Jax wandered around the city, aimlessly. A part of him felt like he made a terrible mistake, like he threw away his only shot. And even worse. They planted a seed, deep into his brain, he already had enough of those. The sun had started to set, the golden glow that ricochetted off the buildings slowly became dimmer and dimmer. His feet ached from walking, mis mind was fuzzy from thinking, and his shoulders hurt from carrying. So he did what any other homeless would do. He found a patch of ground, laid something on the floor, and simply waited for some person to pity him and toss him some money for food. “It was pathetic” he thought to himself. He remembered seeing the beggars back on Alphonse when he was younger and thinking to himself: why don’t they just get a job. Now it felt it made a whole lot more sense. Who would want to hire a messed up debt ridden homeless guy, waste of resources.

  The hours slowly ticked by, the sun by now was fully behind the iron curtain of skyscrapers. Its rays barely peeking out from the skyline. After the sun had fully set, the large mirror panels on the buildings began to shift, removing themselves from the base and flipping with one side facing the ground below. Then, in one flash, turned on the solar-powered lights, flooding the dark streets with light, and shielding them from the monsoon that now started to roll in. Jax could hear the hail of rain, slamming into panels above, the murmur of night crowds, and now also the growl of his stomach. He hadn’t eaten the entire day, and he was starting to feel it. Slowly, he reached for his notebook, flipping it open and doodling whatever was in his immediate surroundings. His eyes locked onto the skyline, or what he could see between the panels, the night sky above, the clouds, the rain, and now, the moon. Its large round form barely peeking out from the shields the hung above him. ‘

  In the distance he could hear the drunken murmur of a couple of men. As he bent his back to peer around the corner, he saw three men, each with a bottle in their hands and wearing various types of street wear. One of them locked eyes with him and pointed him out to his friends, who now all began to approach him. “Well, it's another street rat.” One of them said.

  “True, *hick* that. What's wrong, little street rat? No house to live under?”

  “Don’t you have something better to do?” Jax asked in a sore tone

  “*hick* well. We just hit the score of our life, so no, not *hick* really little rat.” Jax smelt the stench of alcohol and some other substance, probably drugs, emanate off the men, they clearly weren’t acting out of reason. “Hey, what's that? Are you drawing little rat?” One of them said, pointing at the notebook, ‘Can we seeee?” Another asked, leaning on his friend. “No, piss off.” Jax replied, pressing the notebook to his chest.

  “Ahh, are you shy little rat? Don’t worry, we don’t judge…” he says, crouching down and reaching for his notebook. Jax stands up, leaning against the wall, the notebook firmly against his body. ‘Hey! Don’t be shy little rat, just show us!” one of them then reached out and griped the book, yanking from his weak hands. “Hey! Give it back, you fucking cocksuckers!” Jax yelled, lunging forward, one of the men stuck his hand out, catching him before he could take back the book. The other two flicked through the pages of juvenile sketches, inspecting and laughing at them. “Hey, give it back! Right now!” They didn’t reply, though, they just laughed and pointed. Then, in one fluid motion, began to start ripping out pages, stuffing them in their pockets or crunching them up and chucking them away. “No!” Jax yelled, taking a step back before ramming into the first man. He caught him off guard and tumbled to the floor. The other two stumble back as Jax crawls back up to his feet. They throw the notebook aside as one of them prepared to throw a punch, but Jax tackles him, also crashing to the floor. “Fucking rat!” the first man he tackled yells as he kicks him off his friend. Jax grips his side as he is sent tumbling aside. Before he can get up to attack again, another foot strikes his face. Sending him right back to where he was. Then another kick, and another, some hit his back, some hit his chest, but most strike his head. Jax tastes the blood in his mouth as it drips from his nose and lip. He holds his hands up to try to block some blows, but one of then grabs his wrist and strings him up before striking him in the face. After that, the beatings stopped. Jax softly reached for his nose, trying to stop the blood gushing from his face. One of the men spat on him before they all turned their back and drunkenly walked away, murmuring among themselves as Jax bled out on the floor. The pain was unbearable, there was a pulsating sting run through his entire face, and his gut felt like someone had driven a stake through it. As he rolled his head to the side, he saw the discarded notebook, pages scattered across the floor, crumpled up, and tossed aside. With one hand, he tried to reach for the book, his fingers grazing its surface. He strained his hand, just wanting to hold it leathery cover. But instead his fingers grasped a something else. He slowly wrapped his hand around a torn out page. It was the page he drew in the FTL rail, the one he scribbled out. The one with Fraser’s face on it. As he saw the crude attempt at covering the sketch, his breathing hitched and his fingers wrapped around the page, crumpling it and bringing it to his chest. The occasional rain droplet hitting his face from between the panels. Jax, the blood still trickling down his face, held his gut as he forced every muscle in his body to stand up. His arms pushing off the gravely floor as he came to his feet. In the distance, the three men walked away, stumbling as they went. At first, he wanted to chase them. To punch each one of them in the face until they couldn’t speak. He even tried to step forward, but as he began to approach them, a voice called out. It was low and strained, it simply said, “Don’t bother, they’ll kill you.” as the sound hit his ears, Jax stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly, Jax turned around, towards the voice. There he saw a figure, clad in long wispy robes, with plates of metal bolted on top holding the robes in place. He also had a hood with a face mask, obscuring his features, seldom for his sunken eyes. He was hunched over Jax’s things, rifling through the bag like a little kid. Jax stared at him for a short while. Not sure whether to tell him to piss off, or to just let him continue his unwelcome rummaging. “Who… who the fuck are you…” Jax muttered. The strange man didn’t reply, though. The blood on Jax’s face started to drip onto the floor. He wiped it away, before walking towards him, short, wobbly steps that made him look like a stiff breeze could blow him over. As Jax approached, the man finally noticed him, looking back over his shoulder before continuing “h-hey, I’m talking to you… hey, hey” Finally Jax reached him and placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to yank him away from his things. But the figure took Jax’s hand off his shoulder and gripped his face. “So this is what you look like…” The man said, inspecting his face. Jax, still in excruciating pain; simply let him inspect. “Tell me… Did you take sir Gabriel up on his offer?”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Jax, glared at him silently before answering, finding the air in his lungs to respond, simply saying “No, He ruined my life, all those bastards did.”

