to a couple of idle goons. Their flashlights pierced into the pockets of darkness without any real motive other than sheer randomness, while they shared a cigarette and a rather provocative conversation about whores. I felt subjective to a growing curiosity, a lurking question as to the importance of such a remote location in the darkest of all possible places. Too dark to properly aim down the sights of a silenced .45, I took a bet on their careless nature. I neared them, close enough for my breath to reveal my position, but like some wicked nightmare from hell, I sliced their necks before their brains could trigger for so much as a cry. The only sound, if important, was that of their collapsed bodies, shattered flashlights, and gasping struggle. The darkness wrapped around me, taking me deep into its welcoming home, shielding me from any curious onlookers. Still, I doubted that the creaking door would go unnoticed, and I moved as if guided by Hermes himself.
     “You boys just don’t quit do you,” a woman said, suggesting a hint of sarcasm. The voice resonated off the moist, metallic walls of the shadow-draped chamber. From the pathetic light it was difficult to tell, but cages of iron bars stack on top of one another, expanding into the unknown.

     “I think the boys you speak of are dead,” I said, not sure if the kill would be mutual. “Silenced, by my hand. You don’t mind do you?”

     “Nice try, but I’m not that easy to fool,” said the woman. She dared to step closer to the bars, exposing the soft, lightly bronze flesh of her hands. A brilliant red painted on her nails, and a set of eyes that sought nothing more than to belittle me. Behind the confidence, seeping through ever so carefully was fear. “You better be for real. I wouldn’t want to see what sort of hell they reserve for creeps like you.”

     “I don’t joke, but it looks like they treated you rotten. You wouldn’t happen to have seen a little girl here have you?” I pretended that she only glanced at me with distaste because of what the savages had done to her. I thought of her as a glimmer of someone else, someone once dear to me.

     “A little girl,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You don’t know what kind of mess you’re in, do you? If you are looking for a little girl, we’ve got plenty.” Almost as if her voice called upon some allusive cue, the seeping, wandering light seemed to strengthen, revealing a dozen women clothed in rags, beautiful on their tarnished surfaces, but beaten, emotionally torn within. “What kind of sick mother fucker kills wannabe mobsters only to take part in what they do?”

     “Don’t be so rash,” I said, lighting up a cigarette, enjoying a really long drag before handing it to her. She questioned me with her eyes, but the hesitation melted from her stiff lips. She obviously had smoked before, filling her lungs with a cloud of smoke. “I normally get angry when people falsely accuse me, but for you I’ll make an exception. I’m looking for a very little girl no more than eleven. She means something to an old adversary of mine.”

     “I think I can help,” she glanced at a shadowed figure behind her. After some movement, a worrisome little girl with blond locks shuffled into view. “She’s new here, came in just the other night. She’s related to McKenston isn’t she?”

     “That’s exactly why I’m here,” I said, smiling smugly.

     “The times must finally be getting to you, Detective. I would never imagine you would assist McKenston,” she said, blowing a ring of smoke.

     “And I never imagined I would survive this long. How about we make it possible for this girl to make a homecoming,” I asked while releasing the troublesome locks.

     “You’re not gonna leave us here, are you,” said the woman, stepping out from the large cage with an air of seduction. “You wouldn’t leave a bunch of helpless girls to fight for themselves.”

     “I couldn’t,” I said, removing an assault rifle from a distant cabinet.

     “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, while gracefully stealing the weapon from me. “You get caged, beaten, and rapped then, and only then, can you join our fight.”

     “Then I don’t mean to keep your company,” I said, picking up the reluctant girl into my arms. “Be careful, it’ll be a sadder world without you.”

     “Chivo is the one that should worry. He has thirty something very angry bitches about to stomp all over him,” she said, leading the ravaged women on a personal crusade of vengeance. Released after years of abuse and captivity, a wave of bloodthirsty women ran rampant throughout the grounds of this demented palace in the image of some long forgotten Amazonian tribe. Chivo’s goons retreated for higher ground, taking shelter behind barricades of rubble, while I fled with McKenston’s niece. Strong willed, she refused to cry, but her eyes were not without fear in its purest form. She would never rebound from this day. This trial would forever reshape her world, souring the images of past memories, while removing any shred of security from everything else.

