Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Snap Shot Theater: Dugout

Cool blue flames withered and strengthened in Father Gara's safehouse. Cascading rays danced along the walls, and in the darkness a confident grin formed on Henri's face. His Neon Green badge tilted upwards, the shield losing all form in the glare from the decrepit gas stove burning on the dirt floor. Father Gara sighed. "To be reduced to this," he thought. "Pathetic."

"So what brings you here Henri? It's been too long." Father Gara said, pouring himself some coffee. Walking over from the kitchen, Father Gara found his comfy seat, the only new item in the house, and sat in it. Henri refused the coffee, as he should; caffeine was toxic to cyborgs.

"Sodder put out a hit on you," Henri said. He shifted forwards in his seat cracking his steel plated knuckles. "Not us, just in case you wondered. He's going outside the law on this one. We'd offer our aide, but the price of interference is too high."

"The chief send you all the way over here to tell me he's a coward?" Father Gara scoffed and looked the other way. "Jesus Christ! What do I pay you for, ah?"

"This is about you and the sanction," Henri replied nonchalant. "Not our thing. We miss Wayne, yeah, but we don't dwell on fallen angels. The guy was crooked anyhow. He got what was coming to him."

Father Gara took a sip of the burning coffee, and set the mug down onto the end table beside him. Slowly, he reached into the top drawer below the mug and pulled out some fake passports. (They were an early Christmas present from the Commission.)

"Where am I going," he said bluntly, staring Henri dead on. "You better tell me."

"We don't know where he is," admitted Henri solemly. "Sorry Father, you are on your own this time." Getting up, Henri arched his back, and released a tired yawn, his head craning around, looking at the walls of the dugout.

"Nice place," he said. "Deftus know you're here?"

"No," Father Gara replied quietly. "I sent him home."

Henri nodded and turned to leave, putting his hat on as he did.

"Better for him," he said. "Nice kid..."

Henri opened the door to the dugout and shut it behind him. Father Gara spat into the dirt.

"Fuck me..." He grumbled.

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