The Visitor WIP

A black guard got up heavily. The weight from his body kept him from being able to get up too quickly. Now, mind you, this was not because he was obese, but more due to the fact that he was in prime physical condition. It was a necessity for his job, you see. “Must be in prime physical condition, must complete the physical standards.”  That’s exactly what the job offer said seven years ago when it came in the mail. And here he was, meeting “the physical standards”, in “prime condition”, and on his lunch break. His lunch break that was way too short, that is. Not the long one, the one with no limits what-so-ever, that the Silver, higher-rank guards had.1

Their employer strode purposefully into the coffee room. “C’mon, lads. Get your asses up and outta here. Now. You’re not getting paid to sit around and eat. Go.”2

That would be the Striker as she was known around here, their drop-dead-gorgeous female boss. Now, when a man gets recruited usually his first move is to hit on her. I mean, who wouldn’t. She’s a “figure-8”, big chest, and long red hair that cascades down her back. Not to mention her outfit. Darn thing was diffidently…. tight. But, like I was saying, their first move would be to hit on her. And of course, like any girl I know, her first move would be to establish her place. Establishing her place to the Striker, usually evolved something along the lines of bruises, broken bones, blood and of course, “sick days”. But after all that was done, everyone settled back to there place on the food chain: men = bottom, Striker = top. But enough with the description, back to the story.3

“You’d think that with all the trouble we go through that we’d at least get a longer lunch break,” the black guard muttered his breath.4

One of the younger, more immature guards overheard his muttering. “Yeah, why can’t our break be longer?” 5

A couple of laughs from the other guards filled the room.6

“Quit playing and get work,” Striker snapped at the guards, her face filled with a familiar look of disgust. “If you don’t listen I’ll get the Master to come and make you himself.” A kind of silence settled down upon the Black guards, this threat of the Master ringing in their ears. The Striker waited a minute letting it all sink in. 7

“Get back to work”, she said again. The men slowly got up and went back to their posts. Not a guard had the courage to utter a word. Satisfied, she turned and left, and business continued. 8

Not a guard had laid eyes on this Master, nor been in his presence. But he was feared. Striker was his second in command, but even she had not seen him. 9

It was rumored, no told, that the Master was a horrid man, twisted and bent in evil ways. It was said he was cruel, not a piece of his heart not hardened, not a thought wasted on anyone else, but himself and his…plans. It was also said that he had power, power beyond what any human could begin to comprehend. Perhaps that is why he was feared. But then, perhaps not. The ‘why’ of fear is not reason at all, but more of a sense, a sense of something…more. 10

You will hear the guards talk of him, of these tales of horror that surround him. They fear. But even then, in that moment of fear, they do not admit it, this greater fear. They do not admit to their friends, fellow guards, or even to themselves. This greater fear stalks them. They feel it in there very bones, their core, and they cannot shake it. That is what scares them. It lurks in the dark, waiting to strike. They feel its presence. You feel it too, don’t you? That feeling in the pit of your stomach, that aching, begging of your body to leave this place. You feel it, too, this presence…of Evil.11

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Water fell from the sky. Lightning streaked, thunder screamed. A few innocence bystanders of the storm tried to keep themselves from being completely soaked, though their efforts were in vain. Some went into at the nearest shelter they could find. Others continued to their original destination. Soon the street was completely cleared of these strangers, only a small number cars dared to be out. A silence seemed to sweep over this place. The only sound was made by the rain and the thunder; the only movement, lightning. The city seemed to almost cease its activity, to hold its breath waiting for the storm to call off its raid. But the storm did not stop. It went on…13

A raging wind tore through the air, seeming to have somewhere it needed to be. But you never know, maybe it did. 14

Soft padded feet made its way down the street. A lone figure walked.15

. To anyone passing by, she might have looked as a normal person would, nothing out of the ordinary. But if one were to take a closer look they would have seen a face unlike any other they had seen before. They would have seen a light in her eyes, not like the light of achievement or excitement, nor like the light of happiness, but the light of a sort of freedom found only in a wandering soul. You see, this woman is the Wanderer, that is how she has asked me to address her. Her name is Kimi, but to you, and to Evil itself, she is known as Unigon.16