Loyalist to the End

Hey guys,

Here’s another piece I’ve written that follows on from one of my other stories, The Restorationists. It’s short and hopefully sweet, this time from a flipped perspective of a loyalist agent. It might not make a lot of sense if you’ve not read my other story, so I’d urge you to give it a read first.

I had a lot of fun writing the character “Hal”, I’m definitely going to be exploring him in future works. One word of warning, it’s got plenty of bad language and a smattering of violence.

As always, any thoughts or feedback is always appreciated, I hope you enjoy.

Cheers,

Jevan Thompson

 

Matthews found it wasn’t the smell of the old butcher’s warehouse that made him feel on edge, but rather surprisingly, the noise.

The whirring of the saws and the slicing of flesh was oddly rhythmic and organised, certainly not what he expected when he stepped through the battered entrance to the place. It did not fit the drab, revolting decor, and that bothered him. The paint on the walls was almost as worn as the tiled floor, which was obviously once white long ago. Now however, they were a dull, ugly shade of green, with black and brown stains spread sparingly throughout.

He was no stranger to blood and gore, having seen much of it in his eight years of service to the loyalists. Tasked with the apprehension of vile rebel scum within the city, he’d certainly seen his share.

Carcasses of all kinds hung from rails in the large room, but the most common were pigs. Dozens of the things dangling lifelessly and skinless from the hooks above. Despite all of the noise of the machinery that would indicate people nearby, it was an entirely automated process, with not a living creature in sight.

Matthews shook his head slightly as he walked through the cadavers, being sure to not get any of the blood on his fine coat. He was heading for a door at the end of the large room, marked “Private”. With each footstep that took him closer, he could hear the faint sounds of something hard hitting something soft.

He reached the ordinary, plain door and pushed it with a gloved hand.

The door however, had other plans, and remained firmly shut.

Matthews sighed and rapped his knuckles on the wood. Instantly the noises ceased, replaced instead by a soft murmuring he had to strain to hear. After a few heartbeats, a shrill high pitched voice sounded clearly, albeit muffled slightly from the door.

“Whooooooo is iiiiit?”

Matthews’s head lolled back in frustration and another heavy sigh escaped from his lips. “Just open the fucking door Hal. Must you always be so unprofessional?!”

There was a dull click as the lock was turned and the door swung open to reveal a grinning man, with spots of blood on his face.

Hal, as always, had absolutely no regard for formality or procedure. To him, it was something that was considered, then promptly ignored. Matthews was reminded of one of his most famous sayings upon seeing the ragged man, “Nobody ever died from not being called sir.”

His hair was unkempt and messy, not slicked or styled, with long strands hanging down from the sides of his face. The telltale signs of youth were clear in his face and eyes, but that itself was a fortunate deception of nature, as Hal was in his early thirties. A thin stubble ran across his jaw and smiling lips, giving him a rugged look many of the ladies of the city found attractive. Where Matthews was tall and broad, Hal was short and wiry. Where Matthews wore sharply pressed trousers, a crisp white shirt with a fitted waistcoat and a tailored jacket, Hal was dressed in simple workman’s garb, wrinkled and stained with many days of use.

Matthews knew better than to be fooled by his appearance however. Although Hal may have had all of the physical characteristics of a skinny factory worker, he was vicious, dangerous and above all else, loyal as a hound.

Hal was still stood smiling when Matthews pushed him aside with a forceful snarl, entering the room. Hal held his arms up in exasperation, shaking his head with a sarcastic rolling of his eyes.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine Matty, thanks for asking-” He began to speak, but was stopped by Matthews’ finger which was pointed at him, as rigid as a pistol barrel.

“How many times Hal? It’s Matthews.” Matthews said with a glare.

Hal laughed. “Hey! I can’t call you ‘sir’, ‘sir’. We’re in the middle of a covert operation-”

“Spare me the bullshit Hal. You’d better have something good for me seeing as though you have no security whatsoever on the location. I mean, for fuck’s sake, anyone could just come through the fucking entrance!” Matthews said, anger colouring his words.

Hal rolled his eyes again and gestured to the man who was tied to a chair in the centre of the bare empty room. The electric lights above flickered constantly, wreathing the man in bright white light one moment, then shrouding him in shadows a moment later. A table was illuminated briefly, covered with a variety of tools. Scalpels, pliers, hammers and clamps were to name but a few. A craftsman’s dream.

“Taa daa…ladies and gentlemen, without further ado I present to you a known associate of the despicable restorationists, Petir Mannings.” Hal said with an elaborate flourish of his bloody hands.

As Matthews took in the sight, Hal continued with his introduction. “Known involvement with the Rail’s Cross bombings and the Bloomfield shootings, suspected involvement with various other terrorist movements such as the manor massacre and the great fire of the town halls, I give you…one nasty piece of rebel work…I bet he can’t even remember how many good loyalists he’s sent to the grave.”

With his final sentence, he grit his teeth and punched the bound man square in the face, breaking his nose with a dull, distinct crack. The man howled with pain through his gag, as blood began to flow from his snapped nose. Matthews gestured to the many cuts and puncture marks on the man’s body and limbs, which were all precisely positioned, only oozing a small bit of crimson.

“Hal, you’re not a machinist, your a Justicar.” Matthews said, his voice softer now.

“I know, I know…But this fucker was responsible for Niel and I wanted to remind him of that.” Hal replied, nodding his head slightly. The man continued to moan, unable to defend or care for himself.

“They say that a pig’s flesh is most similar to a man’s. Fucked if I know, but he sure as hell squeals like one when you cut him.” Hal said with a shrug.

“No more now, otherwise there’ll be nothing left for the machinists. They’ll make it long…and painful.”

There was a silence for a few moments, save for the man’s groans of pain.

“None of this blood’s mine by the way.” Hal said gesturing to his face. “I got him clean and clear in an alleyway out of east street, never saw me coming.”

“Did anyone see the capture? No civilians?” Matthews asked.

“No boss, it was quick and quiet. I don’t do things sloppy. I’ve been on him for a few days, trust me, I’ve not been made.”

Matthews nodded and reached for his pocket watch in his waistcoat, checking the time with a quick glance.

“The machinist will be here in a few minutes, I deliberately called him a bit later than I should have, I hope you’ll understand. After all, everyone’s got their guilty pleasures.” Hal said, a smile on his face again.

To any other senior justicar, just admitting something like that would warrant a significant punishment for deviation of duty, or at the very least a “straightening out.” But Matthews had developed a strange sort of relationship with the man.

Hal was professional at heart when he needed to be. He was easily one of the best Justicars that Matthews had command of, ruthlessly efficient and extremely effective in the field. It was just his lack of respect for the hierarchy and seniors that let him down and stopped him from promoting, although Matthews had long suspected that was Hal’s motive all along. He loved his work too much to be taken away from it.

“I understand, but make sure he’s ready for the Machinist. Give him a bit more ‘reminding’ if you want, but be sure to leave something for them.”

Hal gave a dark smile and nodded. “Much obliged boss, I’ll be sure to brief you on what we uncover.”

As Matthews turned and began to walk out of the room, he heard Hal speaking to the man.

“Oh dear oh dear, what are you moaning about? What’s life without a little laughter eh? Smile, it’ll make you feel better.”

The soles of Matthews polished shoes rang out on the dirty tiles as he walked, not slowing his pace for a moment. The noise of something hard hitting something soft fading away with every step.