© 2003-present Dragon (Rayvn) and Zoonshe. No infringement on the characters created by Richard Stanley are intended or presumed. This is a non profit work of fiction.

Alvy's was packed with contaminated riff-raff pimping illicit wares of technological and robotic make. Stuff the public would never see. The dwarf scoffed at the heavy set man who wanted government grade spy cams for his own personal use, but money talks, and Alvy listened.
It was mid-day, temp reading 145 degrees, the usual inferno. The heated session of haggling brought some of the hellish furnace inside. Bills and cursing flew in the stale air. No one but Alvy noticed the hydraulic doors open. He smiled as another customer arrived. Life was good these days. Alvy could taste the reindeer steak he'd order tonight. Reindeer steak and non-radiated beer. Hell if this new customer spent like his regulars were, the dwarf could take a few days off.
Darting about his clientele, with one eye on the stranger ambling through the entrance corridor, Alvy noted the man's strides - long, precise. A few regulars called the dwarf to settle the price on the N-119 dart rifle. Forgetting the newcomer, he joined them. Money talks, and Alvy listened. They were haggling when the stranger threw his very big burlap satchel into fray. The goods inside clanked loud enough to cut through the crowded din.
"Little man," the newcomer said, commanding the dwarf's attention.
"Hey buddy, you got some balls interrupting my sale," a monolith named Stitch snarled. "Wait your turn or I'll feed you that gas mask!"
Ignoring the man two heads taller than he, the stranger spoke to the dwarf again. "See my wares, friend. They're worth more to you -"
Alvy was haggling with two of Stitch's loud mouthed henchmen, deaf to the soft but hypnotic voice calling to him.
Stitch did hear the man. Angry now, he barked, "You must be deaf, dumb and blind!" A garguantan hand ripped the gas mask off the interloper. The big man suddenly fell back, reeling at the deaths-head pale face staring him down. Several of his buddies ready to pounce also stumbled back a step or two.
"What the f---"
Alvy didn't even look up. "If you got something to show me kid you're gonna wait your turn. These are regulars, right Stitch. Stitch?" the dwarf asked again finally turning around.
His once full shop near empty. Stitch was on his knees before the pale faced wraith. The wraith, who held the Shin blade Alvy got as part of a deal from an assassin earlier that day. "What's it to be?" the icey voice commanded. A quick twist of the blade produced a bead of blood at Stitch's jugular.
"Hey pale face, easy now, you don't have to kill him -" Alvy said, eyes a bit wider than nomal.
"Not yet. Now see -" the tripper pointed to the large black satchel on the floor.
Stitch grunted. "Hey c'mon man he's lookin' now-"
Alvy nervously dipped into the beckoning satchel. "A 1919 Widowmaker? This is brand new! Where the hell did you get this?!"
"Glass Flats."
"Them trippers don't wear diapers kid. But that deft handling of the Shin blade tells me you know war up close and personal," Alvy decided to make the boy sweat a little. "Authorized leave soldier?"
"Permanent." The zone tripper's tone remained flat.
"A.W.O.L. huh? What's with the war paint?" Alvy prodded. He noticed the tripper wasn't sweating. Not at all.
"God tells me to."
The dwarf sighed. The boy was far gone. A tripper that young. Shame. He saw Stitch opening his mouth in retort. "Stitch -- tight lips man. Tight---"
The lug ignored his friend. "God huh? I'm the Pope." Stitch spat. "So I say throw this fre--"
The tripper slashed Stitch's throat and watched him crumple to the floor in the growing pool of his own blood. He stepped aside. "Now...," he said, gold flecked hazel eyes bearing down on the dwarf.
"Man, third dead guy this week," Alvy sighed. He looked back into the bag, surprised and pleased. "Damn, this stuff is hot on the market now. Infrared pulse blade, 337 Colt Sniper.... I'll give you -"
"Full cash value little man."
"What?!" Alvy exclaimed wiping his cap off his head and moping his wide brow. "I never give full cash payout."
"You will. You'll get everything you pay and more for this," the zone tripper said. He leaned down wiping the Shin blade on the body beside him. He pocketed the dagger.
