Timmy tried to swallow but his mouth was so dry he made a sound similar to a fish gasping on a river bank. He was still blowing after running from the Landlord’s men and now they found themselves in a pub surrounded by another load of bald headed, mean faced, drunk bastards.

“‘Oo the fuck are you?” a ratty little creature with crooked teeth said to them.

“Us? We’re umm…” Timmy floundered, his mind a complete blank. He had forgotten all the intricate backstories he and Wally had dreamed up on their walk to Funderson Ave.

“Yeah you.”

The mob turned on them. Timmy couldn’t help but notice how many glass pint glasses and snooker cues were being tightly gripped.

“We’re recruits!” Wally screamed shrilly.

“Wot?”

“We wanna join up! With the Militia!”

The pub’s denizens looked at each other perplexed. Someone grinned and a moment later there were howls of laughter.

“You wanna join up?” The scrawny rat faced one said stepping towards them.

“Y-y-yeah we do. We hate them… them fuckin’ toads and all that. Right Glenn?” Wally said, nudging Timmy.

That was it! He was Glen Quickly and Wally was…

“R-r-right Shane. We want to… umm… we want smash up some Goblins!”

There was a fresh gale of laughter but this time it had a friendly edge.

“Piss of kid, before you get yoreselves hurt,” the rat faced man said, slapping his cackling mate on the shoulder. “This ain’t the place for you.”

“Why don’t you go get yoreselves some flags and join the ladies on parade!”

Timmy felt his face reddening.

“We’re serious!” Wally said. “We wanna join…”

“Well we don’t want you!” the rat faced man snarled, getting in Wally’s face.

Someone pushed Timmy and a glass smashed against the door above their heads.

“Go on piss off!”

Wally looked at Timmy and then he started to back off out of the door.

“Wots goin’ on out ‘ere?”

The gales of laughter stopped. The men all turned to look at a hefty figure walking out from behind the bar. He was an older man, probably somewhere in his fifties, his black hair had greyed on the side, and he was more bulk than muscle now, but he was still an imposing presence. He wore a filthy apron and had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, exposing his faded tattoos.

“Jerry, these two mugs come in the pub talking ‘bout joinin’ up with the Militia,” the rat faced one explained. “We woz just showin’ ‘em the door.”

“Why? Is it yore pub to be slingin’ people out of?” Jerry growled at him.

“Wot… no I didn’t mean it like that.” The rat faced man shuffled nervously and looked down.

Jerry swept past him to look Wally and Timmy up and down with inky blue eyes that were so dark they looked black.

“Wots yer names?”

“I’m Shane Spinner and this is Glenn Quickly,” Wally said.

“How old are you boys?”

“Old enuff.”

Jerry gave him a mirthless grin.

“Answer me straight boy, or I’ll paint the wall wiv yer brains.”

Timmy swallowed nervously.

“I’m seventeen and he’s nineteen,” Timmy answered quickly.

“Huh, just kids. I don’t think this is the place for you boys…”

“But we wanna join up!” Wally said stubbornly.

“Trust me, you’re not wot we’re lookin’ for.”

“Try us,” Wally said, jutting his chin out.

What was he doing? Timmy thought to himself. We need to get out of here.

“Ha!” Jerry gave another cold laugh and looked around. “Lad thinks he’s tough.”

The men around Jerry sniggered.

“Alright. If you wanna be in the Militia so bad, you’ll have to prove yoreselves.”

“Alright,” Wally said.

“Wa… Shane, maybe this isn’t…”

“Quiet Glenn. Wot do we have to do?”

“Out back,” Jerry said, nodding his head to the backdoor. “Let’s go.”

The men in the pub grinned and parted to allow them through. Wally strode through the crowd while Timmy shuffled after him. Out back of the pub was a dirty little cobbled garden full of weeds and broken glass. The men poured out after them with Jerry at their head.

“The Militia only takes a certain kind of man,” Jerry said to them. “You gotta be ‘ard, you gotta be ruthless, and most importantly you gotta follow orders. We don’t take weaklings, so if you wanna join up then you gotta prove yoreselves.”

Timmy looked around nervously. What were they going to do to them? Surely he didn’t expect them to fight all of the men?

“We’ll take on yore ‘ardest men,” Wally said, but the slight quiver in his voice and the quickening of his breath gave away his brittle nerves.

The men broke out into more cackles.

“Ooh, ‘e is a ‘ard nut!” Someone yelled from the crowd.

