Haymon, Eric K, Hasler [books to read in a lifetime TXT] 📗

Looking over his shoulder hoping to comfirm that no one was following, he couldn't help thinking that these alleyways and streets would make anyone a potential victim. He turned left into Slate Passage, shuddered, took another quick look over his shoulder before continuing to stumble forward while reminding himself that it's common to see men or women lying unconscious, stripped of their clothing and valuables along the passage. It wasn't always like this. But over the last five cycles Western Anta-Nathalia had become like every other part of the decaying city. As he quickened his steps his head started swivelling left and right looking for somewhere to hide, or dash into if anything should happen. After hearing about everything that happens in the passage he still didn't think it possible for him to be a victim. He had no coins, his clothes were so full of holes they weren't even worth using as rags and he had bare feet! He chuckled to himself as the reality of his situation sunk in, then breathed a sigh of relief. Shaking his head with disbelief at how stupid his thoughts had been brought a spring to his step. He started to move with a little more confidence, a confidence that only exists with the comfort of knowing that you really are totally worthless.

"Excuse me, young man!"

Young man! Who in their right mind would consider me, a scrawny grey haired old... He turned around to see three well dressed and solid looking men with their hair pulled back into pony tails step out from a shadowed alleyway.

Oh great, them!

Trembling while raising his hands and taking two steps backwards he said, "Now hold on!"

"Come now, we just want to talk!" said the man in the middle through a devious looking smile as he stepped forward.

"Ah, now is not the best time!" said the old man as he turned and ran off. The three pony tails took chase, not as fast as the old man mainly because they knew where he was heading. It was midday after all. Everybody heads home at midday to shade themselves from Dazbog's torturous heat.

Slate Passage, one of the oldest streets in Western Anta-Nathalia, is riddled with many connecting alleyways. However over the last five cycles, due to the dreath and criminal times, many of the alleyways had been blocked up. The idea was to deter thieves by making their escape harder to navigate but the outcome was that the innocent found navigation difficult and rather stressfull at the best of times. Therefore, to navigate correctly and to keep a clear head, the old man had started to count the alleyways he passed which would allow him a quick escape with little to no mistakes.

Passing alleyway ten he took another look over his shoulder and felt a little relieved to see that, even though the three pony tails were still trailing him, they were dragging behind. He coughed out a little laugh at the thought of rich living causing tough guys to become as slow and weak as the rest of the normal people. Picking up the pace a little while continuing to count the passing right side alleyways he delved deeper into the South Western part of the city. After passing alleyway thirteen the street started to become crowded with half broken wine barrels, smashed bottles, broken chairs, planks and hunks of wood that could be used to make a barricade that is supposed, by some, to add some kind of prtection to the homes. But, since there were doors that had been ripped off their hinges and thrown into the street, the idea of a barricade giving any form of protect was nothing more than a folly. In reality, the three pony tails following behind had probably ripped the doors from the hinges while breaking their way into the homes to get what they thought was owed to them.

By alleyway fourteen all the weaving through the junk had started to take its toll on the old man and his pace started to slow. He looked over his shoulder once again to assess the pony tail situation and noticed they had dropped even further behind. Smiling at the thought of losing them, and mentally complimenting himself on a job well done, he turned triumphantly into alleway fifteen and continued along at a slow jog, happy with the thought of knowing where he was. It's that intoxicating euphoria you feel when you're close to home; the feeling of the successful conclusion to your journey. He knew everyone who lived in this alley; knew the shadows that covered the cobblestones. He knew the little twists the alleyway took to the left then to the right. He knew the little straight part that came after the right bend and was anxious to see the barricade he had built from the junk surrounding the front of his house... but the alleyway twisted to the left straight after the right. He stopped, looked over his shoulder again and saw nothing. He sighed in relief, then shuddered when he heard some junk being pushed or thrown around. Looking in front of him the realization of not knowing exactly where he was sunk in.

"Curse you Limilk!" he muttered, "where in the blazes did I lose count?"

The noise of more junk being tossed around behind him brought on fear which did nothing but reinforce his decision to continue forwards with the hope of finding some kind of recognizable ground. With his head spinning left and right he made sure to peer into every nook and cranny hoping against hope that there was a possible place to hide just encase the sound of thrown junk was from the three pony tails. When the left twist in the alleyway straightened, his heart sunk. Drirectly in front of him, not even twenty steps in front, was a large stone wall that had been there longer than he had been alive. There was no way over the wall as it reached as high as the two three storey buildings it was built between. There was nowhere to hide and not enough junk left around to pile up high enough to attempt scaling the wall.

