The headset on Scriv’s chair was stifling. Incredibly so, and the hot air in the room didn’t help matters whatsoever. He knew what was happening outside of his headset, his field of vision. He knew he was in a room with over a dozen people, several of them sitting on computers, or talking on old fashioned dial phones.
But counting him, there were three people with headsets. Each of them also held in their hands the same hand controllers Scriv had. He was watching the group atop the rooftop. Nothing very interesting was happening, but it was after all his job to record segments of everything that was going on.
So that’s what he did. It appeared that Candidate 7 was descending from the relative safety of the building to begin attacking the decaying. As he did so, the swordsman, Candidate 9 came down and began attacking them as well. And then, Scriv shot a quick look up at whatever was going on atop the building, and his breath caught in his throat.
Immediately, he set the camera device to watch the battle unfurling below with Candidate 7 and Candidate 9, and he went to one of the phones. He quickly dialed, eight-eight-eight, and said into the phone, “Mr. Crow, Sir, it’s Scriv, one of the cameramen.”
There was the sound of a phone being lifted up, and then a deep voice said quitely, “Why are you calling?”
“Its Candidate 7 sir. And Candidate 8. They appear to have found each other.”
The man on the other end of the phone sighed and asked, “Who are they again?”
“The Archer sir. And the Doctor.”
The voice on the other end of the phone grew sharper, and infinately more interested. “They’ve found each other?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Send me the full recording, then get yourself a second Camera. I want you filming both the Archer, and the leader of the town that based themselves in the Monastery. Understand me?”
“Yes, Sir.” Scriv paused, then asked, “Do you think this could be the beginning of an event, sir?”
“I don’t think so. I know so. We’ve been hinting that they would find each other for years, and now that they have, I don’t want to lose a second of whatever is going on there. Make sure it’s all recorded. Day and night. All of it.”
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“Yes sir.” Scriv paused then asked, “And what if something were to happen? Say an accident with the decayed? Should we interfere?”
Mr. Crow paused, then said, “Minimal action only. We can’t have them figuring anything out.”
Scriv nodded, then said quietly, “Good day sir.”
From the other end of the telephone came a couple of voices, then a click. Scriv looked at the now useless phone in his hands, and smiled. For him, this could be a breakthrough. The thing to catapult him through the ranks. Make him something other than a glorified paparazzi. For now though, he just put back on the headset, and went back to watching the Archer.
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Behind the Sheriff, he knew Robin was still fighting off the Stumblers, and he knew he wouldn’t stop doing that for a while, but he was content to leave him there. The vow he had taken prevented him from attacking Robin himself, but if he died to Stumblers, everything was easier.
He continued walking for a while, choosing to for the most part avoid the stumblers, rather than try to fight them. He could have of course, but it would just be a distraction. A way to take out his anger that he had lost to Robin. Nothing more, and nothing less. And quite simply, that would be a waste of energy.
It was energy that could be used to save his people. Protect them. Keep them safe from men like Robin. Or from the Stumblers. The Sheriff cracked his knuckles, then turned right down a street, and saw one of the most awe inspiring sights in this entire city.
The whole Monastery in front of him was walled off, and atop the wall, men walked, armed to the teeth, most of them with silenced weapons, the kind you used for taking care of Stumblers. Not people. Those men were his hunters.
The men that Robin had ruthlessly slaughtered. The men he had left bleeding for the Stumblers to feast on, so that not even a body was left for their friends. Their family. As he walked, he mentally ticked off the names of the people that Robin had murdered.
The first person he stopped to talk to, anticipated what he was saying. Jimmy’s wife broke down in tears, and their little daughter Emily, clutched at The Sheriff’s leg. “Where’s daddy?” She asked, “Why isn’t he home yet? He’s always home…”
The Sheriff knelt down and said to the girl quietly. “Don’t worry Emily. He’s in a better place now. A happier place. And do you know what you can do for him? You can be happy here. There’s much good here, regardless of the state of the world outside.”
The Sheriff went on like this, consoling the people who were the closest to the dead men. Eventually it became so much for him, that he stopped. It hurt him to be the one to tell the people that they were dead. That should be Robin. But no. Here the Sheriff was. Cleaning up his mess.
It was then that the sheriff swore he would kill Robin. Kill him for what he’s done. Avenge the hundreds of men he’s killed. And he would purge this city of the evil that he was. He just had to wait.