Captain Henry Brunner looked dishevelled as he pushed himself up from his polished oak desk and turned to the enormous glass window behind him. He stared down at the rows of military tents and observed hundreds of his guards darting about, conducting their duties. He ran his fingers over his face, feeling at the small scabs littering his forehead from where the City Health medic had extracted several shards of glass. His usually smooth chin was rough with the beginnings of stubble and his beady brown eyes were itchy, sullen, and tired.

He hadn’t slept in two nights now, ever since his personal aide had delivered the news of his brother’s death. Poor Frederick, such a useless excuse for a man. Never on time, inept at following orders, and always looking the fool. He was a fool, but he was his brother. As a tear threatened to escape his eye, he stuffed a fist of knuckles into his mouth and forced a cough. Scolding himself for being weak, he sniffed back his emotion, gave a shake of his head, and focused his underlying anger. His brother’s killer would be dealt with, of that there was no doubt.

The Grey Man. He had decided that was the name he would use to his men. The Impaler, the Ghost, and all the other fanciful titles he had been bestowed with were now outlawed within his ranks.

"He is nothing, just a man hiding in the grey like a coward," Brunner had told them in his evening address the previous night.

The Grey Man had been nothing but a nuisance for years now, killing low-level runners and dealers. Brunner had even admired some of his work. The gutting people alive was a personal favourite, and one he had used himself on prisoners.

Not until the Grey Man assassinated Big Caesar and the Governor had he even considered doing anything about him. Killing Crocheads and low-level runners was one thing, but striking at two of the biggest Shanty Lords in the city was a concern. The Croc trade derailed for days after their deaths. Madness erupted, born of withdrawals, and his guards had been stretched to their limits trying to restore order.

Croc was his friend. He needed it – it was a pacifier, a deterrent. Croc culled the peasants, killed them off from the inside, and kept his hands clean. It was slowly but surely ridding the city of scum. But there was one concern above all of this that had caused him to sign the warrant for the Grey Man. A concern of survival. If the Grey Man could get to Caesar, to the Governor – if he could mutilate them and display them like stuck pigs draining in a butcher's parlour, in their own shanties – then there was no one the Grey Man couldn’t get to. Perhaps even the Captain of the Guard wasn’t safe.

Captain Brunner turned from the window and crossed his office to the en suite, where he carefully and meticulously shaved. He submerged his face into the bowl of cold water, then rubbed his eyes to life. Assessing himself in the mirror, he primped and pruned until satisfied he looked immaculate. Only the scars and scabs adorning his forehead blemished his brilliance. Pleased with himself, he spun towards his closet. Selecting a freshly ironed uniform, he donned it swiftly, tucking the trousers into his shiny black boots, the toes of which were polished like glass. He secured his blackened steel revolver in a harness strapped to his side, then slipped into his wax trench coat. Finally, he lifted his cane from his desk, a shiny black stick topped with a brass cobra head.

Opening the door, he stepped out and descended the stairs, moving through a series of tunnels before reaching the opening to the field. He took a sharp breath as he stepped out and raised his chin, peering down his nose around the stadium floor. The City Guard headquarters bustled. Guards were milling between the barracks, the dining tent, and the holding cells, where the screams of the peasants cut the commotion. Brunner’s sour mood lifted at the sound.

Lines of guards marched up and down the steep paths cutting through huge seated stands on two of the four sides. The third stand, to Brunner’s left, had been hollowed out and now acted as a car park for the fleet of vehicles, which were currently being washed and maintained by several guards. The final stand was empty, used only for access into the bowels of the stadium on that side, where Doctor Josef Bayer would be hard at work in the hospital. That was the morning's destination.

“Ah, Doctor Bayer. I see you’re hard at work,” commented Captain Brunner as he stepped through the stand’s main tunnel into the hospital. Doctor Bayer stood over a guard, who was lying on a gurney and lolling his head from side to side.

“He got jabbed with Croc whilst trying to arrest a thief in the shopping district,” replied Doctor Bayer nonchalantly. “I could give him a Narcroc shot to bring him back round. Of course, he would need round-the-clock rehab for weeks to have the slightest chance of beating the addiction,” he continued.

“Speak plainly, Doctor,” Captain Brunner snapped.

“He would make a useful test subject, Captain,” replied Doctor Bayer, pushing his thick-lensed glasses back up his long, sloping nose and resting them on the bump at the bridge.

“Yes, yes, very well. If he has a family, have them evicted from the Guard’s Village.”

“Yes, Captain,” answered Doctor Bayer with a curt smile.

“Before we discuss your progress with the test subjects, I need to speak with Sergeant Kramer. Show me to his bed.”

“Of course, Captain. Please, follow me.”

Doctor Bayer moved off through the makeshift emergency room, lined with curtains concealing beds, Captain Brunner beside him. Medics and nurses dashed about between patients injured in the chaos of the previous night's riots. Brunner surveyed the doctor as he walked. He was tall and rake thin, his sharp and gaunt face doing little to compensate for his beak of a nose.

As they arrived at a door, he raised his long, bony finger and pointed at it. “He insisted on a private room. You know how he can be with his headaches.”

