Chapter 2

Talk about a dream; try to make it real.
You wake up in the night with a fear so real.
You spend your life waiting for a moment that just don't come.
Badlands, Bruce Springsteen

Paris, November 21st

The first round took the Admiral in the shoulder, spinning him off the altar to the floor, and then all hell seemed to break loose. Sophie dropped to the floor, her hands over her ears, and when the bullets didn't stop she scrambled across the floor to hide in a corner, screaming her panic at the walls ineffectually.

Caerys flinched against the shackles as the knife spun through the air, falling to the floor somewhere beneath her feet, shuddering as the tears sprang back. She'd believed she was free, suddenly, years of dreams realised for the briefest of instants, and then she'd looked into his eyes and seen the same deep, abiding, callous evil that she'd known all her life. The body might be different, the style and the mind too, but the soul was the same: dark and empty and greedy.

On the balcony, Gavin's sword swung in a scything arc as he dropped, ending the threat of the first soldier, and he dropped into a low crouch as the other turned, rising up beneath the barrel of the gun to drive his extended knuckles into the soft flesh of the throat, ending that threat. Sheathing the sword again, he grasped up the gun, checked the safety was off, and switched it from automatic to single-shot as he moved to the balcony edge.

Whatever was happening down there, he couldn't easily make out sides — Camael had disappeared completely — and held his fire for the moment. A quick check of the soldiers at his feet revealed a few more details, and he snatched a pair of bulky canisters from one of their belts. He wasn't familiar with the exact details, but he recognised smoke grenades when he saw them, and tossed them out into the warehouse floor, one either side of the hulking stone.

Two steps and a leap carried him easy to the top of the edifice once the smoke started pouring, and he swung his legs over the side to find purchase on the rock.

"Keep quiet." He admonished the naked woman as she turned to look at him. "Turn your head away." He aimed along the stone, targeting the chain quickly and burst one of the links on her wrist, feeling her sway away from the stone without the support. Stepping down onto the small platform, he held her up with one arm and shot away the other chains in quick succession until she slumped against him.

"Come on, I'll get you out of here." He told her, and she just wept into his shoulder. How he was going to get her out, wasn't clear. She didn't seem aware or awake enough to stay on the bike, and she needed clothes before he could take her out into the early morning cold. This many people, presumably, had to have come by vehicle, perhaps he could acquire one of those.

Slipping down from the stone, he ducked into the billowing smoke as two black-clad soldiers approached the rock in confusion. He slide her to the floor, holding her up for a moment as she started to gather her faculties a little. She was still confused and the look in her eyes was distant, but the soldiers seemed to focus her a little.

"SHE'S GONE!" One of them yelled back into the smoke, but by then Gavin had her out of sight. Skirting along the wall, he approached a hunkering old woman in a suit who stared at him in abject confusion for a moment. The red-head stumbling behind him cowered in fear as she turned to face them, hand rising to bring her gun to bear. Two quick shots caught her in the chest and stomach, the noise lost amidst the sporadic gunfire, and she was tumbled backwards into the smoke.

Sooner than he would have wanted the smoke began to clear, and he spared a glance for the doorway, to find it blocked quite effectively by a number of suited figures with an array of rifles and pistols.

"Stay here." He whispered, pushing her down to her haunches, and gnawed gently on his lip as the forces from both ends of the warehouse began to step up their assault.

Paris, November 21st

Caerys hunkered down in the relative safety of the thick concrete pillar, and hugged her knees, biting down gently on her lip to keep from screaming again.

She'd heard a woman screaming, briefly, earlier, but she'd lost track of exactly what was happening then when she resigned herself to the knife.

"There you are..." she spun to see Rafael, one of her father's associates, scuttling along the wall towards her, eyes gleaming with some inner rage. Her rescuer had disappeared without a word, without a sound, she'd not even heard him go.

"Fuck off." She hissed at him, scrabbling about on the floor for something to use as a weapon, and finally resorting to just trying to punch him in the groin. He just smirked as he grasped her wrist, yanking on it to drag her off-balance and then jerked her up to stumble to her feet.

"Look what I've found." He chuckled in her ear.

"Trouble." She recognised his voice, though not from where it came, until a trickle of blood leaked from Rafael's mouth, and his grip on her arms relaxed. He turned away, and Caerys realised he was supported by the blade of a knife through the base of his skull. "Is there anyone besides me that isn't here to kill you?" her unknown rescuer asked, but turned away before she could muster anything coherent as a response. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" She asked, and he whipped around again, a finger to his lips.

"Does it matter?" he whispered, with a questioning expression. "Come on."

"Where?" she demanded again, in a harsh whisper. "I've had enough of..."

"Fine." He turned, clamping a hand over her mouth faster than she could react. "Stay, get chained back to the rock, and whichever group of them wins can do

whatever they want... or shut up, do as your told, and we can talk about it later. Your choice." His eyes were hard, cold chips of grey flint boring into her, and she slowly nodded her acquiescence and followed. "Here." He stripped Rafael of his trousers and jacket, quickly, throwing them to her as he kept an eye on the surroundings. "Hurry."