     The violent takeover provided enough distraction to allow us to safely leave Chivo’s area of domination, navigate through the dismal ruins of an apartment building, and cross into an open plaza. No longer did my badge represent authority, no longer did my gun project fear into the hearts of the starving many, and I had to fight off a few brave souls. Their failed act illustrated the futility, sending the others to scurry off with a nervous anxiety reserved for those unfortunate individuals enslaved to a substance they could only dream of quitting. Simply put, I mirrored what they wanted, what they felt they needed, and even those that once valued a moral code were tempted to tear me down just to equalize their world just a little more. As close as I embraced my own moral compass, the fiends tempted me beyond what I could possibly control. Moments went by where like some unstoppable motion picture; I witnessed the motion of gunfire and brutal attacks as if alien to the reason, the will, and the cognitive functionality in the remotest sense. I held onto the constantly tested ideal of what wielding a badge represented, but even those abstract illusions couldn’t penetrate my mind in time to prevent needless bloodshed. Like everyone else, I slowly found myself sinking into the corrosive tar of perversion, which eroded the decency of mankind almost as rapidly as the explosions wiped out the city. I could only hope that my actions didn’t further tarnish the girl’s fragile mind. She shouldn’t be exposed to this, and to give him an ounce of serenity, I stopped by my place for another drink.

     On the second floor, she flopped on a ruined couch, trying her best to avoid the damp end of it. I thought about relocating what should be a welcoming piece of furniture, but the rain had already done its damage, and with a slowly crumbling ceiling, it would be an effort in futility. I watched her reaction to it all and smiled at her effort to make the most of an uncomfortable situation. Then again, living in a rats nest would’ve been better than stepping a foot inside a notorious sex slave operation.

     “I hope you don’t mind the mess,” I said, trying to distract her from her troubled past. “It has become quite impossible to do much more than drink anymore. Do you want anything? As I see it, no harm in something that could sooth your soul.”

     Her lips parted, but nothing more than a slight sigh seeped out. She rested her subtle cheek into her fist, which anchored into the grungy arm of the couch. Her red ribbons held up against all the trouble so far, keeping her two golden locks in place as they part away. Cute was the nature of her image, but the innocence appeared to have been stolen a long time ago. Her eyes exposed sheer emptiness when not projecting a shallow sense of indifference.

     “I brought a bottle anyways, it’s my favorite. I normally don’t encourage people like yourself to drink, but I’d imagine it wouldn’t matter at this point,” I said, pouring a glass. “Please, make yourself comfortable. As far as I’m concern this is the safest you're gonna get. No one is gonna touch you here, you can hold me to it.”

     “My uncle sent you didn’t he,” she said, looking off through the blasted dry wall, her legs kicking gently in the wind.

     “He loves you very much, and I can see why. You are blessed and cursed to be quite the treasure in these gloomy parts,” I said, wanting to add more but the sound of an intruder broke my concentration. With drink in hand, I stepped down the steps to find Captain Williams pouring himself a glass at my personal bar.

     “You might have a problem,” he said, uninterested in the conversation. He placed the bottle down and pause just before downing the drink. “Your bar is running low.”

     “Then I suppose I’ll have to relocate,” I said, sitting beside him. I reached into my jacket and retrieved two cigarettes. The Captain declined my offer, but I took pleasure in respecting the ritual. The sudden flash of flame, the singed particles of paper and tobacco giving rise to a stream of smoke. The scent didn’t lure him back, something terrible rested on his tongue, a line of dialog that I probably didn’t want to hear.

     “Give it up,” he said, as if revealing the obvious. “If you haven’t noticed, there is no more honor, there is no more badge, there simply is nothing left to protect. Give it up.

     “What do we fight for then,” I asked, already knowing the answer would ignore the generality of the question.

     “This isn’t a game. You have to protect yourself and not worry about the rest. They’re all gone. We’re all gone.”

