Zanna nodded along flexing her gloves sparking just slightly. She let out a sigh and stood up getting ready to leave the aircraft. Bringing him in alive was going to be harder than bringing him in dead. She had a plan and now it was shifting just slightly becuase she couldn't shoot him on sight, "Understood. I'll do my best to bring him in alive." She felt the plain land on the ground and looked to her old commander, "I'll see you soon. If I'm not back within the hour, don't send someone after me. Just leave"
"No promises." Thomas stood up, walking over to the door. "I'll do what my superiors tell me to, but you bet my right arm I won't leave you if I can help it." He grabbed the lever and yanked it down; the door hissed, sliding open. He peered through the opening, out at the world beyond.
They had landed in a large field, right outside of what appeared to be the shabbiest looking city Thomas had ever seen. City wasn't the right term. It was a little smaller than that– but probably even more dangerous. Casinos, bars, night-clubs, and anything else a decent person like himself would try to avoid.
"Hmph." Thomas leaned out to look at the sky, which was grey with the presence of clouds. "I never expected Absalom to hide in a public place," he muttered, stepping back into the plane. "But it's no wonder we never found him here. This place is off-the-radar. Nothing but a crime-city. I don't know where you'll find him. Maybe ask some of the locals if they know where he could be." He sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor momentarily before looking Zanna in the eyes. "Good luck, soldier. Stay alert."
Zanna looked out at the mass of buildings that resembled a city. She gave Ward a sharp nod understanding his words clear. Steeping off the plane she began to make her way towards the city. Her whip was on one hip her gun on the other. She was careful as she made her way towards the city frowning at the mass of illegal activities dotting the streets. Ward hadn't been joking when he said this was a crime city. She kept her guard up trying to find Day in this mess of a city, or at the very least the outskirts of it. Going deeper in was too dangerous and at least on the outskirts as long as one hand stayed near her gun no one came near or batted an eye at her. At least that she could tell.
"Heyyy, lookie here," a man's voice commented from the doorway of a nearby store.
It wasn't Day.
No. This man was far scrawnier and less-threatening. His pale skin was covered in bright blue tattoos that matched the color of his dyed hair and his bright eyes. He had numerous piercings– at least half a dozen on each ear, two nose rings, and even one in his left brow. Around his neck he wore a mock shackle– a thick metal cuff with a short chain dangling off of it. "What brings you here, soldier?" he inquired, daring to take a step out of the store– which was apparently supposed to be some sort of "legalized" drug store.
Yeah, right.
Nothing was legal around here.
A smug grin spread across his face, revealing a shiny silver-capped tooth."Lookin' for a fix, sweetheart?"
Zanna removed her gun from its holster on her hip. She stared the man down knowing he wasn't Day, just some drug dealer. She could kill him and leave the world a slightly better place, or just ignore him and let him live his life. Eventually she decided that a gunshot would draw to much attention and slipped the gun back into its holister. She said nothing to the man as she walked away going back to search for Day. Filthy man didn't deserve a response.
The street-rat of a man didn't pursue her any further, but rather scurried back to his drug shop.
On the streets, there didn't seem to be much to find. Shifty looking individuals eyed her from a distance, but her appearance as a soldier kept them at bay. Thieves, drug-addicts, prostitutes, and even worse kinds of people lurked on every street corner. After awhile, they seemed to whisper to one another at the sight of her and shrank back from the weight of her gaze.
A good half hour passed probably, but there wasn't much for her to find besides a never ending stream of low-lives wandering about.
But then someone approached her.
It wasn't Day, but it was a survivor of the war– and he had the tattoos of a Reformer agent and the scars to prove it. Young man. Looked like he'd been through heck and back. He stopped a few feet short of her, looking her square in the eye.
"You're here for Day, aren't you?"
Zanna had been getting frustrated at her lack of finding him. She was at least somewhat glad when the other low life's backed off recognizing that she wasn't one to trifle with. When the man with Reformers tattoos stepped up to her she finslly founf some releif. She had hoped it would have been Day, but she would settle for him. Her hand rested on her gun ready to fire off if need be. This whole area was hostile and she didn't trust someone who looked like they had been on the frontlines at some point, "I am. I'm guessing you can lead me to him?"