“No no lad,” Jerry said, shaking his head. “You don’t get to put yore hands on Militia men.”

“Who then?” Wally asked, swallowing down his mounting fear.

“Him.” Jerry nodded his head at Timmy.

“Wot?”

“To be in the Militia you gotta know ‘ow to use yore ‘ands and you can’t be afraid to scrap. So youse two are gonna go three minutes. Dependin’ on ‘ow you conduct yoreselves will decide if your in or not.”

“We’re not fighting each other!” Timmy said.

“Alright,” Wally said.

“What!” Timmy exploded. “Wal… Shane!”

“It’s alright,” Wally muttered to Timmy, turning his back to Jerry. “Let’s just pretend a little. If we can get in with this lot they’ll take us right to ‘Unter.” Wally hissed through his teeth. “We’ll do it.” Wally said, turning back to Jerry.

“Good lad. Strip down and let’s see wot you got.” Jerry lit a smoke while two men took Wally and Timmy’s cloaks from them. Wally pulled off his top while Timmy stood there self consciously.

“Take it off Glenn,” Wally hissed at him as the crowd around them sniggered.

“I don’t want to.”

“You gotta.”

“But…”

“Come on!” Wally snapped at him.

Timmy looked around, his face feeling hot as he slowly peeled off his sweat stained shirt to reveal his pale, flabby body. One of the watching men wolf whistled him.

“Look at the tits on that!”

They howled in laughter and Timmy felt tears sting the back of his eyes. He gritted his teeth and looked down at the ground.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Right, let’s have a good clean scrap now,” Jerry said. “No biting, scratching, eye gouging, or low blows. You’ll fight for three minutes. If you fall you’ll be let back up. If you turn your back you’ll get smashed in right here by the boys. Fight wiv yer hearts, boys.”

Wally squared up in front of Timmy, his scrawny fists clenched. Timmy raised his podgy fists, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Fight!”

The men roared and Wally and Timmy circled each other. Wally threw out a couple of slow jabs that Timmy was able to block easily enough and the men booed. Timmy had never been much of a fighter. He was an excellent punching bag but he had never really learned how to fight back. He threw a couple of wayward jabs of his own and the men started laughing. Timmy chanced a look over at Jerry who looked unimpressed.

“It’s no good,” Timmy hissed to Wally. “He’s not falling for it!”

“Wot are we gonna do? ‘It each other for real?” Wally whispered back as he threw a half hearted kick that completely missed Timmy’s leg.

“We look like fools!” Timmy whispered back as the men cackled and jeered at them.

“I’m sorry Tim.”

“For wh…”

Wally’s fist cracked off of Timmy’s nose. Timmy’s head whipped back and his eyes immediately teared up. He stumbled a few steps and hit the brick wall. Timmy reached up and felt blood leaking from his nose. The men roared their approval.

“Go on! Smash that piggy up!”

“Punch him in his fat face!”

“Did yer see his tits flopping about!”

Timmy looked at Wally through the blur of his own tears and something snapped. Red mist descended over Timmy’s vision. He tasted blood. His ears filled with the mocking laughter of the men around them. With a guttural howl, Timmy threw himself at Wally, his hands a blur as he threw punch after wild punch. Timmy covered up and tried to avoid the mad whirlwind of blows. One of Timmy’s errant punches caught Wally in the side of the head and staggered him. Timmy tried to follow up but Wally was far more experienced at street brawling than Timmy. He lashed out with his foot and kicked Timmy hard on the shin. Timmy stumbled and clutched at his leg. Wally rushed him and got him in a headlock, hanging on to Timmy for dear life.

“Keep going!” Wally whispered to him. “They’re buyin’ it!”

“Geeerrooofffff me!” Timmy roared.

He bucked and grabbed Wally’s waist band, flinging him on to the grass. Wally rolled back to his feet only to be punched square in his forehead. His eyes crossed for a second and he swung blindly, punching Timmy in the side of his neck. They both stood stunned for a moment. Timmy cleared the cobwebs just in time to see another wild punch flying towards him. He threw up a meaty arm and caught the blow. There was nothing fake about that punch. They stood toe to toe, blindly trading wild haymakers, half off them missing. The crowd roared and cheered at the display.

“Go on piggy! Smash his fuckin’ ‘ead in!”

“Crack ‘is cannister!”

“Do ‘im in!”

“I got two gram on the fat one!”