     “How’s that working for you? You’re here aren’t you? Telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. That seems more in line with what I do now, worrying about others,” I said, glancing at him smugly, knowing that it was bound to eat at him. I wanted to see his posture bend to the weight. I wanted to see his stern face melt into an unforgiving frown.

     “In many ways, you are like family to me. We’ve been through a lot back in the days when there was something to protect,” he said, rubbing his neck. He turned to look directly at me. “Please tell me you didn’t go after Beatrice. I heard some very unfortunate news about a lone fellow walking out in the middle of an acid rain, snooping around Chivo’s loading dock.”

     “And if I did,” I asked, drawing a stream of smoke, filling my lungs.

     “Do you want to die early? You survived this long, perhaps you should think about yourself for a change and stop trying to be a fucking hero. You are getting dragged into a world you don’t belong in. You were a good detective before the mess, now you just a name on McKenston’s books,” he said, jabbing me with the ugly truth. I couldn’t allow his curious comments to seep into my skin. I examined the reception of my actions, the disgusting shadow that lurked behind every step I made, I knew how close I danced with those I swore to destroy, but the music changed. No longer could we afford to act a fool, bend to protocol, and limit ourselves with the atrocity of some political agenda. Now, more than ever, we could only survive if we acted to their rules, for ours had long since perished.

     “Captain Williams, I say this with as much respect as possible,” I said, releasing a cloud of smoke into his face. “Get out of my bar.”

     “I was a fool for thinking I could change your mind. You better hope that girl upstairs doesn’t cause you more harm than good. But then again, you don’t fucking care do you,” he said, finishing his drink. “Don’t worry. I’ll be out of your hair, for good.”

     I could only hope, but his leave left little time to use. I found Beatrice sound asleep, her head resting against the filthy fabric. Not wanting to wake her, I slowed my movement, monitoring every step, every jump, and every obstacle climb with extreme precision. It prolonged the inevitable, and rendered a five-minute trip into a twenty-minute charade of cops and robbers. Entering the McKenston’s place through my personal favorite and still undiscovered route, I placed Beatrice into a corner. Her head rested on the cold, hard steel surface. Her eyes flickered, and though I tried to silence her, she whispered with a soft voice that resonated off the walls.

     “Where are we,” she said, in a quiet tone that managed to defy the overall purpose of the whisper.

     “You’re in your Uncle’s warehouse,” I said, covering her lips with a single finger. “I hope no one heard you. That would surely sour things real fast.”

     Out from the corner of my eye, a tall, muscular figure walked across the grated catwalk, followed by slightly shorter, dark skinned individual. McKenston and one of his goons strolled towards the source of such an angelic voice.

     “So, it would seem you made yourself a little private passage,” said the Irish crime boss. “It’ll give you something to do after we’re through.”

     “This places me in an awkward situation,” I said, watching for any foul play. “Look, I know you probably want to do all sorts of nasty things to me right now, but I have the girl.”
    
     “Beatrice,” said McKenston, lost into shock, pacing towards me without the slightest concern. I would’ve been more welcoming hadn’t been for the goon’s raised iron sights. The Irish man brushed past me, crouching near his little niece. In a single second, his mind and body flooded with honest, but idealistic intentions for his little niece, wanting to rid the wrong, purge the horrid memories, while knowing the sad realization that the only thing he could do was assist in the present.

     “How did you make it out alive,” said McKenston, glancing at me as if I defied the odds, and in many ways I did. The taste of such recognition left behind an addictive quality that I couldn’t relieve. “Were you seen?”

     “No,” I said, really wanting to part from the location and take the conversation somewhere else. “I don’t believe anyway. Besides, my reputation precedes me; no one would even consider us working together. And on top of all that, Chivo is gonna have a mess on his hands for enough time for you to build up your resistance.”

     “What do you mean,” he said, swallowing Beatrice into his massive arms like a stuffed teddy bear. “We can’t afford another war with him. The man is insane. Anything that could lead him back to us is too much to risk.”