Captain Brunner nodded and dismissed Doctor Bayer, reminding him to remain available at the conclusion of his meeting with Kramer.

Sergeant Kramer sat upright on a single bed, his right arm slung up elevated above him. His face turned away from his captain, eyes fixed on a drab magnolia wall.

“No need to stand, Sergeant, but you will look at me when I enter the room – injured or not.”

Sergeant Kramer remained as he was, locked in a stare, eyes burning a hole in the wall. For a second, Captain Brunner considered pulling out his revolver and executing him. Fortunately for the sergeant, he turned to face his superior in the nick of time. “My apologies, Captain,” he replied sincerely. “My bastard headaches are causing me infinitely more trouble than my missing hand.”

“I placed you in charge of my brother, and less than a week later, I’m presented with his corpse.”

Sergeant Kramer was quiet for a moment, carefully forming his response before he replied. “My deepest condolences, Captain. He was a fine man. I trust you have read my first account. He was extremely brave.”

“He was a fool and a coward,” snapped Captain Brunner. “Though I was pleased to read that he found his courage in the end.”

“Indeed, he did. The Grey Man is formidable, of that there is no question. I’m not easily moved, Captain, but the way he carved through my guards is impossible to do justice with words.” He paused in thought. “Frederick didn’t freeze, he faced the terror head on.”

Captain Brunner nodded. “You have the remainder of today to rest, then I expect you back out. You are the spearhead in the hunt for the Grey Man. I want him alive. I want the little bastard with the bow as well. Do not forget about him.”

Sergeant Kramer grasped a manila folder from his lap and waved it in the air. “Whilst incapacitated, I have been reading my case notes again. Three of the seven accounts from the night in The Gardens have him fleeing towards Town Hall. The other four are inconclusive. Given that he ran in that direction from me, and you found him there yourself, we can agree he is somehow linked to the location. I’ll start there.”

“Very good, Sergeant. Though you should know, I executed twelve women in Town Hall on the night he escaped me. An attempt to draw out someone with information. No one came forward.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Sergeant Kramer sighed, squeezing his temples with his remaining fingers. “So either they don’t know anything, or they’re too terrified to speak out?”

“The former, I’d suggest. The execution of their kin may not move the peasants, but they’d certainly be compliant for the ten notes. Fear or no fear.”

Sergeant Kramer yet again sighed in frustration. “Still, post a surveillance team on the hall for a few days, in case he should return.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Captain Brunner took a few steps to the edge of the bed and placed his leather-gloved hand around Kramer’s right forearm, inches above where his hand had once been. He applied a squeeze and saw the pain light up in the sergeant’s eyes. Leaning in close, he spoke, his voice sharp and low.

“You had him cornered in a dead end, Jacob. By four men and yourself. Yet you managed to lose him, your own hand, and my brother. Word of Frederick’s death ripples around the city. It diminishes my reputation. Do not fail me again.”

He released the arm and backed out of the door, eyeballing Sergeant Kramer for signs of dissent. Quietly, he closed the door and marched back through the hospital floor.

Doctor Bayer was nowhere to be seen, and Captain Brunner felt a stab of irritation as he scanned around for the nearest medic, finally spotting one. Quite a portly man, even running towards fat, Brunner thought, wondering where a medic was finding food enough to get so large.

“You, Medic, come here.”

The man halted his stride so quickly he almost toppled over and sped across the hospital floor, standing to attention in front of Captain Brunner. “Yes, Captain.”

“Where is Doctor Bayer?”

“He had an urgent call, Captain. He ordered me to take you to him when you finished with Sergeant Kramer. Right this way.”

Captain Brunner’s irritation flared once more. “The question I asked, Medic, was where is Doctor Bayer?”

“Sorry, Captain,” replied the medic, panic-stricken. “He’s in the subject test room.”

“What is your name, Medic?”

The medic snapped to attention and cleared his throat. “City Health Medic Hazlehurst, Nathan, ID 1404 Alpha,” he said with a sloppy salute.

“Very well, Hazlehurst…and why are you so fat?”

“I’m sorry, Captain. My wife is sick. She doesn't eat too well. So I must admit, I’m prone to helping her with her meal allocations,” he replied, eyes downcast and shuffling on his trotters like a shameful child.

“I am aware of the way to the test room," Captain Brunner said as he looked him up and down in disgust. “However, you look like you could use the exercise, so lead on.”

The medic raced off towards the far end of the giant room and passed through two pillars of painted red steel holding the ceiling. He turned through a concrete arch and zipped out into the stand, descending the steps towards the field below. As he arrived at the bottom, he turned again, glancing back to check the captain was still with him. Satisfied he was, the medic rushed through a tunnel and halted in a spherical room.

Captain Brunner entered, immediately saluted by six guards, each holding a submachine gun. They stood in pairs over the three doors within the room. Straight ahead, through a large red arch housing sliding doors, was Doctor Bayer’s quarters. On the left and right of the spherical room were two more doors. The medic scurried to the right as the guards stepped aside, allowing him to rap the door, which swung open almost immediately.

“Dismissed, Hazlehurst,” ordered Doctor Bayer. “Please, come in, Captain”.

