Episode 3: Dance With The Devil.

“Be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everybody you meet.” – James Mattis.

[who_cares HOURS - near_death_probably LOCATION - mondays_am_i_right DATE]

Hudson’s mother had taught him well to never hit a woman. This however, was just business. The currency was violence and Hudson was cashing checks.

The grenade dropped. He aimed his leg right for her knee and launched it like a steel baseball bat. A crack rang out and she keeled over with a pained grunt. Before Hudson celebrate a white blur flew past his head. A blade. He twisted his head and dogged it by the faction of a second.

The fear in his gut spiked and it told him if he got stuck on defense he’d be dead. Offense was the only acceptable policy.

He pushed forward and attacked right into the saber’s deadly arc, slipping it by inches. The rest was instinct, his uppercut connected straight with her face.

She took a jagged step back, hand grabbing the side of her face, eyes wide with shock.

Now to execute his finishing blow.

A swift turn.

Hudson ran.

The flashbang started working its magic.

It wasn’t a regular one, this one here was called a 15-banger, cooked up by those crazy fuckers at the ordinance department. They’d stuffed some mighty bangs into that tiny cylinder.

The kinetic shocks started. Each detonation shook the bones in his chest, rattling them loose. His headset mercifully protected his hearing. His target would not be so lucky. His eyes squinted to survive the flashes behind him. A couple million candela per bang. It was a work of art.

Yeah let’s see how fast you are now mother fucker.

Hudson sprinted down the corridor, his stamina felt limitless. The adrenaline made it feel like that. He was going to ride this wave for everything it was worth. At the very least he was out of stabbing range and after all, what else could she do? Shoot him?

Just case though he threw a quick glance behind him to make sure.

A concentrated bolt of flames flew past his head and slammed into the wall next to him and exploded in a fireball, covering him in shards of rock and dust.

Oh. As it turns out, she could indeed shoot at him.

Great, now there’s magic. He filed the piece of information in the “are you fucking kidding me” folder. The size of the folder was by now reaching a rather concerning level of thickness. Fuck it, new plan.

He dropped a smoke grenade from his belt and continued running. Another bolt flew past him and into some poor bastard’s front door. The smoke grenade however started doing its job behind him. Soon, he came to an intersection in the maze of suffocating alleyways he had been trapped in.

People had started to gather to see the commotion. He had to decide quickly. He saw a black cat cross the path on his left. He turned left.

It was bad luck. Bad luck for his enemies.

He kept running, turned a slight bend, and reached a dead end.

So much for that bad luck.

Flashes of flames echoed from alley he’d just left, getting brighter after every detonation.

She seemed a bit mad. Before Hudson could start planning out the next contengey, a man materialized in front of him out of thin air.

He wore a suit. White embroidery on his black tie.

“Good afternoon, would you like some assistance?”

Hudson frowned and weighed his options.

Either the magic invisible man offing him sanctuary, or…

Another detonation rang out. The flames peaked past the edge of the alley.

Hudson sighed, “What gave you the idea…”

The man laughed, “Oh I had a hunch. So, what’ll it be?”, he extended out his hand.

The women turned the corner. At least the guy in front of him wasn’t actively trying to kill him.

Hudson took the mystery man’s hand. The man snapped his fingers.

Shadows clung to both men and evaporated like steam off hot springs. They started fading, the shadows taking them.

When Hudson looked down again, he couldn’t see his legs. Or any part of this body for that matter.

But he was still there, still observing. And the man was still holding his hand. It pulled him.

They started to walk towards the women, their footsteps made no noise.

She looked up and down both all pathways.

“How dare he…”, she said in between breaths. She stumbled forward, limping, flames dancing off her frame.

They walked past her and continued deeper through the slums. The futher they walked, the more poverty stricken and broken everything around them became. Hudson memorized every turn. Every step. Left, right, left again, and so on. This was one skill he could credit to the thousands of hours he’d spent running VIP convoy security, plotting and tracing routes through the streets of Baghdad and Tehran.

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Eventually they came upon a steel door. The man at last turned visible, and pulled out some sort of a crystal card. He put it up to the door which came alight with complex glowing sigils.

Three circles. He quarter turned the first one. Half turned the next. And did a three hundred sixty degree turn on the last. The sigil turned green, and clicked open.

The man signaled for Hudson to enter.

Yeah. No.

Hudson shook his head, “I’m very grateful for your hospitality sir. But I'm afraid I can’t follow you in there.”

The man looked stunned by this, “Really now? Don’t you want to know the state of your current condition? I’ll explain everything. Please you needn’t worry, and we can’t exactly talk out here.”

The man pointed at the rough conditions of the slums. Broken windows, and the stench of danger permeated the environment.

Objective numero one flashed in his head.

Gain intelligence. Then objective two, find his team. He couldn’t do two if he didn’t have one.

Goddamn it.

Hudson nodded.

“Attaboy.”, the man said.

Hudson kept one hand on his Glock 17 handgun as he was toured around.

Inside was luxury. It was bright, beyond bright. Fire lit chandeliers hung from the pristine white roofs and golden inlays were on all the walls. Hudson made counts of exits and entrances.

“Make yourself home, warrior. I must say, that was quite the spectacular performance you managed. All while being a man with no essence.” said the man.

“Essence?”

“All will be explained in due time. Dinner will be ready soon so please come down.”

One more file for the folder. Prick.

“Of course, thank you for your hospitality.”

The mystery man smiled, closed the door behind him and left Hudson alone with his thoughts in the room. A fluffy bed, carpeted floors, large cabinet, and a… bathroom. Hudson’s eyes went wide. A warm shower at last?

