Einherjar Online

    "What is the problem with all of you," he could hear someone calling out to the group of boys who were surrounding him, hitting on him? Feeling some of the blows of fist and feet starting to subside.  His arms were covering his head, slacking from being so tense. Blood was running down the side of his face and into his mouth. The taste of iron overbearing his other senses. "Get off of that boy now!" The kids stood up and started to run from the thought of being caught by the sector police. As the woman ran up to his tattered and broken body, she leaned down to check on his vitals.  Pressing fingers to his throat for a pulse. His eyes wavering in the bright light, dizzy from exhaustion and pain. This was all that he could do before finally fainting. The world turned black and the sounds of her voice calling out to him as he slipped into unconsciousness. His last thoughts being how much he hated the world he lived in. How much he hated everything, except for this one woman.     It was odd to wake up in a bed. A bright white room that was pristine and clean. The feeling of soft bed sheets enveloping around his body.  Laying there, everything rushed back, and quickly he sat up looking around for the guys who were beating on him.  A sharp pain stabbed at his limbs and rippled through his body, wincing and grabbing at his head immediately. He felt a bandage covering where blood used to flow. The touch stinging from the tinder skin, the feeling of stitches traveling on the side of his skull.  The hair on the side of his skull was shaven so that they could be sown in neatly.  Despite the pain, he traced the woven flesh carefully, counting each one.  Voice could be heard outside of the room, the door was cracked open and he could see someone sitting at a table, reading over papers. He had no idea who it was, but he also didn't trust them either. No one does kind things without a price. He was scared to find out what his payment would be. Pulling the covers from over his body, he realized that he was wearing nothing but a hospital gown under it. Now he needed to figure out how to get out of here before they came to collect.     The floor was cold on his toes as he stood on it, silently leaning to the door to get a better look. He could see a woman, long red hair, freckles on her exposed shoulders, looking down at a stack of papers. Judging from her body language she didn't want to be there at all. She could probably think of a hundred things to do besides reading this particular paperwork. It was to his advantage though, because she was also facing away from the door. Slipping his fingers through the door, slowly opening it, there was no sound. Getting a better view of where he was, it looked like some sort of doctor's office, but not. There was just the table that the woman was sitting on, a couch on the far right against a wall, with a TV in front of it. He saw a man laying down, wearing what could be described as a surgeon's outfit. He must be the one who put in the stitches. The sight of bloody rubber gloves on the floor next to him was sort of evidence to this.  Slowly he stepped out of the room but was instantly stopped by the sound of someone clearing their throat.  Quickly he looked over his shoulder and saw another woman, this one long dark hair in a single braid staring down at him. In her hands were a knife and an apple with a peel dangling down. She looked dangerous, standing there scowling at him.      "So, looks like you're finally awake." Her voice was emotionless, cold. She didn't move, but he knew that if he moved the wrong way, she could easily cut him down.  He would rather have died than be in slaved by these people though. Jumping backward, he knocked into a small wooden table. The loud c***k of the table hitting the wall caused the surgeon to wake up startled. Without thought, a scalpel in his hand, he was instantly prepared, looking around with hazy sleepy eyes at what had caused him to wake up so abruptly. The woman at the table stood up with just as much reaction and speed, her hand drawing a pistol and aiming it towards him. The woman who scared him though never moved. She stood there, finishing up the apple that she was skinning.  She sat down on the floor, cutting the apple in half, and held out one half to the boy while biting into the other. "Here you go, kid."     "Who the hell are you calling a kid," he responded quickly.  Surveying the area around him, he wouldn't be able to escape without a fight. That much he was aware of. There was nothing for him to use as a weapon though. The moment one of them would come after him, he would have attempted to use either the knife, scalpel, or gun as a means to escape. Three choices being held but three professionals. She smiled at his words though. The first sign of life in her cold face. "I'm calling you a kid, kid." Her response came as she waved for him to take the apple again. "Now come on, eat up. You need your strength. Lost a lot of blood back there." Centuries within minutes they stood silently. The surgeon yawned and finally had given up on the situation. He rolled the scalpel in his fingers before holding his hands up, showing he meant no harm. The scalpel disappeared as he sat down on the couch and waved his hand towards the apple.      "I mean if you're not going to eat it, I would love to have it." His words coming out from exhaustion. The red-haired woman shrugged her arms, looking at the black braided woman before she holstered the weapon and sat back down at the table, crossing her legs and looking back down at the paperwork, frustrated.  The situation may have seemed calmed, but he also knew that people cannot be trusted. Not in the slightest. His whole life he was confronted with people who seemed trustworthy, only to betray him. He knew that at any moment, these people would do the same. They wanted something and he wanted to leave. Slowly he walked over and reached for the apple. Flicking her wrist she tossed it at him and he grabbed it. His eyes never leaving her. She simply smiled and continued to eat her portion. "So what's your name kid?"     "I'm not a kid," he replied to her sharply. She seemed to sigh and dismiss the angst in him.     "Fine, whatever, what is your name boy?" The hint of annoyance in her voice carried over as he took another bite. He never let her out of his sight, he could tell that the other two were also making sure that he didn't leave their sights, even though they were very well at pretending to be doing other things.     "My name is Amon," he finally spoke out. The red-haired girl glanced over at the woman with the braid. Confirming something with her. He noticed. The woman with the braid never broke eye contact. She picked up another apple from a bowl that he didn't even notice, and began skinning another one with her black bladed knife.      "I see. Well, my name is," she stopped for a second, as to recollect or choose her words correctly. "My name is Blair." Once the red peel fell to the ground in front of her she used her knife to motion to the other two. "That's Sinclaire and that untrustworthy gentleman over there is Culture." With a flick of her wrist, she cut the apple in half again as well as sent the blade to the ground. It cut into the hardwood floors without effort, stabbing into it with the hilt facing upwards. "You should probably thank those two though. Sinclaire saw you being beaten up by those alley trash boys and Culture treated your wounds."     "Yea and what did you do?" He responded coldly towards her.  She grinned to herself a bit before tossing him another half of the apple as she started eating her half. "Well, I told them they should of let you bleed out and die, but these two never listen to me when we are not on the job. But for now, I'm the one who was nice enough to share one of my apples with you." The tone of Blair's voice never changed. It was unemotional, but the intent was always there. The intent of her words was always clear. She was in charge and no one else. This situation favored her and only her.      Amon figured out why she seemed so dangerous. Blair reminded him of a snake. Her eyes were cold like one, and her movements were methodical, calculating. Her eyes, the pupils could very well be cold blooded. Her movements always seemed to hint at the knife in the ground. Dancing her rhythm, and Amon couldn't help but dance with her. As she spoke, it resonated through him. She radiated death and danger about her form. Her body was loose, relaxed, the easier to strike him if he made even the mistake of trying to contest with her. The way that the other two were relaxed, he figured the same reaction would be with all of them. The silence was getting heavy. It wasn't until a ball of paper landed on Blair's head with a light pop, that broke the thickening air surrounding her. Amon looking over at Sinclaire balling up another one and throwing it at Blair again. Again hitting the same spot with a light pop. Blair finally releasing eye contact and looking at Sinclaire with a smile on her face. "You're going to scare his heart into full stop if you keep that up." She stood up and walked over to Amon, kneeling down to him and putting her hand on his hand. "You can release your grip. You're going to dig your palms raw with those nails of yours shuga." Her touch was soft. Her hands were delicate. Not what you would expect from a killer. Amon didn't even realize that he was gripping his hand so tightly. Small trickles of blood started to push through cracked skin. "You have to forgive our boss. She means well, she is just really bad at talking to people." Blair scuffed at the words, looking away to peel another apple. Sinclaire gave a warm smile back before turning to look back at Amon. "Though my name is Sinclaire, everyone calls me Pepper. And they call him Jack," she gestured over to Culture on the couch, who was already dozed off again.     "Why did you help me," Amon asked softly. He was trapped in Pepper's words. They were a lot softer than Blair's and soothing. Pepper seemed to have done this type of thing before. Being mediator to Blair's thick miasma of authority.      "Well that's simple enough. Because you needed help." She smiled to him and Amon looked away from her for a second. She put her hand on his head, much like how a mother touches their son. It felt nice and warm. Amon shook his head as he flinched back, as to not fall more into her gravitational pull of his emotions. His head still hurt, his body, bruised, still ached. That pain was familiar and he used it to keep himself grounded.      "And what do you want from me that you have saved my life? What kind of debt do I owe you?"     "Oh doll, you don't..."     "You owe us quite a bit indeed," Blair interrupted. Pepper didn't seem to like that one bit though. She glared at Blair and Blair gave her a look that felt as though it could cut steel. Grumbling under her own throat, she stood up and tossed her hands in the air. Walking back over to her table and sitting down in the chair, watching the two of them. Blair looked back to Amon and that thick miasma of authority once again circled around her. But this time it wasn't choking him. The pressure wasn't overbearing. "We are mercenaries. We were looking for someone who could help us steal a piece of tech and you were just at the wrong place at the right time." Pepper sighed and turned around to pretend to pay attention to the papers. Amon knew it.     "Then you're just going to have to remove the stitches and work that you did, and take back your bandages because I'm not working for you." Amon reached up and pulled the bandages off his head. His skin was still tinder, but he didn't care. His fingernails began to dig into the stitches, reaching into them to start pulling them out. Blair's eyes widened at the sight, Pepper turned around to run over to stop him, but it was Jack who had grabbed his wrist and held him there. When did he wake up? When did he move? When did he manage to get behind him and grab him? Amon was stuck in shock. Blair's tension letting up. Jack staring down at Amon with empty eyes. "You shouldn't ruin another person's work. I spent a good amount of time. Time that I cannot get back. The time that I could have been sleeping, just to make sure you didn't bleed out and die like some dog. Do not take my work so lightly, Amon." Jack sounded like an artisan. He sounded, well, cultured. His mood was very different than the other two. Where as Blair's was a cobra and Pepper could of been a puppy, Jack could of been summed up as a lion. He held pride and power in his words. He was proud of the work he did on Amon. "I would be so appreciative if you didn't sully my work." Letting go Amon's wrist, the boy shook his arm as it hurt. Jack walked back over to the couch, giving Amon another look, before he closed his eyes and laid back in the chair.     Amon couldn't really understand or believe what was going on. The situation he had gotten himself into, but he did know that his world was about to change. He was sure about it at least. Blair cut the apple in her hand in half and tossed it at Amon. He grabbed it and she nodded and smiled. Taking a big bite out of her half and pointing the knife to Jack, Pepper and herself. "Welcome to Animus, Amon. You have a lot to learn in short time, boy."