The Book of Rai: SoH Ch. 01

"Yes. But I am not sure that I am... proud? Proud. Of this decision. Your Mythic council will judge me."

"The Mythics- I, answer to Dai Mythique Rai. What do you intend?"

"I want to speak to him. Craig. Carter. I must know if he will be the agent of humanity's preservation on this our earth."

"It will be done."

Carter had tripped the last stair on the flight to his apartment, falling forward and hitting chest first, his spine compressed along a 45 degree angle. He lay haphazardly in pain. He wanted to wallow in it. He rose, clawing his way into the apartment and the sweatshirt off his back. 'Ohhhh my God, ohhhhh my God, I'm gonna die.' His face now struck pillow on his bed, one leg draped vaguely over its center.

"Ugh."

He fell to sleep. He woke. Sleep took him again. The waking world eked in, moment by moment. He lay where he was. In this, his repose, his was a consummate existence. He considered only his objective, the woman, whoever she was, when she would come and what his to do with her coming would be. He'd almost nothing to go with. Dark hair, black not brown. She'd be shipped in. The weapons ship had a wooden deck.

"There was a chick in a sundress, but she didn't stick around. Poked her head out, then went back down." Marcus' words echoed in his ears. 'What does it mean?' Wooden deck. Wooden deck. Wooden decks were quicker to make, not requiring the double welds of metal hulls. Wood decks were used on fiberglass vessels or yachts otherwise, not metal hulled shipping vessels. The metal hull was the obvious choice if a vessel were to serve for any length of time, the metal hull being easily repairable. No shipmaster would allow such a build unless it was a rushed job.

The boat was purpose built for the trip. His eyelids flew open into the morning light. His leg on the bed kicked up and back through his abs, adjusting his body to the ground. He grabbed his whistler and kicked the call to Marcus.

"Craig?"

"The girl, on deck. She had black hair."

"How did you know?"

"The ship had a wooden deck and a metal hull. Anything that was built for more than one trip would have a metal deck for easy repairs. Wood decks are more quickly made. The ship was built hastily, without the concern it would ever need repair. It only made one voyage."

"Since when are you a naval engineer? You know what...Just tell me where you're going with this."

"Sun dress. That's our girl."

"What, just like that?"

"Just like that. Do I know why she's here? No. Do I know why she had to get here so quickly? No. Building a ship with a weak deck to carry weapons is ridiculous. Building a ship quickly to get a VIP from A to B has the Vanguard's prints all over it."

"Jesus, you're serious. Command is getting the call. If you're right on this, things are going to happen very quickly. Get some rest, you had a late night."

"You should to, you were out with me."

"Haven't you heard? I never sleep. I wait." Marcus cut contact, a feature that Carter hadn't quite worked out. The pronged ingot felt swiftly. Carter tried to move his hand out from under the spark, rewarded only with a brand of pain he'd never before experienced. The side of his hand was bruising brutally.

"What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck." He could feel the throb of blood, trickling as it did through broken veins. He also felt the stop. His hand throbbed, but it had lessened. Whatever it had been was either temporary or short lived. The bruise, a sickly burgundy, seared his flesh. He needed to move. He checked the metal alarm clock at his bedside, it read 12:30. The day was gone before it'd started. He stripped what remained of the previous day's attire, shorts and compression shorts. As he tossed the material in a growing laundry pile across his bed, he dropped face first to the ground. He caught on his hands, proceeding to push-ups. The first 60 were a matter of mechanics, simply his body operating. The next ten began to pinch. He breathed deeper on his ascent. The next ten pulled at his chest. He pushed on. There were extensions, operations of his sinew, pained as they were. The last ten crunched his resolve, drilling at the corners of his mind, as he broke on his hundredth exertion, a knee caught beneath him. 'Could've done more.' He rose, flexing his clenching muscles. He felt alive. A shirt from a drawer and a tossed pair of shorts made his garb. The windbreaker and blade, whistler and wallet decked his frame. The Projectile injection system hugged his hip. He slowed, checking the pin holes in the wall and the eye piece of his door. Still nothing. "Broad day light. Its Broad day light." He opened the door almost like a man who knew what he was doing. The stairs were taken two at a clip with a swing around the corner. He was going to find that ship, if it took him all day. Unconsciously, he looked to the café. Josephine had told him she wasn't working, but she'd popped into his head. He saw another face in that scene. Sitting at a table and thumbing a book was the mystery woman from the night before, black bob catching her like a war helm in the bright sun. Her eyes, shifted from the text, inching up to his. She smiled and waved him over. He considered not going. Who was she? How did she find the café? She chanced a smirk when he got close, more towards his armament than his behavior. She read him like the book in her lap. Favoring his right side, preventing it from bumping into surfaces. Gun. Windbreaker, stiff along the back. Sword. She cast the glance back to him, trying to make it cute. It worked.

