The surrounding obscurity did little to calm him as breathed rapidly into the night.  He wasn’t sure what frightened him more: the darkness, where nothing was certain… or the light, where everything was concrete.  Was it better to see the scoundrel who would drink your insides, or was it preferable to suddenly dissolve without grasping your fate at all?<br/><br/>He didn’t know the answer.  It seemed no one did.<br/><br/>Indigo veins formed networks across his trembling hands, deceitfully pumping out crimson drops onto the ominously discolored wood.  Pain was the only thing that he responded to, it seemed.  Pain and obligation.<br/><br/>The old desk was beginning to splinter.  He had to let go.<br/><br/>But was he ready to do it?<br/><br/>A dark liquid seeped into his sock.<span style="font-style: italic"> Blood? </span>No.  It burned.  Guardedly examining the floor to his left, his gaze fell upon a shattered bottle.  Whiskey.<span style="font-style: italic">I must’ve knocked it over when I stood… </span>He swallowed hard when he noticed a sturdy pressure against his leg, but his panic subsided with reason.<span style="font-style: italic">Along with the chair…</span><br/><br/>A firm crash sounded at the door, distracting him from the cause of his fright.<span style="font-style: italic">Gunfire? </span>No.  Knocking.  He took a shallow breath and snapped his gaze to the blank papers on his desk, trying to seem busy.  “It’s open,” he managed.<br/><br/>The hinges complained heartily as the door rotated perpendicularly from its at ease position.  A lean young man appeared in the doorway.  He was one of the sentries posted at the wall.  Not that they really needed them… but old habits die hard.<br/><br/>“Sir,” the boy began, “the northern watch just reported in.  Someone’s approaching the city.”<br/><br/>The words tumbling out of private Cadwell’s mouth were not what he wanted to hear.  It didn’t matter who was approaching—they were not welcome.  He had been dreading the thought of a visitor for years.  Decades, even.  This was the military district.  The place rebirth subjects were contained.  Anyone from anywhere that came here was destined to supply a new shipment of despair.<br/><br/>His men already had enough despair.  He already had enough despair.  “Well that’s no good,” he muttered.  Cadwell stood in the door awkwardly, unsure what to say.  The commander was the person they all shadowed.  He was the one they respected.  In the rare times he allowed some melancholy to slip out of his wretched frame, no one knew how to respond.  He knew this.  He cursed it.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Compose yourself. </span>Sluggishly releasing the desk, a more collected superior faced the sentry.  “Who approaches?”<br/><br/>“We… don’t know, sir.”<br/><br/>That was what he expected.  Why would the main city tell them anything?  They were nothing but the confined filth of a former war.  Those in charge didn’t possess the slightest knowledge of who dwelled in his city.<br/><br/>Not that he knew who dwelled in theirs.<br/><br/>“Very well.  Estimated arrival time?”<br/><br/>“Within the hour, sir.  Just after sunrise.”<br/><br/>“Through the northern gate?”<br/><br/>“Northeast.”<br/><br/>“What kind of escort are we looking at?”<br/><br/>“Minimal, sir. They could easily be taken out should the need arise.”<br/><br/>“How’s the city?”<br/><br/>A slight cringe freckled over the boy’s features.  For a moment, he was hesitant to answer.  It was as though he was debating between the truth and what his superior would want to hear.  “Damned… as always.”<br/><br/>With the beginnings of a smirk creeping across his marked face, the captain turned back to his falsified business.  “Sounds like our visitor will have a lovely time.”<br/><br/>“… You should go welcome them,” after a short pause, “nothing like the sight of our Commander to send enemies running.  Eh, Ossein?”<br/><br/>The door closed softly as the soldier returned to his post.  Ossein…  That was an old nickname.  He hadn’t heard it in a while.  It meant bone collagen—the adhesive substance left behind after acid erodes everything else.  It fit him because of his role as commander, keeping the battalion together, and the tattoos covering his body.  The corner of his lips rose slightly.  “That’s right… I suppose I’ll have to go welcome them.”<br/><br/>Ignoring the mess he’d made and the stray cat that had wandered in through the window, he donned a dirty—but dry—pair of socks and laced up his old combat boots.  Whoever walked through that gate was going to be scarred for life.  He would make sure of that.