She slipped her legs into the oversized trousers, flinching as he flicked the knife near her waist, only to watch him make an extra hole in the belt to allow her to keep the things in place.

"Th..." she began to thank him, but a glance stopped her, and he was up and off again, beckoning her to follow as she slipped her arms into the shirt, trying to shrink away from the warm, damp patch at the back of the collar.

Again, as she rounded a pillar, he'd disappeared, and she found herself face to face with Kwan's sneering, scar-faced visage. She lashed out, hard and fast, her fist connecting solidly with his flattened nose, snapping his head back, but one of his meaty fists swung around into her jaw, flashing lights before her eyes and slamming her into the wall. When she staggered back to her senses again, still on her feet, Kwan was on the floor, one leg snapped backward at the knee, and a single bullet-hole in the centre of his forehead.

"You could try to stay out of their way." She spun — he was behind her again — and he gestured through a small door. "Go, there's a car." She stumbled on the floor, strewn with chips and fragments of stone from the gunfire which appeared to have moved to the far end of the warehouse, and found herself out in the gravel car-park again. Despite the various cuts and bruises, she still found herself treading gingerly over the small stones until a pair of iron-hard arms scooped her up and carried to the waiting car.

"Thank you." She finally dared, turning to look at him, but he didn't respond, scanning the surroundings as he slipped her into the drivers seat. "I don't have a license." She pointed out, hesitantly.

"We're stealing it." He pointed out. "A license is the least of your worries." Sliding over the bonnet he swung into the passenger seat through the open window. Breaking off the cover from the steering column with his knife, he rummaged around inside, dragged out the tumblers for the ignition system, and prised out the central column. Twisting the remains with the point of his knife, the engine rumbled to life, and he pointed towards the exit of the car-park. "Drive."

"What are you doing?"

"Keeping an eye out for pursuit." He explained, taking a grip on the gun slung over his shoulder. "And talking with our passenger." Behind her seat, Caerys heard a short yelp of surprise, and watched the gun-barrel arc over her shoulder to point into the darkness.

Paris, November 21st

Sophie scrabbled across the car-park, slipping and sliding in her flat-soled shoes on the gravel, and pitched up against a dark car. She didn't recognise it, didn't even think about the possibility that it might have come with 'the other side' — not that she considered herself to be on either side, any more.

For all the smoke and the noise, the gunshots and the woman chained to the strange altar, it was the sight of Georg with a gun in his hand that she couldn't shake out of her head. He was a doctor, had taken the same oath she had to do no harm... how could he? Another burst of gunfire snapped her out of her reverie, and she looked towards the exit of the car-park, seeing shadowy figures lurking there, and decided against making a break for it. Voices drew closer, shuffling footsteps, and she panicked, yanking open the car-door and shuffling herself into the space between the front and back seats, hoping to be bypassed. That hope was dashed, a few minutes later, when the driver's door opened.

"I don't have a license." A brittle, scared voice half-whispered, but she couldn't hear the response, just felt the car rock a little as someone clambered across the front and slipped into the side-window. The engine suddenly came to life, and she held her breath at the possibility she was going to get away from it all.

"Drive." An unfamiliar — male — voice commanded, in a clipped, controlled, English accent.

"What are you doing?" the girl demanded, grinding the gears harshly for a moment before the car lurched a few feet forward and stalled.

"Keeping an eye out for pursuit." The man continued. "And talking with our passenger." Sophie couldn't help but let out a frightened yelp as cold metal pressed against the back of her neck. "Up... slowly." He commanded, and she squeezed her eyes shut and slowly got up to her knees, shivering uncontrollably.

"Can you drive?"

"What?" she turned, surprised by the question, to stare into the small, dark aperture at the end of a gun-barrel, and the harsh, cold expression of the young man behind it. "Je m'excuse!" she squeaked, and he relaxed a little, lowering the gun.

"Do you drive?" he pointed to the red-head in the driver's seat, and Sophie recognised the girl that had been chained to the strange rock. "She doesn't, and I need my hands free." Not trusting herself to speak, Sophie just nodded, and he gestured for them to switch places.

"Vous etes Francais?" he asked, as she settled into place. "Au Paris?"

"Francais, oui. Parissiene, non." she managed, settling into place, trying to calm her breathing. The gun was down, but it wasn't away, she noted.

"J'habite en Le Havre."

"What are you two jabbering about?" The redhead cut in, starting back in her seat when the man's eyes darted her way. Sophie wasn't sure what was going on, but these two weren't on the same side, it seemed — or, at least, the woman was as scared of him as Sophie was.

"Who are you?" she asked the pair of them, in a tremulous voice, putting her hands on the wheel so he'd know she was complying with his instructions.

"Does it matter?" he asked.

"Perhaps. Are you with the soldiers? Or... or with the others?"

"No." he explained, bluntly. "Faster." They shot through the gap in the high brick wall surrounding the warehouse, and he jerked the wheel slightly, causing a loud thump as something hit the front of the car.

"Did we just run someone over?" Sophie's mouth went dry at the prospect, wishing the girl hadn't said anything.

"Would you rather let him shoot at the back of the car?"

"Where are we going?" Sophie almost cried, seeing the broad expanse of another warehouse ahead signalling the end of the road they were on.