"You're late you know."

"What?

"Still flustered? Have a seat, the waitress will be around in a moment." He slid the chair behind him, a question on his brow.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Arsinoe? We met last night."

"No, I know that, I mean..."

"You seem surprised."

"How did you find this place?"

"Alright I imagine, no more difficult in getting to than anywhere else." He missed her joke. One liners didn't work like they used to. "I told you to meet me here. 1 o'clock? You don't remember?" He'd forgotten between the cup of espresso and his realization of the ship the moment prior.

"I may have uhhh misplaced the memory." She flashed a smile. It was wan and wise, furtive, but meant to be caught.

"You're here now."

"Yeah. Are you.... Are you okay?"

"I over reacted a bit. My friend's house was just around the corner. She patched me up, good as new. Nothing to worry about."

"Friend?"

"From out of town, yes. She's working in the city right now, Human Resources I think. How did your night end out hero? New shirt?" She looked him up and down. She could see the lines beneath his clothes, the pulsations of the veins in his wrists. His heartbeat was elevated. He felt it as a throbbing in his ears, watching her eyes roam his body. She didn't much try to hide it. "Are you always this articulate?"

"I found my way home. Have you been in the city long?"

"A few days. I'll be gone in a few more. You?"

"About the same." He felt like they were throwing trick daggers at each other, seeing who could give the vaguest answer. She didn't seem like the type for... illegitimate business. But the way she answered. 'It's how I would answer.' Her gaze left his, losing focus across the street.

"It's a beautiful city. Very old."

"Old?"

"Continuously inhabited for almost 30,000 years. There was an excavation near le Garres de Marseille Saint-Charles that unearthed Neolithic brickwork. It dated to 6000 B.C."

"My God. 30,000?"

"Much of it documented, but the history of mankind is not written in stone alone." Carter held his tongue. "This place is very old for a reason. In their time of need, some would step forth to save the city. It is a hub of trade, of culture, but it is also a hub of humanity." She sighed, retreating from her point and into her cup. He thought it was espresso, but by the size it could have been tea. He wasn't sure.

"Are you... similarly engaged?"

"In what? Saving humanity?" She took a moment to laugh, blending a giggle and a guffaw. It served. "I work in human resources. Hm. On second thought, perhaps I do save the world." She smiled at that. He was momentarily disarmed. A waitress picked the gap in their conversation.

"Monsieur, vous voulez une boit?" He understood the drink request. He hoped she couldn't see it in his eyes.

'Play the American.' "Can I just get an espresso? Thanks." He watched as she flitted away, circling back to his femme fatale. "Where were we?"

"You were about to invite me back to your place." As his jaw dropped, she parried, "We were talking about saving the world. Do you think it can be saved?"

"Do you think it needs saving?"

"Maybe. I see humanity. Not just here, all around. That's worth saving I think."

"I'd agree. But who is going to save it? HR?"

"Mm, I'd like that," she said leaning into the table and into his view. Her brows were thin, penciled upon the tops of steel grey eyes as though the brush strokes of God were with them. They lifted in question and she injected a playful tone. "Are there... dangers out there, for people like us? Heroes?" He swallowed hard. She looked quite beautiful, hair shuffling in the breeze.

"Sure. Kryptonite, secret identities, friends, family, even the occasional super villain."

"Arms dealers?" His head flashed to a firefight in a cloud of blood. A thousand yard stare was drawing up fast before he broke the memory. His was a pointed expression.

"What did you say?" She feigned shock. She feigned well.

"What? They're bad guys. World might be better without some of the more brutal ones." In his experience, he hadn't considered the Vanguard's objective. Sure, he was there to kill Vanguard. They, they were there to stop arms trafficking. The buyers were far from clean. Some were Mexican cartels, African militias. Terrorists groups were a wash but deals like those were where they got their pay dirt. He softened at the thought. The men he'd killed. They were Vanguard sure, but they were trying to do good.

'What the hell am I hunting?' He'd drifted away for the moment, his eyes lost to the ruminations.

"Carter?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I agree. Arms dealers too..."

"Look, I'm sorry, I've got to go. This was my lunch break. If you're free tomorrow...?"

"Same time, same place?"

"Yes."

