"Damnit, he's after me again." Nevil curses to himself, peering around the corner. Perched on the roof of one of the buildings nearby is a lanky figure wearing that dreaded skull faced bandana. The leering grin vanishes into the shadows as Nevil's pursuer conceals himself, not realizing that he had already been discovered by his quarry.

"Should I just deal with the the stalker now?" Nevil mutters nervously, trying to make up his mind. The driver had no illusions why someone was after him. He should never have made that deal with the ferryman. But Nevil was desperate at that time and wasn't inclined to thinking too far ahead about things.

No, it was too risky. Nevil reckons that he's powerful enough to handle whomever the stalker was. Or at the very least drive the nuisance off. But it was better to keep that trump card secret for now. The stalker was obviously armed with an assault rifle and ready for a fight, yet had chosen to keep his relative distance, content for now with watching Nevil from afar. A holding pattern had emerged, where neither party was willing to throw down just yet.

And Nevil still hadn't recovered from his run in with a Faceless Man the other night. Touching his chest gingerly, Nevil drives off the resurgent phantom pain. The loss of his previous body still hurt, even though spawning another was trivial. Another privilege granted by the ferryman. Losing his life meant nothing to Nevil. After all, the driver had an infinite number of lives to lose.

As long as his real body remained safe that is. No power was foolproof or unbeatable. And the repeated deaths had taught Nevil the value of caution.

"Better get going." Nevil walks purposefully down the street, as the stalker's eyes burn a metaphorical hole into his back. It takes all of Nevil's self control not to look back or even just bolt down the street at full tilt. There was something he needed to do in this neighborhood and Nevil couldn't afford to let the stalker distract him.

Ducking into a warren of congested side streets, Nevil navigates his way past cheerless blocks of rent controlled housing. The local residents treat him with utter indifference, after all the driver was just one more drop in the ocean of humanity surging about. Mingling with the crowd, Nevil flicks his eyes rapidly about, tracking the progress of the stalker.

Nope, the shadowy figure was still parkouring its way across the roofs, keeping a steady distance away from Nevil.

"Full marks for effort." Nevil sighs to himself at the stalker's persistence. The driver's eye suddenly waters and he squints, forcing back the headache. The stalker had dropped into that awkward crouch shuffle that played havoc with Nevil's eyesight. Nevil's senses weren't sharp enough to completely defeat the "position" and he wasn't going to bother trying. There were better things to do.

Like getting to the meeting on time.

Thankfully, Nevil's destination was already in sight. A dive bar located in a basement. A cheap, stained neon sign helpfully proclaims that The Hole is open for business and Nevil trots down the cracked concrete stairs. Behind the driver, there's the soft patter of feet gently hitting the ground. Nevil frowns and wipes his forehead. The stalker clearly plans to corner him in the bar. Nevil needed to move quickly before anything untoward happened.

Entering the bar, Nevil is greeted by the smell of cigarettes and stale alcohol. Approaching the bar, Nevil slaps down his hand on the counter, leaving a crumpled bill on the stained surface.

"Electronic transactions only." the bartender drones disinterestedly, filling a glass of draft beer for another customer.

"I need change to use the telephone." Nevil says, keeping his voice steady. Was the stalker already in the bar? This is really cutting things too close.

The bartender's expression immediately freezes and his eyes roll haplessly. With near mechanical precision, the bartender reaches into his trousers and pulls out an old metal token, a coin stamped with the image of a man brandishing an oar.

"Charon awaits, on the coast of the Trinity Sea." the bartender drones in a dead voice, "Seek him out. Under the crimson moon."

"I know, we've done this countless times." Nevil mutters somewhat sadly, "And yet you never remember. The ferryman is a bad master to have it seems."

Accepting the token, Nevil decides to grab the glass of beer as well. The bartender wouldn't miss it once the trance ends. Chugging down the beer, Nevil breaks straight for the restroom, marked clearly as out of service. The sense of approaching danger only intensifies, giving new impetus to the driver's stride.

"Fuck it." Nevil forces himself into a sprint, barging right through the restroom's entrance. The doors fly open and Nevil feels his body twist like a pretzel, as if he was being forced through a juicer. The driver's vision spins and it takes some solid clenching of his teeth to prevent the freshly consumed beer from being regurgitated back up.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Never can get used to this." Nevil groans as his feet feel the firm ground beneath them. The sound of crickets is the only response he receives. Blinking his eyes owlishly, Nevil realizes that he had arrived at his destination. A lone, vandalized phonebooth located lifetimes away from the city. The restroom door had disappeared into the ether, meaning there was no way back to the dive bar. Sitting incongruously in the middle of a weed strewn field, a red light comes on within the phonebooth. The unmistakable scent of salt mingles in the air and Nevil hears the sound of waves crashing on a distant, unseen shore.

The crimson moon had risen. The ferryman was waiting.