"Hey! That's NOT part of the deal!" Alvy saw the situation was getting away from him. He didn't like that much. This guy gave him the creeps, but he loved the stuff he was pulling out of the bag.
"It is, if you want to profit from this."
"Okay, okay. Stop with the grim reaper shit already. I get it."
"Of course little man. Money...." A meaty palm lay open before the dwarf.
"I gotta go in the back. Put this stuff on the table. Earn your keep, pale face."
The zone tripper shrieked dropping the satchel onto the breaker's table.
Alvy shook his head as he waddled to the back to procure the money. He hoped that inhuman howl was a laugh.
A little while later he was pressing a thick roll of bills into the waiting man's hand grunting, "There! Now git!" He watched as the long nailed fingers clasped tight around the wad of cash. There went his dreams of reindeer steak dinners and non-radiated beer.
Tipping his hat, the zone tripper turned to leave. "Good as gone, little man."

********
Seconds later, the pale faced wraith was consumed by daylight, unable to hear the string of curses the dwarf called after him.
Fully supplied, the wandering tripper sensed he would not leave this city yet. There was something else he had to do before returning home. Walking slowly, the tripper's eyes studied every new dealer or shop; nothing attracted him. He ambled a little futher before a musky scent stopped him in his tracks. Incense. He followed the fragrant smoke as it ebbed skyward. Squinting through filtered mask and pitted goggles the tripper's gaze rested on a legend written in faded script: Maat's Feather.
Tribal music called to him.
Could this be an omen? he thought entering the shop.
The entrance corridor was ripe with more heady incense and steady beats. Now deep within the welcoming confines of Maat's Feather, he removed his gas mask. The former soldier's eyes darted everywhere, overwhelmed by this vast display of things arcane. Books bearing forgotten tongues, ancient secrets and endtime lore beckoned. Herbs hung in bunches from the ceiling. His sight found several treasures suspended from black netting. He smiled at the eagle feathers and claws dangling from one wayward net. His fingers ran along the walls, feeling electricity, power. He stopped at one corner, noting the glyphs covered with angel hair, these a faint echo of the messages he'd learned in the cave. The cave where everything changed.
He traced the symbols, not minding the coils of dust and angel hair that came away at his touch. Reciting words few remember, the young mage let the smells, sounds and sigils transport him. He swayed in that spot, chanting low, lost in private thoughts.
Buying something here seemed wrong. He knew there would be some kind of barter. Power to be learned, or taken. But from what?
His thoughts turned inwards, senses honing only on the drums and the voice booming in his mind. God--
He became aware of someone standing behind him, feeling the presence with something beyond the five senses. The signature he felt rippled, like a pebble shattering the still waters of a pond. It was familiar and exotic. He turned casually, assuming the posture of one who is both on guard and content.
There, standing before him was a woman who appeared to be only a few years older than himself. Hardly old enough to be the receptacle of any arcane wisdom, like the old tripper. Yet, his newly fine-honed senses told him there was power here. She had the 'princess air' that he'd noticed in certain dark-skinned women. Proud...even disdainful - the way a woman carrying a basket on her head can look regal. But it was not disdain that lit her startling eyes. Her breath seemed temporarily suspended in the incense-soaked air. Recognition flashed out from the jumble of jaw-length dreded locks framing her chisled bronze features. Recognition, but not fear.
She looked him up and down, as if confirming something only she knew, then spoke. "You're da one." Her thin fingers moved languidly to clasp a pewter and gold pentagram charm hanging from a thong about her neck. She stared at him in much the same way he stared at other people, through eyes the same dark golden color as her skin and hair. "Heh," - a half-laugh escaped her throat.
He took no offense at her cynical levity. The rippling prescence was still there but it no longer mattered. His strange gaze locked on the pewter and gold pendant she wore about her neck. It was very similar to his star of five points. He stared through her, as if she were ethereal. She carried herself like few people he'd ever met. "You know of me, woman?" he finally said. There was no threat in his query. She had power. He would not leave until he knew what power that was.
