The air was thick with wood smoke, animal musk, and dung as they came to the gate. Strong smells, but Derrek had smelled worse. Compared to the rancid garbage and urine soaked alleyways of his youth and the rotting corpse of an unfortunate spelunker and blood soaked hotel of the past year, it was downright bearable.

“Let me do the talkin’,” Discord said in the person of Donkey, “just to start out. I’ll get their peepers on me and make sure they stay there, then you crank up the charm. Ingratiate yerself, help out with some work, make some friends.”

Derrek, who felt no need to change his voice as Shawn, gave him a sidelong glance. “We aren't here to make friends.” The exact opposite, in fact.

Discord vaulted over the gate and unlatched it from the inside, completely unnecessarily. “The whole plan hinges on you ingratiatin’ yerself with these so-and-so’s so they invite you to the sundown fun town. Besides, you can never have too many friends.”

Derrek closed the gate behind him and followed Discord down the driveway. “Why was the gate unlocked? You’d think they'd want the extra security.”

Discord shrugged. “Small town, nobody locks their doors. The gate itself drives off ninety percent of trespassers. And don't change the subject, I need you minglin’, punk.”

Derrek sighed. “I’ll try, and don't call me a punk.”

“I'm not. Donkey’s callin’ Shawn a punk. Get in character, boy! We’re up.”

There were three people ahead of them huddled around the engine of an old pickup truck, two men and a woman. There was a big man wearing a plaid hat working on something near the front with the woman, while the other man looked on from out of their way, scratching his beard and nodding at everything they said. Derrek got the impression the bearded one had no idea what he was looking at, but his smile-and-nod routine was spot on.

They approached, only a few yards away now, and Discord cleared his throat. The mechanics spun around surprised, staring at them with wary expressions. “Howdy fellas,” Discord nodded to the woman, “and filet. Me and the punk here,” he threw a thumb over his shoulder at Derrek, “just hopped off the rail comin’ from Glasgow. Sad to say, my thinker ain't what it used to be, and I left our week's provisions in the car when we jumped. Long story short, we’re in need of a place to sleep and grub to eat ‘til the next train blows through. Ain't got no scratch, but we can earn our keep.”

The mechanics shared glances with each other, the man with the hat gripping a wrench with white knuckles. Derrek crossed his arms, the fingers of one hand tickling the grip of his gun, just in case. The woman took a step forward and sized them up, clearly unimpressed.

“It's well enough you're broke,” she said with hands on hips, “we ain't no motel. Work is the only rent we take here. I'm Charlotte.” She thumbed over her shoulder at the man with the beard. “That's Clem,” at the one with the hat, “and that's Bert. And y’all are?”

Discord grinned under his beard. “Folk call me Donkey.” He looked at Derrek quizzically. “And I forget this punk's name. What's your name, punk?”

Derrek resisted the urge to glare at him. “Shawn, pleasure to meet you.”

Charlotte nodded and grunted as though she was willing to accept that as a possibility. “Save the pleasure for later, punk, work’s what you're getting. What can y’all do? If either of you know shit about trucks, it’d be a godsend.” She spun around and kicked the truck's rusty bumper. “This hunk of junk crapped out a month ago, and none of us can figure it.”

Discord grunted and hitched up his belt, sauntering up to the engine. “Ain't nothin’ with four wheels and a tailpipe I can't fix, lemme take a look.” He stepped up on the bumper and bent over the engine, sticking his ass high in the air as he fiddled with something. Metal clanged and a few sparks flew. He threw important-looking pieces to the side, connecting things Derrek thought did not need to be connected. There was a soft cracking sound, and Derrek was reminded of his egg-heavy breakfast. Discord grunted again, hopped down with a thump, and slammed down the hood. “Crank her up, oughta run like moderately-used.”

Clem and Bert looked at each other doubtfully, but Clem entered the truck and turned the ignition. Instantly, the truck roared to life, the engine bellowing over the sounds of the animals. Clem killed the truck, and climbed out with a big smile on his bearded face.

“Hot damn!” he slapped Discord on the back, “You're a goddamn truck whisperer!” He turned to the woman. “Charlie, you mind if I take him to the house? Adam’ll wanna meet this one.”