His gaze dropped to the weapon on her side. "I can. Doesn't necessarily mean I will. And, before you think about threatening me into it, that would be a pretty big mistake. I'm not really afraid to die. And don't think we didn't see your little squad plane land right outside." He wet his lips with his tongue. "Don't think we don't have the weapons to blow it to smithereens if you decide to go blowin' my head off." He paused. "But don't worry. Just a little warning in advance. We're not looking for trouble. War's over, after all. Speaking of which, why you here for Day, if the war's over? Shouldn't you be vacationing? Celebrating your victory, maybe?"
"War's not over until Day is dead," Zanna responded calmly. She wasn't sure if he could follow through with his threat, but wasn't going to take the chance. There were people on that ship she somewhat cared about. Yes, she also realized she made a direct threat against his current leader, but she wasn't going to shy away from the truth. She scanned the surrounding to see if Day was watching from the shadows or if anyone else was there before looking back to the man.
"That's funny," the man murmured. "Because it seems to me that Day's not the one dragging this war on now that it's over." He crossed his arms over his chest, thinking a moment. "Tell you what. If you want to go see Day, I'll take you, but you can't bring those weapons." He eyed the gun on her side and the gloves on her hand. "Not the long-distance ones, anyway. You can keep your whip. I won't make you go in helpless. But I'm not a moron, and Day's not bothering you people now, so you've got no right to kill him. He paid his debt for the war just like everybody else." The man uncrossed his arms and scratched the back of his head. "If you don't wanna see Day, that's cool with me, too. You can scamper on back to your little plane and fly the heck out of here. Forget Day exists. Go back to your life. No more war. No more fighting." He dropped his hands to his sides now. "I don't care which one you choose. Just pick."
Zanna frowned as he listed his demands to see Day. She flexed her hand as she debated her options. Go with his crazy demands and see Day with nothing but a whip, or go back to the plane and admit her failure. She paused for a moment before removing and dropping her gun on the ground before peeling off her gloves feeling bare with only the whip on her hip. Her mind didn't believe that Day had truly paid his debt for the war, not with all the atrocities he's done. She looked at him, "There. Now take me to Day."
He smiled, tilting his head to the side. "As you wish."
He led her down a winding alley, where the people were more scarce. A rat scurried across their path; a scrawny stray dog ate old bones from a trashcan. Garbage littered the walkway– needles and empty beer cans galore. "Charming little place we got here, don't you think?" the man asked with a chuckle. Farther and farther they got from the public part of town. This area was even more foreboding than the criminal-filled streets.
He stopped behind an old building, turning to face a metal door with no handle. It was bit rusted, but it looked nearly impenetrable– as did the entire building. He placed his hand over a scanner off to the right of it and looked Zanna in the eye. "I bet he'll be excited to see a soldier coming after him. He hasn't dealt with any of you guys in months."
Zanna mapped the way into the heart of the Reformers territory. She needed to know the way out for when she eventually ran with Day. In fact, she definitely couldn't kill him now, she had no lethal weapons on her person. Other than herself of course, but that required getting close. She stayed calm and silent even as the other man tried to goad her into reacting or being afraid. She only glared at him with her fire-filled eyes. She wasn't afraid of Absalom Day, even though there was a small part of her that said she should be. He was just like one of the rats that scurried about the place, something to be eradicated.
After a couple of seconds, the scanner beeped, and the door slid open. The man led the way, stepping down several concrete stairs into what the basement of the sturdy building.
Inside, two guys sat at a round table, playing a game of what was presumably poker. Much like the man who had retrieved Zanna, their arms were covered in Reformer tattoos– and scars. A boombox on the floor beside them quietly played music– rap, to be specific. Behind them, a television played the news, though no one seemed to be paying any mind.
As the man entered with Zanna, the men at the table glanced up.
"Iggy found a soldier," one of them commented gruffly, sounding far too relaxed.
"Been awhile since I seen one of those," the other mumbled.
They continued their game of cards casually.
"Where's Day?" the man– Iggy, apparently his name was– asked. He sure didn't look like an Iggy.
"The back. He's waitin' for you."
Iggy nodded for Zanna to follow him and started down a dark hallway. The place still didn't look like the kind of place an enemy of the government would hide. Maybe an alcoholic, but not a national villain.
