Naught and the Circle

Chapter 18 - Cassiel's revelation

I

The loose tobacco stuck to his teeth again. He licked his lips and spat out as much as he could, before continuing to roll his cigarette. The batch from Saratoga was never good. Musky and tasteless. At times, luxury cigars from the coast would find their way to the H. He didn't smoke that shit, though. The Pledge-Breakers had made their bed with the devils, they could lie in it. A bunch of snake-oil promises from Voodoo worshipers. Nothing but war-profiteers. This tasteless crap he smoked was made by the hardworking Americans of his country in exile. From the soil of the last bastion of freedom. It would do.

The years had been hard on Daniel Price. His wife went into the ground three years ago from cancer, and his four children had grown up fearing him—and still did. He had made a career of terrifying his compatriots and opponents alike. Price was not a tyrant, though. He was a man of action, and men of action were always scrutinised. At the military institute in little Lexington, the first thing they had taught him was that bad decisions were better than none. He refused to believe that until he was forced to. Trapped in an abandoned subway, with injured officers, crying women, starving children. He made some tough choices then. Choices that will haunt him to the day he die. But Price was of the old stock. He would suck it up, and he would do whatever was necessary to get the job done. His allegiance was to the men who fought for every inch of these tunnels. For freedom.

They had made it through starvation, riots, and Marcus' death. All on the shoulder of those who believed in the greater good rather than their own selfish needs. They believed in humanity, this city. He had built it with his own blood, sweat, and tears—and more importantly—others. This metropolis had paid its due in suffering, and he would make sure it was for something.

"Good morning, sir." the soldier guarding the door saluted the Field Marshal.

"Morning, Private." He replied. The words creaked out of his smokey mouth. The sound of an early morning. "What's the condition of the prisoner?"

"Well, sir. The doctor is at a loss, but he seems ok."

"He?"

"It. Sir." the private corrected himself.

"Show me to it." Price said, biting down on his cigarette, and waiting for the guard to open the first set of steel doors.

The angel was crouched over, naked and chained to the wall by four large chains. Two on his hands were connected to rings in the ceiling, before coming back down to a gear winch at the feet of Major Oberst, who was standing at attention. The chains on its legs were bolted to the ground. The room smelled of ammonia and was scrubbed daily to the standards of H-City General Hospital.

"Hello, prisoner." Price said, trying not to smile.

The angel said nothing.

"We captured your friends the other day."

The angel said nothing.

Price signaled to Oberst and pointed to the chains. The Major nodded and tapped his baton on the steel wall.

The chains began moving. Slowly, but steadily, the angel was hoisted up and its arms spread out. Oberst pulled its long blond hair back so Price could see the eyes.

"This never gets old." Oberst said. "We could do this for a long, long time."

Price blew cigarette smoke in the angel's face. "Wouldn't hurt ya to talk to us."

The angel said nothing.

"The more you talk to me, the less you have to put your lips on every piece of munition we send your way."