     “Don’t worry; as much as I resent your ways of life, you’re a better man than Chivo, by far. If there was so much as a trace, trail, or person with knowledge of me working for you I would’ve gotten rid of it,” I said, thinking about the beautiful creatures that Chivo held captive. Their victory would secure a more peaceful transition towards a possible alliance with McKenston. It could also ignite a fire storm unlike this world had ever seen. Worst of all, their efforts could fail, delivering a woman with all sorts of dirty, little secrets back into Chivo’s hands, and he wouldn’t be merciful.

     “You said it best my friend, awkward. I want to kiss you right now, but our past also makes me want to punch your nose in again. Perhaps we could help each other more often, but don’t expect to stroll into our premises anytime soon,” he said, stepping away with the girl in his arms. The goon lowered his gun. Once relaxed, the African American reached for the back of his throat but stopped midway, failing forward in a pathetic collapse. McKenston ran for cover, while his men discussed the suddenness to their peer’s demise. They were clueless, fending for themselves in order to make sense of the situation. I knew, full and well, who was responsible for this violent, intrusive introduction. I bolted across the grated metal, leaving for the rooftop, which I climbed knowing that the sniper could put an end to all this struggling. Perhaps he got off on watching his victims suffer. After all, he sure waited a long time to take out the goon.

     I threw myself over the ventilation works, and found the sniper ready to make his leave. The weapon already placed into its protective, gentle casing, which bore a rough, metallic exterior. The older gentleman, covered from head to toe in a ghillie suit, walked away from me as if not threatened or even remotely bothered by my presence.

     “Where do you think you’re going,” I asked, lashing at the stalker. “Cowards run around in smelly costumes.” 

     He paused for a moment and cocked his head back a bit. “You’re absolutely correct,” he said, in a tone that attempted to be mutual. I wasn’t in the mood for some smart comment, and these moments tend to call for it by the payload. “But they also don’t intrude into other people’s business. Good day to you, Michaels.”

     “You could’ve killed me just like the others,” I said.

     “I guess I could’ve, but the thought never entered my mind. And why do you suppose that is?”

     “Unless you’re some sort of guardian angel, I wouldn’t have a clue. In these times everyone is looking over their shoulder, trying hard to keep alive, and even harder to keep their wits,” I said, lowering my gun, relaxing my stance and pocketing my hands into my duster.

     “You approach me as if I should fear you, but it’s you that fears me; I suppose the latter would suit me if I were. But, I’m not. I’m just a man, same as you,” he said, returning to his calm, casual escape.

     “That’s it,” I asked, following his example, while glancing at the buzzing activity at the grounds of the warehouse. “If you are saving me from danger, you sure have an odd way about it. McKenston is no threat.”

     “Since when is the underdog any real threat,” he asked, immediately. “Let the man rise to power and he’ll begin to mimic his enemies. He might be weak and grateful for your help now, but don’t you forget one valuable thing. That people don’t change. He’s just as evil now as he was then. Just because you saved his niece doesn’t mean he’ll be on good behavior. Besides, how do you think Chivo captured his niece in the first place?”

     As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t find a conceivable answer. It couldn’t possibly be that Chivo and his men walked through McKenston’s stomping grounds for just a mere kidnapping. If Chivo and McKenston were to meet, then one of them should be dead as a result from it. I followed the strange man through the rooftops, climbing over walls of blasted metal and stone to rest at a sloping height.

     “The answer is right in front of you,” he said, placing the gun case on the ground, reassembling the rifle. All the pieces glistened in the sun light, beaming with a polish normally reserved for ritualistic items. He lived this profession of his, breathing as if always on the hunt, observing as if always on the lookout for a target, while staying in tune with a sort of sixth sense about what’s around him.

     “Look beyond what you think you know of McKenston. He sold her, clear and simple,” he said, while raising his rifle into position. I glanced in the direction and wasn’t too clear as to the whereabouts of his target, other than another one of someone at the warehouse. Though I wanted to assist McKenston’s men in their efforts as an attempt to neutralize Chivo, I didn’t concern myself with the overall well being of the little cogs that allowed his crime machine to run.

