[i]Kieran’s eyes widened to some sort of large, granite surface. Stone—polished by millions of years of erosion—bore some sort of strange, jagged shape upon it. As if carvings once etched into these walls had been torn and scarred by some great weapon. Kieran found himself standing in a field, just about a half mile from this massive stone surface, and could scarely see the top of the massive mountain. As he looked to see where the foggy evening sky ended and the summit began, he could hear terrible noises from behind him. He turned to see scores of men, women, and children—clawing and crawling their way towards him, or rather, towards the mountain itself. They pulled and pulled at the dirt between them, Kieran, and the mountain, but found it softer and softer in texture, until it resembled more of a muddy, crimson tide. Kieran moved forward towards them, but found his boot was ankle-deep in the same red muck. The more he fought, the more he sank, and soon still did he stop moving. But the people did not stop. They pulled and clawed and sunk deeper into the mud, until the last of them had sank beneath the crimson tide.[/i] Only then did Kieran wake up. [center]***[/center] The images in Kieran’s dreams stayed with him long after he had risen and traveled to meet Honeyman for his morning assignments. Red-stained faces. The mountain. The etchings. He wasn’t a particularly religious or even symbolic man, and yet he still couldn’t shake an almost prophetic since from the images he saw. Everything about this week wasn’t adding up. Aura. The man shot dead in the street. The unrest growing in Atlantic. He had seen and done so many repugnant things but for some strange reason, thing had seemed to hit a turning point. Honeyman’s stark tone at their meeting did little to assuage his feelings. “You’ve been given a Recurring,” he nearly spat at Kieran at the onset of their meeting. He hadn’t even given him a warning. “I figure we shouldn’t drag this out longer than it needs to be.” To say it was bad news to be given a Recurring would be a gross understatement. To the Runners, a Recurring task was one that often came right from the top; Apex Authority would often have some bone to pick with some revenant soul in some far away district that would need ‘silencing,’ or worse; espionage. Recurrings, as they were called, deeply eroded the strange and fragile trust held between the Runners and the people they served. Recurrings where when the Runners were taken from their politically neutral positions and placed right into the thick of an ongoing and often existential crisis. Fail to complete your Recurring, and disbarment was not out of the question. It wasn’t uncommon for one failed task such as this to sink a Runner back into the muck of the lower classes. And it wasn’t that Kieran or other Runners looked down towards those in Atlantic, or any of those subjugated by AA. It was that being a Runner was the only way that most could find a way above the fray. Still, there were benefits for completing these questionable tasks. “I’ll open with the good news,” Honeyman continued. “At the end of this recurring you’ll be bumped to Subsection A.” “Holy shit.” “I know,” he continued. “I don’t even have full clearances for A. You lucky bastard.” “Alright then,” Kieran anxiously cut in. “The bad news.” Honeyman took a deep breath. “…you need to embed yourself in an organization. Terrorist group, specifically. Out in Atlantic.” Of. Fucking. Course. Honeyman slipped over a dossier. “You’ll be in deep, as deep as you can be. AE officers in Atlantic won’t be briefed. Make the wrong moves and you’ll be killed with the rest of them. Which is why you’re being given this.” Kieran looked down to see Honeyman slip a mahogany box across the table. He already knew what he would find inside; but that didn’t keep him from the smallest of gasps when he opened the box to see a Black Seal. The Black Seal was the holy grail of immunity. Each seal was numbed, and should you show your seal and correctly state your number and a passcode, it could be verified by a ledger given to AE members each morning. The intricate seal was carved from wood unlike any that grew in the region. It was an elegant system to verify that your actions were official AA business. Having a Black Seal meant no curfews. It meant immediate AE immunity. Access to government buildings, to records, to vehicles…there were few upper limits to what a Black Seal could get you into. “I’m only authorized to say this one time, so be sure you hear me, K.” Honeyman said. “Your passcode is [i]’monacle.’[/i]” [i]Monacle,[/i] Kieran repeated in his head a few times. He was sure to remember it. “You won’t be seeing me at our usual meetings anymore,” Honeyman said. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you never see me again. Once you accomplish your mission and give up this organization, you’ll go straight to AA to inform them. From there, you’ll be transferred to Subsection A.” “What if I don’t complete the Recurring?” Kieran asked. “…goodbye, Kieran.” [center]***[/center] That morning found Kieran studying every inch of his dossier. In his makeshift living space, he held a small lantern up to bring illumination into his small storage container home. He sat on his bed, a musky mix of old tarps and string, and read each name closely. From what he could gather, Apex Authority didn’t have a name for this organization, but only a list of locations and names ranked from most likely to least likely to be involved in foul play. Locations he wasn’t familiar with, like a tavern or a slanted cottage on the edge of town. Names too, such as Miranda. Del. Gregor. All ranked on a spectrum of likely to be involved, with a few marked as possible leaders. He studied for hours and hours, writing down short notes on his own sheet of paper, before finally feeling as if he had memorized all that he could. Then, he walked outside, set the dossier into the lantern, and watched it burn. For a mission as secretive as this, this paper was nothing but trouble. He moved next to load his messenger bag with the essentials. A change of clothes. Money. A pistol and a dagger, in case he needed them. He went to tell one of the dock boys to watch his shit in case he didn’t return that evening, and departed for Atlantic. [center]***[/center] He arrived in the evening, as he had intended. He had taken the long way to Atlantic, maneuvering north and nearly into the downtown district, before taking a train down into the main station within the subsection. He ran though who he was over, and over, and over again. His name was Kieran. He was a Runner. These elements were true. He was low on clients. He wanted to branch out and thought it was worth infringing on another Runner’s territory. That was the lie. Telling Aura or any others this element would give them a sense of power over Kieran. It would hopefully lead them to trust him as they could easily betray him in turn. In reality, any Runner coming to accuse Kieran of invading their territory could easily be paid off by way of the Black Seal. It wasn’t a perfect plan, or really much of a plan at all. But it was what he had. He wandered his way through the streets, taking note of the street names and building names. This was the boring element of the job. Taking stock. Preparing. Learning. He would need to find an inn for the night, but for now, it was going to be a long night of walking. As curfew approached, Kieran found himself stopped once or twice by AE officers. For them, he used his Runner’s stamp and talked his way out of their grasp. The fewer people he showed the Black Seal, the better. It was a last resort, as anyone looking in his direction may spot him with it. Who knows that they may do to him should they see it. But as he continued to pace down the district as the final curfew tolled, he couldn’t help but begin to think on the day. He had, without much hesitation at all, agreed to spy on these people. He would be asking for names. Bribing people. Likely sentencing people to their deaths. He thought of the man crumpled in the street. He thought of his dream, and the men and women crawling in the muck. He thought of Aura. If he had gotten this group captured and arrived in subsection A, what would he do? He would be there—alone—doing what had always done. Survived. Was that all he would ever do? [b]CRASH![/b] His thoughts were interrupted as he was thrown clean off his feet and down to the ground. He had been so engrossed in thought and in his paces, he hadn’t paying much attention to the loud pops that had echoed in the nights. Sounds that were clearly gunshots. Nor did he notice the black figure sprinting towards him. Until, of course, it was already too late. [b]”FUCK!”[/b] He cried out as his side smashed into the asphalt. Luckily for him, his bag had stayed shut. His eyes moved next to the woman next to him. [i]“You shouldn’t go down there,” the woman huffed and puffed, “the officers…”[/i] Wait— “Aura?” As he stood and recognized Aura, he briefly thought to his dossier. Her name hadn’t been on it, as far as he could remember. But all too quickly, she pressed a gun into his stomach, and any doubts about her involvement dissipated. He sprinted along, following her orders, sitting when she ordered him to sit. All the while, he tried to think of the person she had spoken to in the tavern the night before. [i]Were they involved too?[/i] Her actions had pushed him right back into his survival instincts, which now told him to follow her lead, learn more about whatever organization she’s a part of, and stab her in the back as soon as he could. Figuratively, if things played out well. Literally, if they didn’t. Now wasn’t the time for dream analysis and second-guessing the mission. She had him stand again and led them away from the pursuing AE officers in the area. Only then did he decide to speak up. “Aura, right?” he asked rhetorically. “I’m a Runner. I have a stamp. We can run and hide all night or you can let me tell the nearest guard you’re with me and I can take you wherever you need to go.” He figured she wouldn’t take him up on his offer, of course. But trust had to start somewhere, and he hoped she would remember the incident with the man yesterday and believe his story. And in his defense, he really was going to honor his word, if she would take that fucking pistol off of him.