|Outposts|

Nothing is real. Everything is permitted.
- Assassin's Creed

She didn't say her name, but I guessed she was an Emma. Her pen swivelled gently and yet made sweeping though awkward sprawls across the dotted line as she wrote my name. I cringed a little when she reached the 'a', people always got that wrong, always got the line too far from the delicate arch not even a correction fluid could fix. But then again, I was one of the only few who used one of those anymore, and with all the unaccounted stationary currently sitting in my bag, a pen lid, a point of a protractor that would probably encourage a beep as I go past the metal detector and fragments of a sweet gum that all but fermented on the lining of my bag, a correction vial still sat snugly in its recesses, waiting for another mistake to fix.

'Emma' combed her fingers through her blonde bob cut. Standard regulations for an Eskeri worker. And like any class Eskeri workers, Emma didn't belong here. She was far too equipped for a place like this, not that the city would welcome folks like them, or me for that matter. We were different kinds of irrelevance to them.

"There's not much today I'm afraid" I said, producing a genuinely sympathetic smile as she carefully opened the brown paper pouch and rummaged through its contents. She returned one, though small and half-finished, as though about to reprimand me for only providing what Haider would give and nothing more. But no one would speak to Haider even if he was in the wrong, which weren't often, mind you, but Haider was never to trifle with unless you had your life as a bargaining chip.

I'm sorry, I wanted to further add. But would she react strongly, would she be one of those who would relay to her colleagues that a messenger had the audacity to patronise her with paltry remarks and fake apologies. My lips remained sealed, pressed tightly against the tooth gnawing it. I had to remember to put a balm on it, Haider wouldn't like me faffing about again. It was always sad business delivering rations to Zaytain. Worse because that's the exact same pouch that sat, half-opened in my fridge. With another smile I left through the adjacent door of the building, my bag of course setting off a beep when reaching the metal detector.

"Just my protractor," I said, waving my hand in nonchalance. Outside was hazy. A slow, dragging, autumnal sun providing a red glow around the whitened streets. I clutched my cloak tighter to me, but still wisps of the frost fluttered in, teasing the nape of my neck.

Coughs echoed around me, one, then two, then three, then a cacophony. I fastened my mask around my mouth and nose, gripping my cloak so it barely dusted the sandy ground. Haider wanted us looking as anonymous as possible. Taking hasty steps and tip-toeing around the grimy clothes littered on the ground and the unfortunate people attached to it.

Zen-takers. A drug that had little to help their ailing bodies after the veil had touched them. You could help them. My conscience echoed, but realistically I knew I couldn't, they weren't called 'The lost' for no reason, not when they never wanted what you offered in help. They were only after one thing-

A hand latched onto my trousers as I turned a corner of a dark lamp-lit street. I gasped, my heart thudding furiously as the pungent stench reached me. The tell-tale signs of a smokeless smoke followed, caressing me in death-like tendrils.

"Ma'am...deliveries for me?" A non-voice, an almost whisper had it not been for the eerie trill rattling in its chest behind me spoke. The formerly clear sky grew overcast, darkness now creeping along the ground until all that was left was shadows and glowing eyes staring at me from the reflection in a mirror shard on the ground.

Its heavy, laboured breathing swallowed out even the pounding of my heart. Scraping like that of talons trilled along the concrete, a heavy thump of legs following it. And were they to have the ability to not be sedentary anymore, not a single messenger would be intact. But even then tortoises win the race, if they get tipped in the right direction. I couldn't look back but even then flashes of ashen skin winked I'm and out of my periphery, and the bubbling dread soon followed.

Shoving my hand into my carry on bag I grasped a soft package that made a squelch as I lifted it, it was already defrosting, blood seeping at the paper, and flung it a few feet ahead of me. I screamed as the hand released me, a long fingernail tearing the seam of my trousers, making a gash across my thigh as I heard frantic scrambling behind me, more than one.

On cue, I sprinted along the street, crossing the road and jumping into my carriage, shutting the door with a resounding bang that had the pigeons sitting on top fluttering away. I leaned against my seat, huffing loudly and only then taking a glance n the rear view mirror. How did they get here so fast?

A bang went off then nothing but the blackest black fizzed around, behind me, then it was gone, and nothing was left to indicate that the creatures were there. My heart picked up in panic. The veil was never this loud before, or this close, never within city limits.

"Shit!" I yelled as a red light flashing caught my attention - a tracker. I grasped it from where it perched just on the side. Taking it inside I brought out my pocket knife, bringing it down over and over until it punctured the little device and the light fizzed out. God, tippers were getting smarter.

Wherever Greefs were, Tippers weren't far behind, directing them to a delivery van. Not many survived an ambush of Greefs, not many could. I swallowed down a chunk of fear as tears threatened to spill and ruin my day. Luckily this was my last delivery.

Powering the carriage , it whizzed past dark streets, weaving through narrow alleyways, my hand clutched tight on the wheel. I hated how damn fast crystal powered carriages were. Id have to bring this up with Haider. I was happy that traffic wasn't interfering for once. And if it were, I was too panicked to notice.

"Last shift?" A sudden deep voice all but boomed into my ear pierce, making me almost lose control of the carriage, not even bothering to say hi. He didn't do that. And I was beyond thankful. Found it pointless when you could just get to the point. Small talk was an enigma we couldn't peg down.

Geez, Haider, talk louder won't you? Is what I wanted to say, but it would not go past my lips. Haider made it seem like we could all just be his friends, but I didn't have that ability to talk that talk, the manager-employee ethic was firmly built in me. Fact of the matter was, we didn't know each other much very well. My soft growl however was loud enough for him to hear because his snicker followed. "Yes, it is my last shift," I said, finishing the rest of the sentence in my head - if you cared to look at your own bloody rota, that you created.

"I trust my workers to do their part," he replied. I could imagine a little playful smirk gracing his thin lips as he popped another lemon sherbet in his mouth. The man liked sour things, and sour people.

"I guess," I sighed, driving past an abandoned building with the sign still flashing large and wide, not yet demolished like its many counterparts. Perhaps It was once a theatre or a gaming hall, but none of that recreation mattered after the veil uprooted many. Besides, not many could afford the theatre anymore, not many around here had the time for lost art.

"Except you haven't," he continued, batting at the silence with his raspy voice, as if he smoked with every drag of breath. And yet, even the quiet respected not to make his presence an awkward one. "Report back to base."

"B-" But I couldn't finish the sentence. I was in deep trouble and that's because he knew where I was. I was foolish to think if I parked a few streets away to where the actual delivery point was I could fool him. But here was another sentence that didn't cross my lips.

"What's that?" he asked unperturbed, oblivious to my inner turmoil as usual.

"It's nothing," I muttered, "I'm actually close by."

With a final 'good' the call disconnected. But the dread remained.