"No Life 'Til Leather"

Bloody And Blunt / Stars Will Fall

Extraordinary pain.

Just dragging one leg after the other felt like a task worthy of the legendary Minoan hero, the one forced to complete a whole series of little orders - difficult beyond belief - for whatever reason. Andy would ask W to help him remember the name, if not for the fact that she spent nearly all of her life illiterate. He sighed in defeat, then slung her arms further over his own, keeping a steady hold on the fiend's body. She felt like a little water pump. The kinda machinery they'd use when camping outside, near some ancient well. The many mercenaries of Kazdel liked to play pranks on their colleagues and potential competitors, so the wells almost always certainly retained some sort of parting gift left by the last group who had the pleasure of using them – be it a few scrapings of live originium, maybe some industrial residue that flooded the underground tunnels with ori-slugs, a home-brewn poison of sorts, or just straight up liters of piss. You never knew what to expect when sinking a pump deep into the dark abyss at the bottom, much less what would come out the rubber hose when fully submerged. It'd take hours for all the disgusting mucus to filter through and disappear in the nearest patch of grass, but eventually clear water always flowed. With the pump hard at work, buzzing and pumping, Andy would often catch himself staring down into the eye of the well, gazing into nothingness and expecting something to gaze at him back. Not a pair of brain-dead slugs, or a bloated corpse, but maybe something else. Then W would stoll over and casually lift his legs over the edge, joking about how Hedley ordered her to dispose of him.

That's what he remembers most. The pump and W. Now W was like the pump – buzzing softly with gentle groans of displeasure, pumping blood out of each little crevice and imperfection on her milky, pale skin. Just before entering the large, double door, alluringly displaying the word "CAFETERIA" above, he straightened her up, patted down her shoulders, and wiped a stream of drool mixed with blood lazily sliding along her cheek. She glanced back at him.

Her unyielding competitive spirit couldn't even be bothered to wake up and terrorize Andy at this hour. It slept peacefully beneath all the plum-purple patches of hurt, instead letting her weariness slip behind the steering wheel. She slumped face-first into his chest and muttered something that barely resembled the word "chair." Her words, muffled by the fluff of Andy's sweater, still somehow reached his ears and set a clear course of action.

Inside the cafeteria, many new faces brewed a storm. A little whirlwind in a bottle, a wave of flesh and sounds in a room. Many tables that stretched for many meters, like fallen trees – the foundation to all the social butterflying taking place. Andy, with W still motionlessly buried in his sweater, "excuse me'd" his way through a rowdy crowd of Sarkaz guys, all armored up and itching for a brawl. At the sight of the fallen angel, they parted like a military funeral procession, instead of saluting, all eager to help him carry the girl onward. Surprised by the kind words, Andy shot them all a bewildered, wide-eyed look, like a fawn in the headlights, then wordlessly carried on. Both on the left and the right, faces turned to glance at the miserable duo – some bearded, sunglasses wearing macho man stood up to offer a hand, but Andy shushed him away with a set of the most polite head nodding he could muster and some "It's okay, she's just tired" sprinkled atop. A boonie hat sporting Sarkaz next to him offered a helping pair of horns as well, eager to lead the two to the medical wind, or at least a place to sit, but Andy waved him off. At least wanted to wave him off, before the sight of a massive rifle equipped with an equally impressive scope crossed his eyes. It gleamed in the LED lights, it glowed and it glowed bright. As if reunited with a long lost friend, the metal called out to him like a childhood friend running in for a warm hug. Utterly dumbstruck, his brain ceased to produce any commands for a moment, hearing only the soft whispers of disapproval coming from the barrel of his own gun, lazily slung over his back. He stopped in place, making W curse and fall to the floor.