Timmy’s barrage had beat Wally back against the fence. Wally had both hands raised trying to protect himself as Timmy rained down blows on his head and back. Wally managed to dodge one wild punch and send Timmy off balance enough to tackle him. He slammed his bony shoulder into Timmy’s stomach and drove him back. They tumbled in a heap, Timmy’s head cracking off the cobbles. They scrapped on the ground for a few seconds before being pulled apart and stood back up.

Wearily, they circled each other. Exhaustion had set in. Both combatants wheezed, their arms feeling like they were full of lead. Timmy’s hand hurt so bad he couldn’t even make a fist, so he had resorted to meaty open handed slaps. Wally kept one of his arms raised to defend his head while he kicked at Timmy. Eventually, they both staggered into each other, and stood there, leaned against one another, sucking wind and throwing listless body blows.

Mercifully, Jerry stepped in and pulled them apart.

“That’s yer three minutes! Wot a fight!” he roared and raised both of their hands in triumph.

The crowd cheered and clapped their hands as the two battered and bloody fighters wobbled, barely able to stay upright.

“You boys ‘ave got some ‘eart alright! I didn’t think you ‘ad it in you!” Jerry said, patting them on their sweaty backs. “Get these boys a couple of pints and a bag of ice!”

The crowd slapped their backs and tousled their hair as they stumbled back into the pub. Two pints appeared before them. Still breathing heavily, Wally and Timmy slumped at a table and guzzled down their pints. Now the red mist had lifted, Timmy felt sick. Not only because of all the physical exertion but because of the knot he saw coming up on Wally’s head.

“I’m sorry,” Timmy croaked.

“Naa don’t be,” Wally said with a forced nonchalance. “Did wot you had to. But I’m sorry ‘bout punching you in the nose.”

“That really hurt,” Timmy said, wiping blood from his nose on the back of his hand.

“Sorry,” Wally said sheepishly. “We done good though. They bought it!”

Jerry reappeared with a bucket of ice and some tea towels. He took two fistfuls of ice and wrapped them up in the tea towels before handing one to each of them. They gratefully pressed the ice to their swollen hands and faces while Jerry sat down at the table with them. The rest of the men had gone back to their drinking and smoking.

“Wot did yer say yer names were again?” Jerry asked them.

“I’m Glenn,” Timmy said. “And that’s Shane.”

“I’m Jerry Hackfer, nice to meet you boys. Where you from?”

“I’m from Aggers Lane and Glenn’s from Milforth,” Wally said, pressing the ice against the knot on his head.

“You boys fought well. Good to see the younger generation still got that warrior spirit in ‘em.” Jerry said, sipping his own pint. “So you wanna join up with the Militia?”

Wally and Timmy nodded.

“Why?

“‘Coz… These Goblins have got out of hand,” Wally said.

“Yeah, they’re everywhere and they’re taken all of what’s ours,” Timmy said, parroting the rhetoric from the speech they had heard earlier.

“Yeah and if we don’t stick up for our lot, then who will?” Wally said.

“That’s exactly right lad,” Jerry said, nodding approvingly. “This city’s gone soft. You boys are too young to know, but there was a time in this city when Goblins and whatever the fuck else used to walk around with their heads down. They wouldn’t dare even look at a Human wrong. We woz in charge in them days. But slowly, this city was sold out to these Goblins, and Gnomes, and Dwarves, and Darkies from all over the place. Now we’re the ones who’re treated like second class citizens! In our own city! It ain’t right.”

“It’s criminal,” Wally said.

“Exactly,” Jerry agreed. “But now’s the time for change and it will be lads like yoreselves that’ll lead the way.”

“We’re ready,” Wally said. “Whatever it takes.”

“Good lad, ‘ere get a bit o’ this in yer.” Jerry placed a small beige wrap on the table between them.

“What’s that?” Timmy asked.

“You never done a bit of Slug?” Jerry asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh Slug right yeah, well not really…” Timmy shifted uncomfortably and looked at Wally.

Slug, also known as Cement, Crash, Whooping Paste, and probably half a dozen other names, was a nasty concoction. It was a paste made from the root of the Tabir plant, mixed with whatever else was to hand, and elicited rushes of energy, euphoria, and a complete lack of inhibitions. Before it became a party drug in the city, it was known as Berserker's Blood and was used primarily by front line warriors going into battle.

“Well today’s the day to try some!” Jerry laughed, but his eyes stayed hard and suspicious.