Iggy stopped in front of another door and tapped his knuckles against it. "Day? You've got company."
The door swung opened, and the man behind it was unmistakable. That scar across his face. Those dark eyes. The smirk of a man who knew no mercy.
Absalom Day.
He looked the same. Olive skin. Jet-black hair– though a little shaggier than it had been in the past. Broad-shoulders. Tattoos that snaked up his arms and around his neck, disappearing beneath his sleeveless shirt. He seemed completely intact–
Except for one thing. His leg, from the knee down, had now been replaced with a cybernetic one.
Absalom smiled at Zanna– an odd thing, considering the fact that they were enemies.
"My, what a pleasant surprise."
Zanna kept her head up looking around. She hadn't expected their base to look like this, then again what should she have expected. These men were criminals and thought they had no reason to worry. She wasn't going to bother with them as her target now stood in front of her, though not completely intact. His leg was cybernetic now, and the first question that opped to her mind was where did he get that. She kept quiet and was even shocked that he had smiled at her considering they were enemies. She kept her bare hand on her whip eyes studying his movement, "You seemed to be expecting me, so I wouldn't call it a surprise. Day."
"Okay, well– You got me there. I'm not surprised. Not even a little." Day tilted his head to the side, observing her. "But I am flattered that you'd come all this way just to see me. Especially since the war is over and such. Miss me, did you? I'd say you were here to kill me, but…" He paused, licking his lips lightly. "Nah." His gaze dropped to the whip at her side. "Oh. Is that for me?" His smirk widened just a bit. "Worried I might get too rambunctious?"
Zanna's violet-blue eyes flared at his implication. It was the only outward sign at her inner rage because how dare he imply such a thing like that. She kept her eyes trained on him and only him. This man was more twisted than Zanna could have ever thought, "It's a precaution. However, you would be wrong in that I am here to end your life, for the good of the rest of the world."
Day chuckled dryly. If anything, the flash of anger in her eyes only made him smile more. "Well, then, why are you here?" he inquired, nonchalantly venturing back into the room. He left the door open for Zanna to follow if she liked, though he never implied that she had to. It was a rather large room, open– resembling what you'd imagine someone's personal mini-bar to look like. A counter, a wall full of the finest drinks, a pool table, a couch, and a massive TV on the wall. He probably had a lot of free time on his hands nowadays.
Ah, but the most noticeable thing in the room was his signature sword– one he'd been known for using during the war– that was mounted on the wall. The blade was as shiny and clean as ever, looking almost as if it had never been used.
But, oh– how many lives that single weapon had ended.
Day didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he pulled a bottle down from the wall and popped the cork out of it, pouring the contents into an empty glass.
Zanna followed him into the room not wanting him to leave her sight. She was almost disgusted at how cushy his living quarters were compared to the rest of the city. Her eyes caught on his sword for a moment, before tearing themselves away. That one weapon had killed so many yet it sat there shiny and new. If anything that disgusted her the most. She spoke bluntly as she repeated herself, "As I said, I'm here to kill you. Plain and simple."
"Then what are you waiting for? Do it, hero. Kill me. Strike me down. I'm unarmed." Day calmly took a swig of the alcohol in his hand. "Ah. Wait a moment. I thought the war was over, soldier?" He thoughtfully scratched the stubble lining his jaw. "If the war's over, then… what exactly makes you think that you can waltz into my home and threaten my life?" He stared at her, though there was no fear in his dark eyes. He was almost unreadable. Maybe he was insane. Or maybe he had just mastered the art of appearing absolutely unafraid.
Zanna could tell he was unafraid of her. He seemed almost insane in that manner. Zanna understood no fear, but this was borderline psychopathic. She shouldn't be surprised, he was one after all. And his argument were… She wasn't going to think about them, she had orders and she would follow through with them. She unhooked her whip from her belt ready to use it at a moment's notice as she stared him down, "I was given orders to. So that's the authority I go off of. Not your own idea of when the war is over." Which it never will be as long as you live.