Charlotte nodded. “That'll be fine. Bert, take the punk around back and help unload the feed. Then get with Lisa and Raph and get that fence mended, then you gotta wrangle the straggling cattle, gotta let the outpasture grow up some more. I'm gonna take the truck into town and get it serviced.”

“You got it, boss.” Bert patted Derrek on the back. “He’s sure gonna earn that stew tonight.”

“Oh shit, stew!” Clem patted his stomach and licked his lips, “I love Darlene's stew!”

Charlotte’s mouth turned up at one corner, not quite a smile, but close. “I'm gonna pick up some cumin for it too while I'm out, shaping up to be the best batch yet.”

Discord slapped his own stomach. “Sounds divine, I ain't had a good stew in years. Lemme have a quick word with the punk, if you don't mind. I wanna make sure he remembers his manners.” Without waiting for an answer, he draped an arm around Derrek and steered him away, leaning close and speaking low. “Good going, Havok, you've got a whole afternoon lineup. All that busy work won't be shit for you, just help out best you can and establish your value as a worker. Chat with them, ask about their lives, and lie like hell if they ask you any questions.”

Derrek nodded. “Did you crack an egg in the engine?”

Discord grinned. “The radiator, actually. Old trick that plugs up leaks. If I did everything right, the whole damn thing will fall apart when she gets back from town, and if I play it right with this Adam fella, it'll be the straw that breaks my camel's back. Just do your best and side with them when they give their ultimatum. Maybe slap me around a bit to make it look convincing.”

“If I break your nose, can you keep it broken?”

Discord's grin grew wider. “Can do, now hop to it, punk!” He slapped Derrek on the back and they broke, Discord following Clem to the house and Derrek following Bert as Charlotte meandered down the driveway. Bert led him around the big house, waving at the several other people as they passed by the barn. Up close, the heavy door was only more imposing. That heavy wooden beam was twice as thick as he’d guessed from the hill. The altar Discord was talking about must be inside, and who knew what else besides. Derrek decided not to think about it.

They came upon a smaller barn Derrek had seen the roof of from the hill, a heavy duty truck connected to an enclosed trailer, which he guessed was bursting with animal feed. Two women, one black, one of latin descent, were leaning against the trailer, smoking cigarettes. As they saw their approach, they both snuffed them out against the tire well and flicked away the butts, coming up to meet them.

“Who’s this punk?” The black woman asked, looking Derrek up and down scornfully.

Why is everyone calling me a punk?

“His name’s Shawn,” Bert said to Derrek's satisfaction, “He blew in with some guy who fixed the old ford in a minute flat. Since we got him, we're gonna get some work out of him.”

The latin woman raised her well-manicured eyebrows, “I thought that heap would never run again. You know the old saying, ‘fix it again, Tony.’”

The black woman rolled her eyes. “Cassie, you dumb bitch, that's Fiats. Ford is ‘fix or repair daily.’”

Cassie scratched her head. “What's Chevrolet then?”

Derrek couldn't believe his luck, he knew this one! Jeffrey had told it once during his weapons training. “Cheap, hardly efficient, virtually runs on luck every time.” He counted off the points on one hand, the same way Jeffrey had.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Bert rumbled with laughter. Cassie counted on her fingers, silently repeating his words. Once she crunched the numbers, she joined in the merriment. The black woman smiled and nodded in approval, her gaze slightly less scornful. “Ain't heard that one before, well done, punk. I’m Ida, by the way.”

“And I'm Cassie!” Cassie said with a big smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. They were unfocused, like she was looking through Derrek rather than at him.

Ida rolled her eyes and shook her head. “This feed won't unload itself, now. Let's get this knocked out.”

Bert and Cassie nodded and followed Ida, taking places in a chain to move the bags into the barn, leaving a gap for Derrek. Or for Shawn, rather. Without a word, Bert grabbed a bag from the truck and tossed it to Cassie, who pivoted to toss it to Derrek. He caught the bag and threw it to Ida, who stacked it on a pallet inside the barn. By the time he had turned back around, there was another bag waiting for him, and they went on like that, passing bag after bag, working in rhythm, and Derrek's mind wandered.

It was so odd, wearing a face that wasn't his own. He could act any way he wanted, free of consequences. After all, none of them would live out the day if everything went to plan. But Discord had told him to try to make friends with them. Derrek liked Discord, he thought of him as his best friend, but it was a part of his very nature to fuck with people. The Warrior Spirit of entertainment, growing more powerful the more fun he was having. Everything he does, he does because he thinks it will be fun, all subject to his arbitrary sense of humor.