She winked and followed his gaze to her pendant. Set in the middle was a rare twilight blue tanzanite cabochon. One corner of her full mouth quirked upward in a twisted smile. "You got one? If not, I got plenty. You know what it mean...don't you? Aye, mon - I know you. By 'feel' more dan anyting. Jah say so. You are da one...le Baron, hisself, come up in da flesh." She looked him up and down once more - at his duster, dune-boots, back-pack and old hat. The gas-mask hanging around his neck. "Not exactly en vogue with da Baron's style, but I s'pose times change - and so, his dress."
One thin finger sealed her lips as she regarded his headgear. "You need some flash."
He said nothing, studying the lady closely. She wore para-military gear, it was comfortable in the relentless inferno the earth had become. Her skin the color of coffee with cream, a drink he last sampled a lifetime ago. Her banter definitely cast her as one of the wise, no doubt. He thought this Baron she spoke of was some kind of supernatural entity. His lips remained a straight line, only his eyes followed her.
She ripped a thin orange swath of netting from the display next to her and eased around him. He let her tie it around the base of the crown of his hat, unaccustomed to such familiarity and attention, the tripper shuffled slightly. Anyone else....
From somewhere else, she produced an antique hand mirror of silver. The handle was a womans lower body. The back of the mirror itself was her torso, arms, head and glorious hair. Typical Jugendstil frippery. It was in his hand and in his face before he realized it. Surprisingly, the scarf looked like it belonged there.
"Quite a mirror." He looked at the price. "A bit low." He'd seen such mirrors early in his wartime tenure, possibly during the Suffolk massacre. "You could get more."
She laughed again. The girl put her hand on his shoulder and leaned in close behind him under the brim of his hat. "And whot would I do wit all dat money, my Baron? Go to Disneyland?" Another laugh. More like a cackle. "Sail back to da homeland? Eh - if I got it right, dis is da homeland."
The faint twist of a smirk formed at the corner of his mouth. He did not question the trivial memories her joking unearthed. He would be patient.
A finger swirled around the edge of his ear, causing a shiver to course down his right side. Suddenly, she was in front of him again, beckoning him to follow her.
"So Jah say...? This means what - ?" he asked, as another question came forth. "Do you speak with God?"
"I talk to God. I talk to angels." She turned and continued walking backwards, through the maze of stacked cable reels full of books and occult white elephants like she had eyes in the back of her head. Everywhere, the reels were covered in scarves, rugs, fluffs of net, fine-spun, dust-clotted angel hair and sparkling chiffons. There was fake moss, sea shells, fish netting.... An unbelievable amount of useless-seeming things put into fantastical displays that trapped the attention. This was part of her 'art' and her 'magic'. She'd managed to trap his attention. "And I talk to dee-mons too." Another wink and she did a one-eighty. "Are you an angel Baron Cimeterie - or a dee-mon?"
They came to the old glass display counter along the back wall of the shop. There was a netted-glass candle burning in the center of each shelf, casting tantalizing plays of light over the variety of metals and stones. Rings, bracelets, earrings and cuffs, pins and brooches, anklets and necklaces. Wands, crystals, athames and other sorts of ritual daggers. He saw gold, silver, pewter, brass, bronze, copper. And the stones.... The scavenger in him appreciated what it had taken to collect the four shelves full. Scavenging. Anyone could pull worthless junk - all day and night. These were things of great antiquity, all tarted up to look like modern knock-offs. Displayed in purposely poor light. He wondered at the seeming laxity of security. No cameras. None that he could see amidst the orderly chaos that surrounded him.
"An angel. Yet some believe otherwise Domino." Her name came to his tongue easily. Waiting for her response, his glance darting between ritual daggers and her golden tiger-eye gaze.
Her acknowledgement of him knowing her name was a momentarily cocked brow. It didn't really surprise her. Domino pursed her lips with an appreciative smile. "An angel wit a taste for de blades, I see." She reached down, scooping a small scimitar-blade with a tee-bar pommel. It fit readily between the middle and ring fingers, as she demonstrated. "Gives a good solid grip." She torqued her wrist, clawing the air with the curved blade like she knew how to use it. "Dis be a sacrificial blade - all da way from India, 'tis. Like one big tiger-claw. Hah! Rip you more dan a new asshole - no doubt!" The blade clattered on the glass. Domino regarded him with a defiant tilt of her head. As he picked it up, she leaned over the counter, gazing into his eyes with a boldness few dared. "You know whot Jah tell me, Baron? Dere is no difference between angels and dee-mons. None t'all. Jah say, it all be good. Whot you tink of dat?"