"Can I call you?"

"Work phone is for business calls only. Hotel phone is out right now. Just meet me here." She stood, sliding a bag from the back of the chair, a turn a shuffle and she was among the crowd, fading in the Marseille heat. The waitress placed the check softly in front of him.

The sea breeze tickled at the whiskers he'd let move in on his chin. Course and thick, they vibrated upon his pallet, content in the rooftop sunshine. A vibration had wormed its way into his pocket. He'd been on the thing too much lately, and they had no idea if the things would give them cancer or a new thumb growing out of their ass. He picked it up anyway.

"Marcus."

"Good Afternoon Sir."

"Good Afternoon Anton. The information from Craig was invaluable. With it, and your description, we were able to determine that the target is in Marseille. We believe her to be High Blade Captain rank, one of 16. The target was seen by closed circuit cameras at the corner of a rooftop off the Canebiere. Crazy angle, but we got the confirmation. She was seen again at a house near the edge of town. We have reason to believe that she may be indirectly trying to influence your operation."

"How?"

"Josephine Thorsone. Heard the name?"

"No Sir."

"We believe she's having an affair with Craig. She may or may not have ties to the Vanguard."

"Is the information credible? Craig has my confidence."

"I've no doubt he deserves it. The target pulled a lot of local files upon arrival it seems. Nothing was taken and no fingerprints were left, but microdust on the floor allowed us to track her footsteps in the room. Thorsone was among the files there, description matched a woman Craig was seen with. "

"What would you have me do?"

"Simple. End the influence. You know, it's funny, these Vanguard types, they'll kill just about anyone you're close to. Friends, family.... Foreign girlfriends."

"Do I have a time table?"

"Carter and Donovan are to raid the house at which she was seen. The strike time is 4 a.m. tomorrow morning. I want you to monitor Thorsone's every heart beat while they're on strike. If you suspect her of any involvement with the Vanguard, make it look like a revenge for the safe-house. You are to complete this task within an hour of their leaving the house, before Craig returns. If she's with them, Carter isn't to know. He'll vilify them, and with a little psych he can stabilize the rage into a drive. If she isn't involved, she isn't involved. We don't kill civilians."

"Do we then move on the woman?"

"At any point thereafter wherein she can be found. This raid, if properly executed, will be a lure she can't resist. If she can, we'll have enough of their Intel to track her down anyway. Craig and Donovan will receive briefings on the raid, supposed floor plans and will meet their teams at the train station at 2:00. You are to begin following Thorsone immediately."

"Yes Sir."

"You know you didn't have to come see me." He wanted to.

"I was in the neighborhood. Besides, you look cute in an apron." A puff of flower splashed across his nose.

"I have made a mistake, vraiment une drageur!" The six thirty sun sat low in the sky, hinting of sunset and long nights to come. Josephine was to work the night shift, but they were fully staffed without her. She told him this. Her eyes fell to her work, kneading dough for the next day's pastries. "Carter."

"Hm?" Her eyes clung to the flower, massaging light flecks into the mass. She wanted to ask if they had anything. She wanted to know if he had someone already. Was she prettier than her? Smarter? Kinder? Who was she to him?

"You have flour, on your nose." He smiled before shaking his head, dark trusses pulsing in the afternoon. As he righted, a white cloud drifting to his side, his eyes grew into watching her. Something about the motion of her hands, the concert of her rhythm. It was comfortable. He was comfortable, with her. Her eyes caught him staring. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how sexy you look. Nimble hands." She smiled mischievously.

"I need the flower for les croissants. I'd kiss you instead, but you are all the way over there."

"Can you go on break?"

"I've been here half an hour. Ce'st impossible."

"They're staffed enough." She looked back and forth, a tooth sneaking forward to hug the edge of her lip.

