The midday sun shone through the window, partially illuminating the hotel room in which a man was still sleeping.  It was apparent that his sleep was being disrupted somewhat by some sort of nightmare, causing him to stir in the bed.  Every now and then he would even quietly mumble a few words, though they would have barely been intelligible, even to his own highly sensitive and sharp ears.

Eventually, the violence that was playing in his mind came to a head, and he shot awake in a cold sweat and began breathing heavily.  The suddenness with which he returned to consciousness forced him to stay there for a moment, adjusting himself to his increasingly familiar surroundings.  His breathing slowed, and as he returned to an idle state he leaned himself forward.  His head fell into his palms, his long black hair forming a curtain around his face that reached halfway to his elbow.

"This is getting fucking ridiculous," James murmured.  The nightmares weren't constant, but it seemed like any time he did dream anymore was a trial of mental and emotional fortitude.  James spent an extra couple of minutes building his composure before peeling his head away from his hands, revealing a fairly handsome face and two slitted viridian green eyes.  He drew in a deep breath and let out a long, final sigh before pulling the sheets off of him and throwing his legs over the side of the bed.

The room wasn't particularly big, only just large enough for a bed, a small closet, a nightstand, and a bit of breathing room.  James didn't mind the lack of volume, and he was trying to conserve on money anyways.  Not that it mattered much at this point, seeing as he was leaving Russelgrad today.  Up until today, he had made a habit of moving around a lot, though he rarely saw past the same five or six towns in Wintergold territory.  It seemed that, for being headed by she who was essentially a crime lord, it was run surprisingly well.  The idea of a standardized form of currency had some merit to it, though James thought it was problematic to use something as a representation of value as opposed to something that actually had value.

He stood up, yawning and stretching his arms over his head as he wandered over to the closet.  He opened it, taking the canvas backpack out and, in turn, a pair of jeans and a shirt out of the backpack.  He slid into the jeans first, though it occurred to him that it might not be a bad idea to get some clean clothes, or at least clean the ones he had.  He tried to keep his hygienic standards relatively high, but sometimes the living accommodations didn't include laundry, or even showers.  Not even cold ones.  Even still, he managed to keep himself from looking or smelling bad.

As he pulled the shirt over his head, he began to wonder where he should search for some work.  The relatively new lands of Ash, while desolate, seemed like an inviting prospect for growth.  No doubt there was plenty of work to be done, and likely not enough people to do it.  He had, of course, heard that things could get hectic, it being outside of any reasonable government influence.  With the exception of some local law enforcement, it was essentially lawless.  Not that James couldn't hold his own in such a case that someone wanted to fight him, legally or not.

He slipped on his combat boots next, pulling his pant legs over them after tying them up.  As he reached for his jacket, he noted that some of his clothes could not only use a cleaning, but probably also some patching up.  Still, he liked his jacket.  It had seen more than a few gunfights at this point, and over time it had gained something of a personality in James' mind.  It was an old, dark green military jacket.  On one shoulder was a patch reading "Polizei", and on the other shoulder was a flag of Germany; black, red, and yellow.  The history of the jacket had become an item of some interest to James.  So much so that he had started trying to learn German from those who would teach it.

He cracked a small smile and threw the jacket over his shoulders, followed by his messenger bag, backpack, and AK-74, in that order.  The rifle was empty, however, as per the rules of the hotel, and most places in Russelgrad.  The last thing James strapped to himself was his holster, which he then promptly secured his CZ-75 into.  He then took one last look around the room, making sure he hadn't missed anything, then walked over to the door, turned the knob, and pulled it open.

[hr]

The streets of Russelgrad weren't particularly busy today.  James figured that a lot of people were remembering the fall of Russel City.  One year ago today, that had occurred.  James couldn't help but feel somewhat guilty, having left less than three hours before it happened.  Still, he knew it was outside of his control.  James let out a sigh, continuing down the mostly empty road to a bar.  He didn't plan on drinking, but one of the people who worked there was a fairly dependable contact for information.

James rounded a corner and pushed through the first door on the left.  The Drunken Sailor; host to many of the denizens of Russelgrad.  It was an odd name for a bar in the city that was probably farthest from any coastline in Dust, but that wasn't for James to worry about.  The bar was mildly more crowded than usual, and a live band was entertaining the lot.  James realized that it would seem odd to wear goggles indoors, so he removed them, expecting that his long hair would be enough to conceal his eyes.  He figured that even if that didn't work, he would still seem like just some guy as long as no one looked hard enough.  God knew there were plenty of people who blamed the immortals for what happened in Russel City, despite how much those who were there at the time had done to help.  Ignorance and hatred seemed to know no bounds.

The bar's rules were a step higher in terms of weapons restrictions.  James walked over to the various safes first, depositing his weapons into an empty one and taking it's respective key, thereby locking it until he returned it on his way out.  He then turned and walked straight to the bar at the opposite end of the room, keeping his head low until he found a vacant stool to sit in.  He was about to take a look around to make sure no one saw his eyes, but realized that would probably be counterintuitive.  Instead, he simply tilted his head back up and waved towards his man.

"Hey, hey, if it isn't Jamie-boy.  What'll it be for you today?" Ricky said whilst cleaning out a shot glass.

"Oh just the usual bit of information.  You hear anything through the grapevine?"