He took the sacrificial dagger in his left hand, the handle suited for his experienced grip. His eyes followed the curve of the blade. In this he saw the crescent moon. And reaping a-plenty. He leaned forward holding her gaze fast. He countered the insult she'd uttered with a deep hiss. "A distinct difference exists between angels and demons. I've encountered both." His gaze returned to hand and dagger. Blade and tongue cut the air between them in a ragged, brutal slash. "Your Jah's counsel is incorrect on the matter of angels and demons."
"My Jah. Your Jah...all de same Jah. All de same, mon - all of us. You tink dere be a handful of major Gods in heaven? Jah, Allah, Jehovah, Shiva an' Buddha? All sittin' around havin' a good laugh on us when dey aint fightin' for da championship of da world?" She sucked her teeth at him, then shook her head with a faint smile. "Dat only happens from here to da Foundation. Aint no such goin' on in da Glory."
He gently placed the blade on the counter before Domino, catching his reflection in the ornate mirror on the wall behind them. A white face, with black skull-like sockets. His dark hair thick and wayward, just passing his shoulders. He knew there were other religions, other faiths, but he'd seen good and evil up close in Suffolk. Born to demons, yet God revealed his angelic truth. The rapture in the cave. He clenched his fist and turned away, the lure of power fading fast. Perhaps Domino was a test of his power, his will?
"Den why you get yaself up like a dee-mon, angel? Eh? Like Death. Le Baron Cimeterie of da Deso-lation, come to purge da world." Domino put the blade away. She dipped down to the bottom shelf and wrapped her slender fingers around something in the dark corner. Rising up, she said, "Your angels will all turn to dee-mons. No doubt. And da Baron will take dem all. I know. I see dis. Maybe it already happen."
His profound monotone voice fell. "I am His Earthly Reaper," the young man insisted. His hazel eyes flickered for a moment. "Angels stopped falling eons ago Domino. It's men who keep falling." He shook his head at her statement that this Baron would take them all. Adamant, he hissed, again. "God showed me this, and what I must do."
Domino rolled her eyes. "Well, dats whot I'm sayin' mon! You...you are da Baron. He come in de flesh now an' den and you it! I know who you are and whot you here for. I can't do no-ting to stop you. I won't. When Jah say tis time, so it be. Hold out your hand, angel-mon and I give you a present you will treasure to da end of days."
Despite their clash over Heaven and Hell, her lilting voice rang deep in his head. And here she was offering him a gift. Gaze narrowed, he wondered what this true temptress was up to? She remained calm while he erupted. Domino was testing him. He would not fail his God. He took a deep breath, bowed his head slightly, slowly extending his bare long-nailed hand outward.
Domino's smile was bittersweet, even sympathetic. She dropped her gift into his hand and closed his fingers over it. "You right, tis men keep falling. Tis men dat are de true dee-mons...arrogant. Always wantin' control. Controllin' da earth mother, each other - everyting. Tis a dirty job. But someone got to do it, eh? Mights well be you." Her fingers caressed his fist. "I aint tryin' ta mess wit you. I know you deadly serious...."
He believed her. His gaze sank, she wasn't like the others. She was a teacher then. He was about to respond, but the words fled as another customer entered the shop. One of dem never know what dey want - just lookin', as she put it.
"I be right back, angel-mon. We aint done yet. Check dat out. Point it at da counter an see whot happens!"
Turning, his eyes followed her, then fell to the antique brass-cased compass he held. She does speak to angels that much is true. Perhaps God retains her as an Inquisitor of a sort. She tests those he deems his messengers and rewards them when they act in the proper manner. The compass felt right in his grip, following her instructions he thrust the navigator toward the glass. The needle went mad for a moment, before settling on West. In terms of the counter, West meant ritual impliments made of metal.
His lips split into a smile. She was good.