"Oui. Okay." She tossed the apron to the hook by the door, sidling into the street. "We have to sneak out!" She dropped into a hunch, trying her best to be stealthy along the way of the alley. Carter followed at a walk, sighing as he went. "C'mon you!" She waved from the alley's terminus, goading him into a jog. When he reached it, she'd taken off along the street, sprinting in the way one can only do when young and on a summer day. Without hope, without abandon, for the sake of the muscles themselves and the breath they provided. It tasted like freedom. She slowed as she passed the old forts, grabbing Carter as he caught her and spinning him into the wall. She had him pinned and breathed into him. "Think you're fast?" She smiled and turned to run. Carter caught her about the waist, pulling her back and into a kiss. She broke immediately, sucking him into her. Their tongues swash buckled under the forts, dancing back and forth in harmony yet untouched. His hands wandered her back gripping her ass and fondling her waste, pulling every piece he could get into him. She pressed her lips to his neck, half kissing, half breathing in the sensation of his touch. His need pressed against her leg, the subtle moistening and parting of her lips had become extreme. Her panties would soak through. 'Here? Here? No.' Along the wall at the fort's base, there was an egress into shadow. A corner, set between the walls of the fort. She pushed her nails into his arms, spinning him around her to angle into the corner, pulling him with her. It was a sharp thing, where stone brick met sandstone slab, hidden by the slightest degree from the street view. She had to have him, and this would be her result. In the sunset light, people were trickling down the street. A woman rounded the corner from the Old Port, coming their way. If she noticed those crossing swords in the shadows, she did not show it. Carter took the aggressive, his gentle cupping of her ass becoming a full grope, his palpitations of her muscle sending resonations through her sex. She fell back and into the wall, her neck arched against the sandstone, her head leaning into the corner and onto the brickwork. He lifted her right leg with her fall, adjusting the cloth shorts that she wore to get at her steaming sex. She could feel the heat pouring off her body, enhanced by the exposure. Someone could come at any minute. Her pouting lips met his opens ones, a breath bringing a line of saliva between them. He broke back, chuckling. His eyes grew serious. His hands unbuttoned her shorts, his fingers hooked under her shorts and panties. She looked him in the eye, hungry. He tore them down. He stood as she kicked them over one ankle. His shorts were quick in coming down, his mast as full height. She'd have none of it. She took him in bringing his body to her as she gripped him in desperate love. They were here, here in the Marseille heat, together and never again. And she had him, with her, pressed to her, his member held tight to her vulva, slipping across her slit in time with the lashing of their tongues. His cock was coated in her juice, slippery when wet.

"Josephine."

"Put it in."

His knees buckled, lifting her leg is his arm the tip of his spear found her entrance. His thrust was slow, aimed but decisive. She caught her breath as the length filled her. His dick fit her like it was made for her. "Fuck me. C'mon American. Fuck me." He ignored her taunt, extracting his length centimeter by millimeter forcing her to feel every vein. Her head rested once again upon the wall, devoid of force. "Ohhh..." He returned his blade to sheath, pulsing deep, long thrusts to force her along the wall, up and down on the sandstone as he hurled himself against her passage. A man emerged on the sidewalk walking towards the old port. "Carter!" She hissed hard in his ear. He did not stop, his thrusts in the dying sun only the more lewd for his ignorance. "Carter he's right there!"

"Shhh..." He kissed her, impaling her upon his iron tool. She gasped the air from his lungs. The man had found the old port entrance, never seeing the lovers whose passion had flared but 20 ft. from his person. Carter picked his pace, increasing the time of his thrusts. "You like that, seeing people walk by?"

"Yes...."

"You like it when I fuck you in the street?"

"oui..." her breath was soft and deep, her words an admittance she deigned to herself alone. Carter, but the echo chamber of her desire. "Please...harder..." his piston responded in kind, maddening his speed by leaps and bounds. She could feel the stone serrating her back as his dick ground into her pussy. The softest of stubbles above his member with each stroke brushed the top of her clit, burning now as he drove home, gyrating his monster in her orifice. She bit into his shoulder, clenching around his tool. She stayed that way for a long time, holding herself against him as golden waves crashed around her, the orgasm all the more powerful for the taboo. "Mon Dieu. You did not?"

"Shh." He leaned into her lips, kissing her softly. Her head tilted back, accepting his boon. She could feel his rod slip out of her depths, the odd reflexion of her musculature, trying to pull him back in. He'd dropped her leg, the sticky sweetness that held between them chilling in the port breeze. It shifted now to his still turgid cock, attempting to sooth the beast. His hand found her breast, not groping, merely fondling as he stroked himself. She was quick to stop him, inching down to her knees. The musky scent of it assaulted her nose, knowing that it would taste of her. As she took it in her mouth, she was dully aware that she'd never tasted herself before. All he could feel, no breeze, no sensation in the world but that of her lips around his cock. She was excellent, pulling at his frenum and balancing him on the tip of her tongue. He was already close. The tornado flick of her tongue scooped him his ecstasy, one hand shooting to the wall to hold himself up. His pulsations filled her, each jet of cum erupting inside her. At first merely the mixing of their juices, she was overwhelmed by his volume, her mouth filling with his seed. Just as she thought it must be leaking onto the ground, he ceased, his twitching cannon abating its assault.