  “You disgust me…” the figure replied, letting go of his face. Throwing him aside. “You were given the perfect life, and you threw it away. “What the fuck do you even know about me… I don’t even know who the fuck you are.” Jax sputtered from the floor. “You were given the gift. Were you not?”

  “I didn’t get jack shit from nobody…”

  “What about your implant-”

  “The PUT that in me. If you consider that a gift. Then you’ve clearly never piloted an Argonaut before.”

  “Oh, but I have… we are brothers of blood. Or should I say steel…”

  “Listen buddy.” Jax said, forcing himself to his feet. “I’ve had enough cryptic weirdos and random people messing with me today. And if you think just because I got a busted nose, and I haven’t eaten in a day means I won’t fight you. Then you clearly don’t know me, in which I’ll have to ask you to piss off!”

  The figure stared at him for a bit. Sometime cocking his head or twitching his hand before he stepped towards him. Closer than Jax was comfortable, but he was done taking shit from others. The figure then raised his arm, his palm facing Jax. As he raised his arm, the cloth fell away to reveal a mark underneath. “The mark of the beast…” under his palm was a simple bar code. Burnt into his skin, “It unites us, those who do not bow to god but rather to the Judge…” As he revealed this, mark, Jax felt a twang build. A burn in his hart, a knot in his gut. “You bear the mark as well, do you not?”

  “None of your business…”

  “Don’t reject your gift. You were lucky enough to receive it. Were you not?”

  Jax then shoves the man away. Subtly gripping his wrist. “Hey… remember what I said about fighting you… I swear to god I’ll do it!” But as Jax raises his voice, he feels a stabbing feeling shoot through his gut. Instinctively, he reaches for his mouth as he tastes blood raise from his gut. His knees grow weak, and he collapses to his knees. The figure, staring down at him, says, “once again. You disgust me…”

  Jax coughs before speaking. Looking back up at the figure, saying, “Make up your mind. Are “blood brothers” or do you hate me…?”

  “While you are my blood brother, your ignorance prevents me from helping you…”

  “Great…”

  The figure then crouches, to meet Jax at his eye level. He then reaches into his pocket and puts a little injector wrapped in a cloth into Jax’s hand. “One day you’ll realize what the Judge wants. And you, too, will desire its goal. Simply make your way to him at your own pace. I have given you a medical stim. I suggest you use it…” Then, the figure raises from the crouched position. Towering over a battered, bruised, and bloodied Jax. He turns to an allay way and begins to leave

  “Hey!” Jax calls out. The figure stops, but doesn’t turn

  “If you’re from those Corvus guys, tell them this; If you want my body, you’ll have to kiss my ass!”

  “I shall pass on the message…” and he continues walking. Jax lets out a sharp exhale, blood sputtering from his nose as he does so. He raises the injector to his face. “Stim, sure buddy…” He tosses it aside, taking the cloth, he now realizes is a medi patch, and applies it to his face. Removing the sticker and softly pressing the sticky surface to his nose ridge. Then, wiping the final patches of wet blood from his face with the sticker, he goes to his notebook. Damp from the wet floor and destroyed by the drunks. Paper, hours of his life, simply destroyed in an instant. With a pained body and sting in his hart, he picks up the pages. Each one that was ripped out. Even chasing down those being blown away by the wind until each page was recovered. Then he returned to his little den and sat down, folding each page and slotting them into the cracks between the paper and leather. He hated having to see each page. It was a reminder of how long he’d been doing this for. And a reminder on how bad he still was. When he started sketching, by recommendation from his, not so helpful, therapist, back when he worked for Vanguard, she said sketching would be a good way to resolve untreated PTSD. Someone they diagnosed him with after his 1st deployment. But he never felt better from it. He sketched every single day, random objects in his surroundings, strangers on the street and Argonauts in the hangers. Even after 2 years of keeping up this meaningless ritual, his most recent sketch was still comparable to his first. In the back of his mind he thought that one day it would all click, like reading, writing, or talking. But instead he felt like every time he closed that book, the time he spent drawing was akin to staring at a wall. And no one can get better at staring at a wall.

  Greetings and salutations

  Thanks for reading through the chapter! I’ve picked up speed recently, consistently hitting 1000 words every day, so chapter 7 is almost done! From here on out, I’ll be going through the weekly upload schedule I promised last time, posting multiple chapters a week if I can get them fully finished before the deadline. Plan for next week will be to round up chapter 7 and then get started on chapter 8 (I know shocker) Only specifics on next week will be that I’ll have to start planning past what I currently have. Believe it or not, I’ve been planning and planning and planning for the past year and only recently started on the prose. Sadly, most of my planning was taken up by really general stuff. You know, broad stuff. But now I’ve started writing prose, to ensure that I can properly foreshadow and make later chapters make sense I’m gonna need to go back to the planning dungeon and work on outlines (my fav)

  Anyways, thanks again for reading through this chapter and I’ll see you in a week

  -V