 The sound of an empty wine bottle being kicked along the cobblestones echoed through the alley towards him. The sound of laughter created a space within him for fear to enter. There was nothing left to do but wait to see whether the sound of the bottle and laughter came from scavengers or the pony tails. So he walked the twenty steps, turned and rested his back against the wall and waited for the inevitable - whatever that would be.

He heard the footsteps first, then a form sarcastic laughter, before the three pony tails emerged. Standing twenty steps in front of him they ozzed confidence. They knew what was about to happen. They had hoped for a chase. It made the capture all that more fun when you had to work for it. They spread themselves out as wide as the alley would allow. The one in the centre moved forwards ten steps, while the other two moved with the precision of a cat stalking its prey, one on the left the other on the right, moving smoothly until they stood either side of the old man, staring at him with sadistic grins that proved they really enjoyed the chase.

 The man in the middle took two more steps forward as he said, "I don't understand why you people think you can escape us." He laughed, "This is our job, and I must say, we are pretty good at it!" He shook his head, "There really needs to be respect shown instead of all this... pointless... running around." He looked to his left, then to his right before continuing, "You must know that we have eyes and ears all through the city. There is no way for you to escape us!" He laughed as he took another step forward, "But since you did put up a decent enough attempt at escape for an old man, and yes we did enjoy it, I'm going to give you a chance to explain yourself." A strange smile curved his lips, and a sparkle entered his eyes. However, they were short lived as a sharp yank on his pony tail and a kick that swept his feet off the ground had him landing flat on his back. With eyes widened by the shock, he saw a man in a hood that seemed to shadow his whole face, except for the bright blue eyes piercing through like lightning striking in the blackest of nights. 

"I give you no chance to explain yourself!" he said with a gravely deep voice.

The pony tail raised his head a little in time to see a blury fist speed towards his face. His head slammed into the cobblestones and eveything went black. The hooded man threw three fists into his face, shattering the nose and leaving a crimson spider web sprayed across his face.

The hood quickly straightened up then swiftly launched himself across to the pony tail on the left and side kicked him in the stomach doubling him over, which resulted in the hooded man hooking his right arm around the neck in a headlock then falling backwards, slamming the pony tails head with a solid thud into the cobblestones and knocking him into unconsciousness. The hooded man rolled over backwards on to his feet, and stalked toward the third pony tail who decided that it would be a good time to leave. As he attempted an escape the hooded man moved quickly to grab hold of the pony tail and spun him face first into the alley wall, then delivered three solid punches to the kidneys. The pony tail let out a groan as he fell to his knees.

"There's no escape from me!" The hood growled, then laughed, "there never will be!" Grabbing hold of the pony tail's head he pulled him up off his knees only to throw him on to his back. 

The hooded man's voice rumbled, "Just so you know the West belongs to me!" before stomping his right foot onto the pony tails ribcage. The thud from the foot was sickening enough, but the cracking of the ribs sent shivers down the spine of the old man, who hadn't moved at all out of fear. In fact, his bladder was the only part of him that had moved, staining the front of his ragged pants. Clamped to the cobbestones and riddled with fear, all the old man could do was watch as the hooded man sent a flurry of punches into the broken pony tail's face until unconsciousness set in. The old man' bladder moved once again, not at the sight of the pony tails mashed face but at the sight of the hooded man as he stood and smoothly walked towards him. Clothed in blac, which looked more like a deep red in the sunlight; the hood looked to be attached to a buttoned jacket, the pants looked to be tight fitting and his shoes made next to no sound as he walked. His hands were bare, the knuckled had been split and blood was running down his fingers.

The old man shuddered when he saw the blue piercing eyes. He attempted to speak but could only stutter out "th... th... th... th..." before he was interrupted with "shut up!" spoken in a low growl.

"I... j... j... just w... w... want t... t..."

"Shut up!" interrupted the hooded ham again.

The old man furrowed his eyebrows. The frustration caused by the uncontrollable stuttering had been burnt away and with a new confidence gained from being interrupted, he managed to speak boldly, "Now look here, I just want to thank..."

"Just be quiet!" interrupted the hooded man