Ricky shrugged his shoulders.  "I dunno man.  Memory's a bit fuzzy, but it's possible that-"

"Yeah, yeah, a few bullets will jog your memory, I know the drill," James replied, fishing out a box of ammo from his messenger bag.  He dug through it, finding all of his best-condition ammo, with the exception of his 5.45mm rounds.  "There you go.  I'm thinking this might be the point at which I pursue a more permanent means of employment.  Figured you could use something extra, as a sort of parting gift."

"You, looking to finally stop and settle down?  What is the world coming to?" Ricky said jokingly.  Besides that, he seemed satisfied at the offer.  "Well then, don't let me stop you.  Anything specific you had in mind?"

"Well, maybe," James said, somewhat uncertain of himself, as it seemed.  "I'm actually more thinking of catching a ride to Ash.  I figure there's got to be plenty of things there that need doing."

"Ash?" Ricky replied with some amount of surprise.  "You serious?  I've heard some shit about that place.  Some say that it's even more lawless than Forsaken territory."

"Well, at least it hasn't been touched by the Forsaken yet, so I'm willing to take that risk.  Lucania has some stake in that place, right?  I've done work for her before, so maybe that'll grant me some added security, if I meet the right people," James replied with confidence.

Ricky scoffed slightly.  "Well, don't say I didn't warn you.  If you want a ride, you should probably head over to Laguna, or maybe Dead-End.  I would say Harlem, but there's been some shit going on over there and it's not exactly safe.  I'll see about sending word about you, maybe you can talk to the Prime Minister yourself."

James nodded at that.  "I appreciate the help, man."

"Well don't thank me, you did pay me for it."  He paused for a moment as he was counting the bullets.  "Speaking of which, I'd say this might even be a bit much.  You want a drink to cover the rest?"

"Nah, I'll be fine.  Take care of yourself, Ricky."

James pushed away from the bar and began heading for the door, but was stopped by a rogue hand landing on his shoulder.  "Where you think you're going?"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, James scolded himself for having not tried to be sure no one noticed him.  "Well, I was planning on going on my way."

"Really now?  Well, change of plans then."  James turned and found himself face to face with a somewhat larger fellow with a pretty muscular build and a seemingly poor temper to match.  "If I do remember right, it was your type who helped destroy Russel City back in the day.  And now you're here, a year later, to rub it in.  Am I right?" he said, threateningly.

James pondered what to say for a moment, the man's toxic breath doing nothing to help.  "Well, see, I wasn't even there at the time, but while you..." He stopped and took stock of how many others had taken to trying to intimidate him.  "While you're all staring me down like you are, and you all can probably see what I am, I want you to think really hard, harder than you're probably used to, on what exactly facing a guy like me entails, and then I implore you to ask yourselves, 'Do I really want to do this?' because I'm not sure that you do."

"You know what?" one of them said, pushing his way towards James.  Time seemed to slow for him as the man made his approach, his motions becoming even more predictable.  "I think you need the shit kicked out of you."  The man pulled back, preparing to make a hard right hook, which James leaned back and dodged effortlessly, whilst simultaneously placing his foot such that he would trip.  The man lost his balance and fell face first onto the wood floor.

"Anyone else want to try?" he asked, righting himself as he did so.  The act only seemed to anger them even more.  "Oh, fuck you!" one of them said, charging towards James, likely going for a tackle.  Without missing a beat, James lowered himself under the man's chest, pulling down on his shirt with one arm and pushing his leg up with the other, flipping him over his back.  James watched as the man tried to grab for something before landing on his back with a heavy thud.

"Is now a good time to note that I don't even know martial arts?" James said with a sardonic grin.  At this point a couple of them began to show signs of worry.  Still, most of them were hardly deterred.  One man who was closer to him tried to sucker punch him, but James caught his arm, pulling him face-first into the edge of a table.  He heard the first man trying to rush him from behind, to which James responded by turning around, slapping his clenched fist away, then using his other hand to grab the man's face and thrust him into the floor.

"Isn't this the point that two of you try to rush me at once?" he asked, mockingly.  At that, three of them began to approach him.  One of them pulled out a knife.  "Woah, hey, didn't mom ever tell you those are dangerous?" James quipped.  "Shut up, punk!" he said, going for multiple slashes, all of which James managed to dodge.  One of the others then tried to uppercut him, which he also dodged.  He then put a leg behind his foot and shoved him onto his back while his balance was off.  The third guy then managed to grapple James from behind and tried to hold him for the guy with the knife, who seemed to be going for a stab.  James reacted by kneeling down and throwing the man into the guy with the knife, which was received by what sounded like the blade penetrating flesh and a yelp of pain immediately following.

"I told you those were dangerous," James said.  Most of the others started backing off at this point.  "I think you guys can see where this is going, so how about we stop this while some of you are ahead?  Despite what you may think, I really don't like hurting people," he said, his tone becoming completely sincere.  For a moment, there was total silence in the bar, and it looked like all eyes were on him.  He glanced around at his downed assailants.  Most of whom would probably recover in a day or two.  The one who got stabbed was lucky in that it missed anything important, but unlucky in that he still got stabbed.

"Here," James said, fishing out another box of ammo, filled with some mid-grade 9mm rounds.  "Get yourself patched up," he said, dropping the box in front of him.  Those who were still standing had withdrawn and headed back to their tables, although James could easily hear them say a few choice words under their breath.  The minutes filtered back into seconds for James, and he found himself feeling somewhat accomplished.  He walked back to the bar to find Ricky had been watching more or less with no intent other than to enjoy the show.  "On second thought, I think I'll have that drink."