SOMEWHERE IN THE LOW QUARTER NEAR THE ENTRANCE TO THE UNDERGROUND

The hours of the day passed each similar to the other. Pxan couldn’t sleep if he ever could sleep. Something undefined tormented him, like a distant echo or call there was something out there that was calling for him.

<> the little auricular in his ear said <>

auricular were still relatively new and expensive, only the police and some members of the military use them...and the inquisition, of course, the inquisition used everything.

He entered the tunnel, people gave him a strange look. Even in civilian clothes, they knew that he wasn’t supposed to be there. People in those tunnels recognize the scent of degradation and despair from a mile distance. Pxan didn’t have it, he had that scent of hatred and rage typical of a vigilant or inquisitors. He didn’t care about what people thought.

His target had two guards protecting him, both with rifles. Their routine was simple, escorting the “boss” back and forth from the base to whenever he needed to go.

...

<> said one of the guards <> he said pointing to a tiny metal string on the ground. Something fell to the ground, he turned only to see the other guard corpse on the ground bleeding. Instinctively he reached for his gun but a bolt broke his arm and gave him tremendous pain. Smoke bombs were trowed. The men began to run. One of the metal string made them fall to the ground. A large crack was heard. The criminal skull was broken into a thousand pieces. In a few seconds, his bodyguard fell to the injuries and died.

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<> Renes said to Pxan <>

He was right, neither the metal strings nor the bolt worked as he intended them to. If Renes wasn’t there he would have failed the mission.

<> he turned <>

Pxan turned again <>

<>

<>

<>

“And what a strange way,” Pxan thought to himself

PXAN APPARTMENT IN THE LOWER DISTRICT

He put the bag in a corner, looked at the door and took a quick shower. If the doctors were right his muscles were tired and a bit sore from all the stress. Maybe in the future, if he did the good dog, he would have some military prosthetics. Maybe. In the future. Damn. Why he was doing this? What hunger drove him?

All of a sudden he remembered the goals that he set when he escape his hellish home and now they seem so distant and abstract. “Kill some cultists...probably time already killed them.”