Keelie was a ho - no two ways about it. When she wasn't busy - which wasn't often - she liked to hang out in 'Maats' and spend her credits. Ordinarily, Domino welcomed such pretenders to the occult and found it easy to convince them they needed something she had. But today was different. Today, the one she'd seen in one of her trances was here. Le Baron Cimiterie. One did not keep divinity or even semi-divine messengers of Jah waiting.
Keelie was coming straight toward her. She'd spied the tripper in the back of the store and her innate curiosity was taking hold. No way. "Eh, Keelie.... How ya be?" Domino grabbed the boxed set of Crowley's Thoth Tarot that Keelie'd been drooling over last week. She held it before her, slick as Vanna White displaying an elegant prize. With a magical pass or two of her hand, Domino had palmed the large deck and fanned it in her fingers with adroit grace. She slid one card aside in particular. "Ah, looky dere." She turned and looked back at the tripper. Caught his eye, then returned to her client. Domino leaned close, but not too close - as if delivering a confidence. "Da Prince of Cups be ridin' today...wit his white wings and his mighty white horse. His golden cup and his peacock." She winked at the girl and backed off, replacing the cards in the box and letting the lid fall shut.
The wanderer watched Domino handle the cards and play the game, even though she was eager to get the girl out of the store. She knew them well. He could tell from where he stood.
"Ohhhhh, I know. They're soooo beautiful. I been thinkin' of 'em all week." The girl smiled. Her teeth were rotting. Under the make-up, her skin was grey. She coughed and had another glance toward the back. "Ya busy, Domino?"
Domino moved her head to block the girls line of sight and locked eyes with her. "Yeah. I am. I was just about ta close up da place. How 'bout - since you spend so much dinero last time, I give you dis an' you take it home now an' have a good time on me, eh?"
That was that. Domino let down the pneumatic door behind her.
The stranger looked uneasy as she returned. His eyes darted to the lowering door.
Domino laughed to herself. "218."
"Dat's da code to da door - for today. 218. You can let Jah-self out whenever you like, Baron." She half turned, gesturing to the entrance. "Try now, if you like. I could not ever trap da Baron."
His eyes met hers.
"You know how to banish undesirables. And quickly." It was both a compliment and an accusation.
"Told her I was doin' a readin' for someone impor-tant." Domino winked. "You like your gift? Eh?"
"I do." He tipped his hat at her while strolling toward the pneumatic door. Punching '218' in, the gateway slid into it's recess with a whosh, exposing everyone to more of the Hell man unleashed. He looked back at his compass and then at her.
"You know banishment and the cards," he said walking towards her. He removed his hat, so that no shadows veiled his burning gaze. "Read mine Domino."
Domino's expression was one of mock surprise. "A readin'?" There was no smile. "Would dat not be traffickin' wit da Devil? Dealin' in magic? Do you realize, mon...?" she gripped his arm with an intense stare. "Abraham was a great mage. Mo-ses, too. So was da Prophet who found you. Da one, you took his place."
She laid her index finger alongside her nose and then flipped it toward him with a shrewdness in those golden eyes that un-nerved him for a moment. His own fell to the compass in his hand.
Continuing before he had a chance to speak, Domino leaned in close. "Dey covered up all da magic, because da magic is whot helps us to escape from here. But dey don't want us to escape. No, no." The finger waggled at him now. "If we all go back to God, who will dere be to worship? Eh? No one. God will die. De whole flippin' universe will die. An' it's comin', angel-mon. You be da one bringin' it."
Domino let go of his arm and drew away from him. She hissed, balling a fist to her chest and covering it with the other hand. Her eyes wandered momentarily into another realm, then returned to his haunted face. "Dat's it. Dat's your reading. Jah say it is all you need to know."
"I thought you needed cards...tea-leaves," he replied, somehow feeling cheated.
She shrugged. "Dem tings only a focus for da mind. Let it open up to da voice of Jah. But, if tis da flash an' glitter ya be wantin'...." Now Domino took him by the arm and dragged him around the counter through a beaded curtain and batiked hanging. He let her, wondering why.
Just inside was a round table set with a pack of cards and a dirty tea-cup. The cards were broken up - some laid out in a reading. He saw the card of Death. The Tower. The Heirophant and the Fool. The Judgement. There was a screen behind the table. Domino scooped the cards up from the table, her back to the wanderer from the wastes.