"Hm." Day took another sip of his drink before carefully setting the glass down and leaning against the counter. "Orders? Oh, I see. Because you're a solider, right? Because you do what your superiors– or should I say, masters– tell you to without question?" He chortled. "Soldier. That's funny. You say you're a soldier, but I don't believe you. No, no, no. You're a slave. A slave to the war. A slave to the people that made you. You don't see the truth, because you have been taught to believe a lie. We were enemies during the war, but if it's over, are we still enemies? I know you hate me. Go ahead. Maybe I hate you, too. But hear what I have to say, and maybe you'll realize that I've been your ally all along."
Zanna could feel her blood start to boil at his words. She was no slave! It was preposterous to assume such a thing! It was her choice, she had been given the choice, to go after Day. There was so little that kept her from whipping him here and now. Just to see how he would react to the crack of the whip and the pain afterwards. Instead a small curiosity bloomed in her head. She tried to squash it remembering her mission, but it continued to grow and she couldn't move. Her eyes narrowed at him as she finally spoke, "Fine. Speak. But I am no slave."
"Ooh, so you do want to hear." Day grinned. "Maybe you're not as blind as I thought." He straightened himself, walking a few steps across the room. "Why do you think the Reformers were so bent on taking down the government? What do you think our goal was? Not what your superiors say it was or what you've been told it was– but what do you think it was? Because it wasn't anarchy. And it wasn't to destroy the entire nation, either."
Zanna's knuckles went white with how tight she was gripping on the handle of her whip. She didn't believe a word that came out of his mouth. It was bull, but. But, the government wasn't the Reformers. And he was the leader of the Reformers. This psychopathic man lead them, and Zanna was listening to him some part of her captivated by his words. And worse she was responding. There was an internal battle for her body between the slowly growing curiosity and the rest of her mind, "The word reform itself means change. You wanted to change something, but your still in the wrong here. There are plenty of ways to enact change without starting a war."
Day whirled to face her, his eyes filled with rage– the first bit of real emotion he had shown all evening besides his constant bemusement. "We never started the war," he snarled.
With a sigh, he relaxed his shoulders, resuming his natural eerily-calm behavior. "You're right about the fact that we wanted change. But we were provoked. If the government was so great, then why the crap do you think we'd want to reform it?" He toyed with the necklace hanging around his neck– a plain, silver chain necklace. "I'll admit, the Reformers got a little out of hand towards the end there. A bunch of anarchists thought our cause was just for them– which is why we became renown for owning slaves and doing drugs. That was never part of the agenda; that was brought in on us unintentionally. But your government has been lying to you, little miss." He raised his gaze to meet hers. "You're a child soldier, yes? Raised from your youth to fight Reformers? To kill us?"
"There are always reasons for change, even if I can't see them" Zanna responded a light smile now on her face from finally evoking some other emotion than his false pleasantness. At least he wasn't a psychopath and a sociopath. Her hand relaxed just slightly though she still felt on edge from the fact he was dismissing the very thing that had taken care of her from a young age, "And so what if I was raised in the military. I wasn't the only one."
"Exactly. You weren't the only one. Hundreds and hundreds– maybe thousands– of little kids have been trained up in those armies, never knowing anything but war. Even to this day, your government is still raising child soldiers." Day thoughtfully chewed his lip. "Did you ever wonder where they all came from? Where you came from? Kinda funny that the Reformers kept getting blamed for child kidnappings when the government was pumping all these mysterious children into the army behind the scenes, don't you think?"
"Stop it!" Zanna hissed at him her face narrowing as her knuckles turned white in their fists. The government would never do such a thing! That was the Reformer's doing. What Day was suggesting was insane. She wouldn't, she refused to beleive it. She wanted to lash out physically, it burned in her every muscle to just attack. But something held her back. She guessed some part of her knew that the peices didn't fit quite right and now it was taking control. The fire in her eyes only grew fueled by rage and hatred as she followed up, "You're lying. There's no way around it."
"Oh. I'm lying? That's odd. Then where exactly did the government get all those soldier babies? Or what about all the confidential experiment kids who are now dead or weaponized? Oh, wait. Do you even know about those?" He snorted. "Does it bother you to think that your precious masters might've lied to you?" Day forced an exaggerated gasp. "But they'd never do that, now would they?" he asked mockingly. "No, no, no. They're just golden. The epitome of sainthood."