At the same time, he was incredibly wise and astute, working valuable lessons from his thousands of years of life into every action. Derrek had learned just as much from Discord as he had from Shale, and more every time they spoke. There had to be a good reason. Maybe to get Derrek comfortable with infiltration operations? Or some kind of test to see how he reacted to killing people he was familiar with in a non-combat setting? Half of these Saturday outings ended up being some kind of lesson, some test of Derrek's skill or mettle. Just last month Discord had brought him to the Russian wilderness to track down a witch that had placed a curse on a village. They spent three hours looking for her, and Derrek had learned quite a lot about how this particular breed of magic worked, the kinds of wards and spells she had been using to hide, the way that power could be imbued into carved symbols. Once they found her, Discord agreed to a game with two drinks, one of them poisoned, acted out the entire poison monologue from The Princess Bride, and drank them both. The witch lifted the curse, sold Discord some suspicious looking herbs, and sent them on their way. Discord had spun it into an example of ‘non-violent conflict resolution,’ when he had been leading Derrek to believe they had been there to kill the witch their whole way there.

There was a good chance Discord had an ulterior motive he had no way of predicting. Derrek knew Discord hadn't been lying, an aspect of the reaper's touch that had served him well, but that didn't mean he was telling the whole truth. The name Discord itself was apt, come to think of it: a chaotic storm of lies and wisdom, loyalty and treachery, consistently inconsistent, a living paradox. He was a hard man to trust, but he had chosen not to kill Derrek and had gone out of his way to incorporate him into the larger world. He defied millennia of conflict and chose to embrace the Devourer not as an enemy, but a friend. It was all so unreal, maybe he really died in that clearing and all this was some long-winded hallucination.

Derrek snorted. No chance of that, my imagination is nowhere near good enough to make up half of what I’ve been through. It was all far too unreal not to be real, fact is usually stranger than fiction, after all. He was glad it was all real; if it were just his mind dying he never would have met Terra. He had looked into as many gods’ business portfolios as he could get his hands on in preparation for the party, and all that had shown up for her was a handful of stocks and her doula business. She was attracted to him for his influence, his wealth and his power, Derrek was smart enough to see that, but there was no knowing if she felt anything for him beyond that. He was attracted to her because she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met with wit and intelligence to match. She was so wonderful in so many ways, so bright and charming, so down to earth, forgiving the pun. He could smell that rich earthy floral scent now, like she brought a blooming meadow with her everywhere she went. He would have to get an engagement ring. It may be a while before a proposal would be appropriate, maybe six months, maybe two years, but even if it took a millennium he knew he wanted her to be his wife. Whatever life had in store for him, he wanted her to be there with him for every moment of it.

He reached out for the next bag, but the bag didn't come. He looked up to see Cassie and Bert, bent over and breathing hard before the empty trailer. He turned around and saw Ida, in better shape but still winded. Derrek hadn't even broken a sweat, and his breathing was still even. The bags felt light as air to him. He knew for a fact he could lift four hundred pounds with ease, only struggling when it got around eighteen hundred pounds. If he kept training, he was sure he could lift a ton easily by the end of the year. He wasn't sure what the upper limits for his body were, but they felt very far away.

“Whew!” Derrek wiped away imaginary sweat from his forehead, pretending to breathe hard, leaning against the barn as if he were exhausted. “We got that knocked out, huh?”

Bert grinned under his beard. “I’ll say, that was some good work from you, Shawn. Can’t tell you how many newbies go right to complaining once they get their hands on one of them bags.” He reached around the trailer and brought around a small cooler, opening it and offering beverages around. “Want a beer?”

One beer can't hurt. He accepted the bottled beer and raised it toward Bert in thanks. On muscle memory, he popped off the cap with his thumb, sending it spinning in the air and turned up the bottle, spinning it to let air run through and downed it in seconds. He let out a refreshed sigh and caught the cap before it hit the ground, put it back on and gave it a firm slap, sealing the empty bottle. He gave a small belch and handed it back toward Bert, who had been watching mystified. “Thanks, that hit the spot.”

Bert broke into a wide grin. “Damn, kid! That's the smoothest beer I've ever seen drank!”

