Athena's Court

Chapter 3

Jackal couldn't shake off what had happened last night. He didn't want to think of it as a robbery, preferring to call it a heist - that sounded way cooler. His own Robin Hood-esque heist, brought to a successful end. An immense feeling of pride flooded over him.

"Can you stop daydreaming for a second and finish that t-shirt?"

His supervisor stood over him, a hefty shorter man in his late 40s, wearing a crumbled black shirt, with a logo spelling the word 'Jackal' printed on it.

"You're lucky we sponsored you when you were born, 'cause you wouldn't have found a job with that attitude," the supervisor continued, his forehead soaking in sweat, even though he wasn't doing anything except berating his staff. "Now get back to work. Make yourself worthy of your name."

Jackal muttered some obscenities under his breath as the supervisor moved beyond earshot. Jackal... A name in which he took great pride as it was his own, but which he also loathed as it was undoubtedly linked to his sponsor and employee for life: Jackal Inc.

He finished the t-shirt before him, shooting a glance at the clock above. Its ticking echoed around the sweatshop, every motion of its hands seemingly slowing time.

After a couple of excruciating minutes, the bell rang and the workday was over.

As Jackal walked out of the sweatshop, a bitterly cold wind caught him by surprise. He quickly forgot about it, however, as the adrenaline started to rush in - tonight they had planned another heist, even though he didn't know what they were robbing next. Jackal pondered about it as he made his way back to his tent. Lash did say it was going to be something big this time.

He looked at the enormous tower over Linkeroever, a thin rod-like structure. It was devoid of any color or details, except for a digital clock with red letters on top. Jackal peered at it, the low-hanging silver sun making it hard to see. He still had a couple of hours to spare. Wondering if his friend was still at work, he ventured forth to Sint-Anneke.

Jackal arrived at the beach, a small strip of land with a view of Antwerp, its skyline - or lack thereof - spread out on the other side of the river Scheldt. The white smoke drifted eerily across the river, stopping only a couple of meters before the sand of Sint-Anneke.

A multitude of metal constructs stood in front of the shoreline, its engines cranking as they scooped garbage out of the moss-colored water. More machines rose out of the overhanging smoke in the distance where the port of Antwerp was, like kaiju ready to attack the city. Colorful containers were stacked across the beach, most of them carrying a water bottle and a fork crossing each other - Potum's logo.

It didn't surprise Jackal in the slightest. Everything people ate in Linkeroever was Potum's. Cheap, processed garbage made in some foreign country and shipped to Belgium. Of course, the rich down in Antwerp got all the amazing food - all the fresh vegetables and juicy meat they wanted: Wagyu beef, caviar, and bread that didn't have pieces of mold.

Jackal tried not to think about it. He'd have his revenge tonight.

He walked further, dozens of men in orange safety vests running around with heavy goods. Jackal recognized most of them from Linkeroever.

He could see three men sitting in the distance, their fishing rod stretched out in front of them, their lines bobbing in the murky water. Even though they were still far away, Jackal recognized his friend immediately.

"Hey, Fisher!" Jackal yelled as he ran closer, waving his hands in the air. All three men put their heads to the side. A joke that never got old.

"Yo Jackal!" Fisher yelled back, almost dropping his rod trying to wave back. The other two guys grunted, looking back at their hooks. "How's it been?"