Captain Brunner stepped into the room, a large square space with shiny white walls and a polished grey floor. It was very clinical, though Brunner knew it had once been nothing more than a changing room. White glow of spotlights in the ceiling bounced about the gleaming surfaces. The ominous red glow of a neon floor light wrapped around the base of the walls.

On the far side of the room stood three black gurneys. To each, there was a subject strapped down by their wrists and ankles, mouths gagged to spare Bayer their noise. The fourth subject, a woman, sat on her haunches, twitching and shaking within a large glass box built into the corner of the room. Captain Brunner stared at her with contempt.

The room was stifling. He removed his trench coat, folding it neatly and placing it on a clean metal table. Next to his coat, he dropped his cane, and its brass head landed on the metal with a loud clunk. The sound snapped the woman into life. She immediately began hammering silently on the ballistic glass. Her face was twisted with terror, her jaws snapping, foam and blood escaping from the corners of her cracked lips as she grasped and clawed and hammered tirelessly.

“Progress report. Spare me the chemistry.”

Doctor Bayer rolled his beady eyes toward the ceiling, mumbling and scratching his head as he flipped impatiently through a scraggly notepad. “...how is a chemist to explain chemistry whilst sparing the chemistry…” He dashed the notepad to the table, then sniffed and cleared his throat. “'Blasted affront to science…faster, Bayer. Make it better, Bayer. Three aides are enough, Bayer…'”

Captain Brunner glowered at him. The doctor looked back, sighed, and raised his hand in a lazy apology. “Apologies, Captain. I have administered this subject with the latest crack trial. I’ve discovered that when I introduce Croc during the cooking process, the resulting drug creates the manic delirium in front of you.”

“Very interesting, Doctor, but I fail to see its use. We flood the streets with Croc to pacify, not enrage. I tasked you with finding a way of making the Croc more potent to decrease the lifespan of the addicts. Update me on that.”

“Captain, if you will allow me to continue, I feel you may be pleased,” he replied cautiously.

“Continue.”

“I’m finding it increasingly difficult to strengthen the Croc. The initial drug that flooded the country from Russia in the early days is long gone, watered down into what we have today. If they could only import me more resources…”

“As I have told you time and time again, Bayer, you will work with what I give you, and I give you all I can get. Since the NRL rebels took Liverpool, we’ve lost our largest port, and we are working with what we’ve got.”

“...yes, yes, Captain. Anyway, the lifespan of addicts using the original drug was a mere six months, a year at best.” He removed his blue rubber gloves with a snap and wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his white coat. “The quality of what we can produce now is nowhere near. Most modern Crocheads live for multiple years after becoming addicted.”

“So you are telling me you have failed?” Captain Brunner queried, with a menacing raise of his thin, plucked eyebrow.

“Yes, Captain. Regrettably, I have failed. Though I have a resolution, if I may?”

“Spit it out, Bayer. My patience is wearing thin. If the next words from your mouth don’t please me, I’m afraid your usefulness may have come to an end.”

Doctor Bayer walked over to the box, where the woman had been tirelessly clawing at the glass for the duration of the conversation. Though now, she was standing in the centre twitching, the tips of her fingers dripping with blood.

“The drug I’ve tested on her has the addictive properties of Croc. Though, like we see with Croc, the lifespan of the addict is too long. The natural lifespan, that is.” A thoughtful glint shone on Bayer’s eyes as he turned from Captain Brunner and punched the glass. Once again, violent delirium took over the woman. Her teeth snapped and gnawed at the glass, her bloody fingernails scratching and clawing at Bayer, wild and aggressive beyond comprehension.

“Damn, Bayer. She's feral.”

Doctor Bayer’s face was manic with excitement as he eagerly explained his work. “The drug causes the subject to become incredibly volatile. They enter a state of violent delirium. As you rightly highlighted, they’re far from pacified. However, what if we distributed it to the slums in the late evening? Think of the chaos through the night. The death toll would be far higher than simply waiting for Croc to rid us of them.”

“I’m intrigued,” Captain Brunner replied, his sadistic urges peaking as he considered the doctor’s words. He licked his lips and wiped a bead of sweat from his head as he moved closer to the glass. “What about the morning after, when we need to operate? We have taxes to collect. There has to be some semblance of order, and our mission is to decrease the population of scum, not obliterate them entirely. Who will shovel the shit when the higher-ups return, and we start the rebuild?”

Doctor Bayer smiled and said, “The effects last for around an hour, Captain. If we are careful with the amount we make available, it should be safe by first light. I’m sure the City Guard will oblige with picking off any stragglers.”

“I’m impressed. I will think about your proposal for now. In the meantime, begin manufacture of your new drug. I will want it ready to go should I decide to proceed.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Captain Brunner pulled on his coat and took his cane back into his hand as he turned and walked towards the door. “ ...and Bayer, what are we calling this monstrosity you’ve created?”

Doctor Bayer grinned malevolently as he spoke. “Nileodil, Captain. After the Nile Crocodile, the deadliest of the species.”

Captain Brunner smirked. “Very good, Doctor. Carry on.”