     “Is that a fact,” I said, reflecting on that troublesome thought. McKenston has done some bastardly things, but selling out Beatrice would cross the line of no return.

     “Just as if it was written in stone. We know about this and knew it would fuel a war that could single handedly take care of the two most powerful crime organizations in town,” he said. He pulled the trigger, setting release to a bullet that would certainly hit its mark without so much as a sound.

     “You got in the way,” he said, wiping some moisture off the barrel. “You just had to save Beatrice, which is all well and good. It would be a terrible thought to have her live the way Chivo intended. However, with Chivo’s lair absorbed into chaos and McKenston killed, the blood bath should begin soon enough.”

     “What did you just say,” I said, tugging for another name besides his. Despite the sudden news, I felt a connection with the guy. I lived to serve the people, prevent as much bloodshed as possible, all for what. “There’s another way. I could play both sides some more, get them to eventually ally and put an end to this madness.”

     “Detective Michaels, stop talking for a moment and think about it. Seriously think about all of it. You are beginning to sound like them. You know what would happen if the two sides came to an agreement? It wouldn’t get rid of the issues, it would simply cover them. It would provide a utopia for crime lords and other fiends,” he said, carefully placing the rifle parts back into the case.

     “But the execution of one leader, and the total chaos of another! Rivers of blood will wash over the rubble, the cradle of ruin would never be the same,” I said.

     “It would be better. The end result of the blasts gave us a chance to start anew. So far, every effort to establish order has failed. This is the only way,” he said, simply.

     “That sounds like Captain Williams,” I said, hoping for him to unmask himself.

     “Captain Williams, huh? I haven’t heard that name in quite some time. I doubt he made it. I doubt a lot of people have made it,” he said with hesitance. He gave me one last look and waived as if the job was done. “Now that it’s over, you might not want to head home; perhaps you should take this time to move on. This isn’t a place for an old fossil like you anymore.”

     I tried to follow, but each step took me further away from where I felt a sense of belonging. “You might wanna pick up the pace just a little more,” I said, empty of any real thought regarding the mater, stricken with a strong, overpowering sensation for protecting those everyone else had forsaken.

     “You are one stubborn fool, you know that,” he asked, leaning against the shattered remains of a brick wall. “I can’t say I didn’t try. Not like I owe the Captain anymore than an honest solid. If you want to stay, then suit yourself.”

     Looking back, I saw nothing less but chaos slowly devouring all that remained into a collective ball of tension, while giving rise to a new wave of mindless bloodshed. The city was geared to become a battleground drenched in rivers of blood that may actually cleanse the world of the hate. But in all of that, where do I belong. Where should I go? If my ideals were impossible before, then they should be completely inaccessible now, leaving me torn inside.

     “How can I make myself anymore clearer,” I said, throwing down the chard bud, chuckling at a thought that surfaced like that of a ghost, a possible foolishness that I secretly wanted the sniper to exhibit, but he could read me without irritation.

     “Whatever,” he said, turning his back towards me.

     A shallow soul I would become if I stayed, but the repeated viewpoint of absurd selfishness became increasingly mundane the more I thought about it. All those that question my way of life, my unrelenting respect for the principles for which the badge stood for, placed bets on an event that to them seem promising. For death to come in and chaotically demolish the lives of the few hundred survivors presented the opportunity to clean the world. I couldn’t see their view with enthusiasm for too long, the stakes were too high for a solution that defied the problem with acute reflexivity. Everyone else in my line of work could easily flee, but I despised the act. It alienated us, those that held the power for change, to take charge and restore a sense of order to this chaotic cesspool. Like a bunch of cowards, the sniper and those like him left the town for dead, but not me. I couldn’t bear the thought. Even if it meant sacrificing all of the will I could muster, bleeding till the last drop of blood, I owed it to this city, to myself, to keep it from crumbling.

     “Don’t you ever come back,” I said, firing a round lazily in his direction. The man didn’t flinch and the roar of a .45 was one that could pierce into the deafest of ears; however, it was clear as a day that any mutuality between us had been thrown away.