Nevil enters the phonebooth, pulling the phone of its hook and trying to ignore the giant FUCKED spray pained onto the booth's interior. Dumping the token into the awaiting slot, Nevil cringes as his ears are assaulted by a loud crackle of static coming from the line.

"You are late." a toneless, electronically altered voice addresses Nevil without preamble.

"There was a tail." Nevil leans against the booth, "It wasn't easy getting here."

A warbling noise comes from the line as the connection breaks up for a moment.

"Let me check." the voice on the other end says, "Yes, I see him. The puppet master has lost the scent. You are safe for now."

"This is getting too dangerous." Nevil releases a tension laden breath, "I was nearly cornered tonight."

"You were in no danger." the toneless voice scoffs, "If the puppet master tried anything in The Hole, he would have gotten a very nasty surprise."

"I'll take your word for it." Nevil reluctantly accepts the boast at face value, "My stalker isn't going to give up after tonight though."

"If the puppet master attempts to interfere, end him." the person on the other side of the line orders, "However that should be the last resort."

"Didn't think you were concerned about my safety." Nevil huffs as he settles into a squat on the dusty ground.

"Your safety has nothing to do with it." the voice continues, "Attacking the puppet master would destabilize the situation."

"I don't understand." the driver shakes his head in annoyance, "Do you want me to deal with the stalker or not?"

"The puppet master has been in contact with the Regulator cult." the warble explains, "I suspect that they are using him to force certain undesirable reforms on to the city."

"Things never become easy, do they?" Nevil hisses out like a dying gladiator.

"The price of playing for high stakes." the toneless voice jitters as static briefly overwhelms the line, "You have to understand, the Regulator cult's presence in the city has been authorized."

"And I'm guessing what we're doing right now is very much not?" Nevil smirks to himself.

"Obviously. I would have been able to arrange for a more comfortable means of holding these meetings otherwise." the voice snorts at the obvious.

"I would never have guessed." Nevil barely manages to hold back his sarcasm.

"Are you having regrets, my friend?" the phone squawks accusingly, "You can always accept oblivion if things get too hot for your taste."

"No. You're right, I don't want that." Nevil grimaces, "Anything would be better than wandering this emptiness until the next cycle."

The driver squints into the darkness and sure enough, there are several indistinct figures aimlessly walking about in the distance. Suppressing a shudder, Nevil tries to turn his attention back to the conversation. People who died lingered on the shores of the Trinity Sea, waiting to be picked up, sometimes for years, even decades.

"The lucky ones are selected to become a Faceless Man. That is the only way to secure early release from this place." the voice intones over the phone, "I ferry them to Rutger's Academy where the change happens."

"Why did you save me from that fate?" Nevil finally asks the question that had been eating at him all this while.

"Because you were nothing more than a red shirt." the voice chuckles, "No one would notice you missing from the roll of deceased. Recruiting you was the safest option available to me."

"I feel so wanted right now." Nevil deadpans over the phone.

"Don't get me wrong, you've been doing a good job for me so far." the ferryman reassures, "Which brings me to the topic I wanted to discuss tonight."

"Robert, correct?" Nevil braces himself for the meat of the conversation.

"Yes." the ferryman comments, "The finger of death was applied successfully. We can move on to the next phase of the operation."

"I don't think it'll be that easy." Nevil purses his lips worriedly, "Robert awakened his soul powers. Isn't that a sign that he's an important person?"

"Which is why stealth will be our greatest asset." the ferryman says, "We need to act swiftly and decisively in the background before things reach a critical point."

"Tell me what I need to do." Nevil's mouth forms a determined line, "The sooner escape from this purgatory is possible, the better."

"The others would certainly be upset about your opinion regarding the city." the ferryman muses, "It was built to be a Utopia."

"Others?" Nevil asks cautiously. He had long suspected the ferryman to have colleagues but could never get any of the details.

"Time is short, I will begin the briefing now." the ferryman ignores Nevil's question.

"Of course." the driver grumbles in resignation.

The ferryman doesn't notice Nevil's discontent and keeps talking. The cold moon rises, looming over the shores of the Trinity Sea. And in the distance, waves crash against the shore, the noise calling to Nevil. Urging him to drop everything and return to where he rightfully belongs.

Among the dead. Awaiting reincarnation in the next cycle.

The dead gather in the distance, staring mournfully at the phone booth. Wordless accusations are thrown at the betrayer who abandoned them to save himself.

Come back to us, the mournful dead demand. Cycle after cycle, it never gets easier. The dead never forget. Or perhaps Nevil could never forgive himself. This was the price his heart had to bear for cheating death each time. Nevil could change his face between each life spent but the mournful dead are never fooled. They will always recognize him and call him back to where he belongs.

Come back to us, the cold wind moans.

Come back and rest until the next cycle, the waves crashing against the shore command.

Nevil shuts his eyes, concentrating on the ferryman's droning, electronically altered voice.

But the words of the dead and forgotten still resound in his ears.

Come back to us.

Burke.