Cassie raised her beer and gave a cheering whoo, and Derrek felt Ida slap him on the back. “You ain't half bad, punk. What's your deal?”

Derrek raised an eyebrow. “My deal?” He didn't like where this was going.

Ida raised her eyebrow, mirroring him. “Plenty of folk breeze through here, but most of them ain't worth the space they take up. It's hard work on the farm, and most ain't cut out for it, but you ain't even out of breath after moving three tons of feed. You look like a strung out punk, but you work like an ox.” Her eyebrow twitched a touch higher. She wasn't frowning, but she wasn't smiling either. “So, what's your deal?”

Derrek thought for the briefest of moments, then began to lie his ass off. “I was going to join the Marines after I graduated high school. I was serious about it too, committed to a strict routine for two years.” He put on a grin, the lies flowing as easily as his breath. “You should’ve seen me in my prime. I was fifty pounds heavier, and all of it muscle.” He looked at the ground and sighed as if he missed the old days. “Then two days before graduation, I got into a brawl outside a pizza shop, cracked a guys skull open and got hauled off to jail. The guy lived, but they labeled me the aggressor and he pressed charges, judge gave me two years for assault, and there went the Marines and my diploma in one fell swoop.

“I lost weight in prison, and even though I keep in shape I've been lean ever since. Nobody wanted to hire me after I got out, and I could only ever land physical work. Never bothered me much, but I’d always lose my cool and knock someone on their ass and have to find other work. Eventually, I just left. Just hit the road, hitchhiked to wherever I could. I met Donkey, the guy who fixed your truck, back in Topeka.” Derrek grinned again. “He’s crazy as shit, but we look out for each other. He’s not so bad, once you get used to him.”

Derrek hated lying, but he had also become quite good at it. Bert closed his eyes and nodded, his trust in Derrek's story written on his face. Cassies’ smile seemed a touch sadder, but her eyes were still unfocused and distant. Idas’ face hadn't moved a fraction of an inch, that eyebrow still arched and her gaze level and appraising.

Bert patted him on the back. “I feel your pain, man. I did some time too, lost my temper more than once. Can't get shit for a job as a felon in this damn economy, I’d be back in the joint by now if it weren’t for Adam.”

Cassie nodded emphatically, sparks of awareness flashing behind her eyes. “Adam took me in after School of the Five Elephants, this band I was touring with, broke up and left me without a ride. It's nice here. Way better than home was.” Her eyes slid back into that unfocused state, her smile slipping ever so slightly.

Ida finally let that brow drop and gave a single nod. “My dad kicked me out when I was fifteen and he found out I was dating the neighbor girl.” She took a swig of her beer. “I dropped out and hit the road, a lot like you. Ended up here. Adam’s a good guy, he takes care of his own.”

Derrek smiled with feigned warmth. They trusted him enough to share these pieces of their lives, completely unaware of what he was here to do. Unaware of the gun in his jacket. Unaware of the knives tucked in his belt. He was a cuckoo in the nest, just waiting for the right time to hatch. If the Reapers’ touch weren't keeping him cool, he knew for a fact he would have vomited, he was that sick of himself.

“This Adam sounds like a good guy,” Derrek lied. At least he hoped it was a lie. These people were murderers, but they were still people, and if Adam was their leader he was likely much the same. Just another person. The three cultists just nodded like it was the truest thing they'd ever heard.

Bert polished off his beer and replaced the cap. “Don't worry, you'll get to meet the man soon enough.” He pointed to the fence with his empty bottle. “Follow the fence ‘till you find Raph and Lisa, see if they need your help. Then get them to point you at the pasture, I’m sure Brutus is giving them hell.”

Derrek raised an eyebrow. “Brutus?”

Bert pulled out another beer from the cooler and twisted off the cap. “Our bull, stubborn as shit. Bet you a dollar he’ll be the last one in the pasture.” He took a swig and grinned at Derrek, or Shawn, rather. “If we've got any beer left when you wrap it up you're welcome to your share.”

Ida graced the group with a grin of her own. “So hop to it, punk, I wanna see how you chug after tussling with Brutus.” Cassie just smiled and nodded. She might not have been paying attention. There was no way of knowing. Still, it was a good example. Derrek smiled as warmly as he could muster and nodded, turning to follow the fence line, doing his best not to think about what he was here to do.