Behind the screen was her living space. Not much. A bed, an antique wardrobe and a matching chest of drawers. A large laundry sink. All very neat and tidy. Uncluttered. Clean in the midst of so much dirt. Order in the midst of chaos. That seemed to be her thing. He gazed upon her slender arms. The muscles of her back moving under the dirty white a-shirt. The heart-shaped bloom of her hips....
He turned away. Pleasures of the flesh, that wasn't why he came here. Domino's give and take tore at his mind. Leaving him scattered, confused. His hawkish gaze narrowed, a scowl. His loins stirred, it had been a long time since he shared oneness with a woman. He shook his head. So much of what she said was wrong. The angels buzzing in his mind, his brothers, reminded him of God's plan. Telling him to silence the Lies this woman spoke.
And still, she tempted him.
When he turned back, she was facing him - the tarot deck in her hand. "I must purge myself of sin Domino," he apologized, as his grip exploded over her waist. His weight forced her backwards over the table and down. The cards went flying everywhere. The cracked china cup, it's roses half eroded away, clattered on it's saucer under her head. The spoon somersaulted in the air, landing somewhere in the dark. "My sin was coming here, talking to you."
His body covered her, their faces close. She looked into his eyes and saw his agony.
His index finger strayed to her full lips. "You want this, that's why you do not fight."

There was a long moment of breathless silence between them. She felt him shift his weight, reaching for something. "I would sooner die by your hand my Baron, dan da montrosities and plagues you will unleash."

The Shin blade arose from the right, gaze again falling upon her bosom. "NO!" he rolled off her.

He walked to the northern most corner of the room looking skyward. Waiting for the ray of light to shine upon his beautiful brow, but only shadows fell. He whispered a guttural chant, chastising himself for feeling compassion and truth in Domino's words, in her form.
Unsure as to just which emotion he was denying, she watched him. Listened to him. She truly did feel compassion in her heart for him. His burden was heavy.
He was gone...so far gone. She hadn't wanted or even tried to seduce him. He'd seduced himself. That was all part of it. His was a darkness that would never be quenched. His sight was colored by more than his UV sand-goggles. In a flashing vision, she saw all that he'd ever suffered, and the grip of coldness that held his heart. He'd never known what it was to be loved. 'Hand picked' from birth for this - raised in a house of fire, brimstone and damnation that was ten times worse than Lucifer's Hell.
When he turned back to Domino, she remained rooted to the same spot. It was then the cleaniness of this chamber struck him, her death was coming. What she said wanting to die now before the coming onslaught by his hand.
As their eyes met, he saw this. He sheathed the Shin blade and looked at his compass while circling the woman east to west. The navigator pointed west. It was his direction. West, the direction of stillness, silence, death
"You will tink of me every time you use dat com-pass. Do it, angel-mon." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Set me free. Bless me in dis hell." A tear pooled in the inner corner of her eye, then slid down her cheek. She smiled, nonetheless. Her voice was taunting. "Do your job, mon."
He knelt before Domino, his form hovering mere inches above her face, reaping fingers produced his necklace, held aloft in the same fashion of his dead teacher. Bells aligned in the spot right between the wise woman's eyes. He bent low, lips almost touching hers, maddened gaze meeting her tranquil, tiger eyes.
He felt her plush lips graze his own and watched her eyes close. He'd never seen anyone so calm. So at peace.
"Goodbye, world. Jah love."
Her tranquility pushed him onward, basso tones whispered "Mortuus Profoundi..."
She went limp. Impulsively, he caught her in his arms and watched her soul gather itself at the top of her head and fly away.
He could have sworn he felt something caress his cheek as it departed, dissolving into a shower of sparkling motes - the aetheric anchors of her flesh falling away. The wanderer held out his hand. Like snowflakes from so long ago, alighting in his grubby boyish hands, they melted into his still grubby man's hands.
In silence, he gathered her to his breast and carried her to her bed. He laid her out there. Straightened her pentagram between her breasts and pushed the hair back from her serene expression without feeling much of anything at all. The words of his mentor echoed in his mind. Pretty Reaper...

FINITE...