Timmy’s instincts told him this was some sort of test. Reluctantly, he reached out and picked up the packet. The substance was soft in his hands, almost like dough.

“You just take a pinch, like this,” Jerry ripped a small square from the corner of the paste, rolled it between his fingers until it formed a ball, and then popped it behind his lower lip. “Then you whack it in.”

Timmy nodded, his hands sweating. He didn’t even like drinking strong beer and had never so much as seen a drug in his short life. What would happen if a copper got caught taking drugs? Would he be fired? Would he be arrested?

Timmy tore off a miniscule corner from the beige paste. The smell alone was making his head swim slightly.

“That’s not gonna do anything,” Jerry said, tearing off a chunk that was considerably larger than the one he had had used. “Get that in yer lad!”

Timmy rolled the paste like he had seen Jerry do and then pulled his lower lip back. He plopped the paste in and tried not to shudder as the sour, metallic taste washed through his mouth.

“Give it five minutes and you’ll be hopping off the roof,” Jerry laughed, slapping him on the back, the suspicious frown gone from his face. “You?” He thrust the packet at Wally.

“No fanks, Slug gives me the shits.”

“Yeah, it’ll do that.” Jerry tucked away the packet.

Timmy’s eyes bugged and he felt sweat trickling down his face. He tried not to suck on the ball of foul tasting paste. His whole lower jaw began to numb.

“You boys’ve got heart,” Terry said, after sipping his pint and burping. “But you sure you know wot yore signing up for? This war ain’t no joke. People are gonna get hurt.”

“Yeah… we heard about the fire,” Wally said.

Jerry raised one of his thick eyebrows.

“The little Goblin bonfire?” Jerry said, a wicked grin on his face.

“Yeah.” Timmy gave a nervous titter. He wasn’t sure whether it was the Slug or Jerry’s twisted smile that was making him feel nauseous.

“Yeah, lot of young lads have signed up since that. Was the first real blow in this war!” Jerry said with a thick note of pride in his voice.

Timmy looked over at Wally and saw the muscles of his jaw twitching, his knuckles white around his ice pack as she stared darkly at the table.

“Well lads, you’ll get plenty of action like that, don’t you worry about it. This city’s gonna run red with the blood of all these filthy foreign creatures.” The hate in Jerry’s voice was palpable.

“You think they deserved it?” Wally growled, his voice low, his eyes midnight black.

“Wot?”

“That Goblin family. You think they deserved getting burned like that?”

“Wot? Wot kinda question is that?” Jerry said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the quivering youth.

“What he means is, do you they’re the ones that sold us out?” Timmy said quickly, his nerves fraying. He could feel his heart beat starting to speed up, his mouth thick with stagnant phlegm. “Like, we should be striking at those people that betrayed us, right? Right?”

Jerry gave Wally another dark look before turning to Timmy.

“You’re not wrong there lad. Only thing worse’n a toad is a Human that betrayed ‘is own people. But their time will come. They’ll all pay for wot they’ve done.”

“Right,” Timmy said, nodding eagerly, feeling like he was both breathing too quickly and not enough at the same time. “Is it hot in here? I’m hot. Are you hot?”

Jerry laughed and smacked Timmy on the back.

“That Slug’s startin’ to get ya lad!” He chuckled and then leaned forward conspiratorially. “You boys are in luck. There’s a big rally tonight. Lot of the top boys of the movement are gonna be there. Perfect chance for a couple of new lads to get their faces seen.”

“Really?” Timmy squeaked.

“Is the one who killed that family gonna be there?” Wally asked, his voice still monotone and cold.

“So we can shake his hand!” Timmy added with a big grin on his face.

“They’ll be there,” Jerry said, giving him a wink and slapping Timmy on his thigh. “Right get yoreselves cleaned up and get another couple of pints in yer. We move out in an hour.”

Jerry stood up and walked away. Wally’s hooded eyes followed him, his pint held like he was ready to go after him and smash it across the back of Jerry’s head.

“Wally!” Timmy hissed at him. “Remember why we’re here.”

Wally tore his eyes away from the back of Jerry’s head.

“These guys make me fuckin’ sick.”

“Me too. Although that might be the Slug. I took a lot of Slug, didn't I?”

Wally didn’t answer, he was still watching Terry through the crowd.

“Wally? Wally?”

“Wot?”

“Am I going to die?”

“One day, yeah.”

Timmy squeaked.