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Hudson showered with his Glock clutched tight. And God did that warm water feel life changing. He spent a few moments washing the blood, brain matter, and bone fragments out of his uniform and hair. His last mission in Iran had been a tad bit messy.

He put his uniform back on while it was still wet. He wasn’t taking any risks with thefts.

Then he left the showerhead still running and started taking stock.

He was down a flashbang and a smoke. Thankfully he still hadn’t had to fire a bullet in anger yet. Who knew when or if ever he’d get resupply. He counted out his available ammunition and moved onto the rest of his gear. Night vision, tablet, and drone were battery powered, but thankfully he had a solar charger.

Next order of business, he removed his tomahawk hatchet out of its case on his belt. The blade was still covered in blood.

He placed it under the running water, letting the sink fill with red, before putting it back into place.

Next he got his handgun ready. Glock 17. Austrian perfection. It was modified like everything else he had on him. Tan spraypainted. With a red dot RMR sight jutting out at the back. A dual flashlight IR unit along with a compensator decorated the end of the gun. The compensator had deep groves cut into it that gave the gun a look that said please give me an excuse’. He ran the slide a few times, before inserting a magazine, loading a round, and clicking it onto his leg holster. Last order of business, he stuffed a small knife into his boot, and several bobby pins into his hair, making sure they were invisible.

Off pure muscle memory, checked his tablet again.

His eyes widened.

One out of ten bars. How the hell was he getting a satellite signal here? It wasn’t strong enough to call home base yet, but this must have meant something. Before he could continue down that train of thought, a women knocked rapidly and loudly on the door to his room, “Sir, the dinners ready.”

Hudson sighed.

Roger that. New plan. Gain intel, play ball, and then get the fuck out of this place as soon as possible.

Hudson slung his rifle.

Worst case scenario, shoot his way out. He was ready.

Hudson opened the door.

The servant led Hudson to the dining room, and it was just as extravagant as everything before. The table was large. All assortment of foods were laid on it. The reds and oranges of cooked meats mixed with the greens, and yellows of different vegetables. Hudson tried to admire the cooking, but the death glare the pink haired maid was giving him made it hard to focus. What was her problem? Then he noticed her furry ears too. Oh. Did she know what he’d done to her compatriot?

Hudson took his seat, hand never leaving his gun. Coincidentally enough, the maids hate glare also never left him.

The man in the suit waved towards to food.

“Please enjoy”

Pinstripes all over his suit. The tie was even more complex now in the light. White and black embroidery mixed together in complex patterns that must have taken a hand waver months to do.

The white gloves and white handkerchief folded into his pocket square contrasted off his charcoal suit. The man had put a great care into all aspects of his clothing.

“Please, no need, you’re too kind. You have already done so much”, Hudson said, rather expertly hiding his distain for the situation.

“No I insist, help yourself. I was merely helping out a man in need. You must have questions.”

That was the understatement of the century buddy.

The servant brough out a pitcher of tea and started pouring it for the two men. When it was Hudson’s turn, she bumped the pitcher with the tea cup. The cup flipped and the burning hot liquid poured over Hudson’s arm.

The man yelled, “Camilla, clean this mess up this instant. You have hurt our dearest guest!”

The maid, Camilla apparently, nodded and started wiping up the liquid.

“Sorry sir it was an accident.”

Yeah, sure. Accident. Hudson refused to flinch at the pain, he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Once the area was cleaned up she poured Hudson another cup.

The mystery man raised his cup to Hudson, “But first, a drink. It is customary.”

Hudson sighed and grabbed his too.

“A toast. To interesting times.”, the man said.

Hudson swallowed. His face lit up. Its effects hit instantly. The aches in his body started to disappear and the world seemed brighter, fluffier. It reminded him of the opium laced tea the Afghans would serve him. The memory brought out a pang of nostalgia and sadness.

“Where am I?”, Hudson asked.

“Of course. Introductions. My name is Duke Umbra, and this is the Empire of Avaloria. And you are good sir?”

Hudson decided to lie.

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?”

“I don’t remember anything. How I got here. Not even my name.”

The man was silent a moment and rubbed his chin.

“I see”, then a laugh, “My my, fate smiled upon me today.”

Hudson’s eyes felt heavy. Maybe it was the adrenaline come down. When was the last time he slept? He shook his head.

“Duke, what did you mean by essence earlier?”

“You my boy, you.”

Hudson’s head was getting heavier.

The man continued, “I look into you, and I see…”, he paused, “Nothing.”

He stood up, “You went toe to toe against a High Arcanist and almost came out on top. All the while I can’t sense an ounce of essence from you. And trust me, I am good at such things.”

The man stood up and started closing the distance. The world became blurry and started spinning. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Hudson pushed the table away from him, food and drink spilling everywhere. He attempted to stand up, but everything was so heavy. He only managed to get himself halfway standing straight. The spinning only increased.

“Why are you doing this?”, Hudson said to the man, of whom there were now three. In fact, there was three of everything. He drew his three Glock 17’s with his three right arms.

The man kept the same smile he always had, “I don’t like things that don’t make sense. You don’t make sense. It’s perfectly fine though. I will figure you out.”

Hudson pulled the trigger, but it weighed a thousand pounds. His finger wasn’t strong enough.

A crack to the back of his skull sent him falling to the carpeted ground.

“But before I solve you,” the man’s voice was so far away, “I must take back what you stole from me.”

The cloth bag was ripped from his belt, and the darkness took him once again.