Agent Weeks stood at the side of the road, a cigarette burning at his lips. He watched the man opposite him, crouched in the middle of a road halfway between DC and Lexington. The man was six foot tall, still rather large even when crouched. He towered over Weeks, causing the agent to spend most of his time looking up while they were together. The man had not tried anything stupid yet, but it did not mean he wouldn’t. Agent Jonathan Weeks had spent most of the journey getting to know his new partner, stopping every three hours when the tall wolfish man growled, losing the trail. The man’s name was Wesley Martin, he had once worked for a government organization, a security division but the man had refused to tell him which.
“They continued West.” Wesley said in a vaguely Russian accent, still crouching. “I don’t think they went too much farther.”
“What makes you say that?” Weeks asked, incredulous.
The man shrugged “Same thing that always makes me know.” the wolfish man said, standing up and staring back at the agent. “I’m a tracker... I can track anyone down so long as they walk on the ground. I used to be able to do it with just a look at the ground but I’m a little out of practice since I went in the vault.”
Agent weeks paled a little, but not noticeably. He still hadn’t come to terms with the whole idea of camps full of virus ridden people thrown together and trained to be assets to the government. He coughed, clearing his throat and moving on from the mention of it.
“Come on, Martin, back in the car.” Weeks said, pulling his car door open and sitting down. the french man walked around the car and sat down in the passengers seat, his eyes flicking to the composite bow in the back of the car before glazing over a little and looking out the wind shield.
“You know, agent weeks, we’re not so different, you and I.” the man said, opening his window and holding his head slightly out for wind to flow through his hair. “We both devoted ourselves to a duty that we are not entirely comfortable with, You aren’t sure if you approve of the camps of my kind, in my day I wasn’t sure if I felt the murders we committed, in the name of protecting people, were justified.”
Agent weeks shook his head, “We are nothing alike, Martin. You killed people in cold blood, you’re infected, and you are a prisoner. While I have only killed in self defense, I am pure, and I am free to go whenever I please.”
“So why don’t you. You clearly don’t like the idea of rounding up your own brothers and sisters and throwing them in a chained off camp with all the criminals you took down in the past.” Wesley asked, smiling a little, baring his canines. Weeks’ facial expression tightened, though he doubted that Wesley could see it through the wind. “You don’t, Agent Weeks because you are a prisoner. You are a prisoner to your own mind. Your own fears. You see, Agent weeks, You may be legally free, you are more trapped than I ever have been.”
Jonathan frowned and pressed down on the acceleration. the sooner he finished this mission the sooner he’d be rid of this infected. he turned his head a little.
“Shut up and stay quiet.” he growled, turning the radio on and returning his eyes to the road.
“It seems I’ve hit a nerve.” Wesley growled as Weeks gritted his teeth and powered through the urge to shoot his current partner.
Dante smiled as he stepped out of the movie theatre, the cold air rushing against his face, cooling what the cinema’s heating systems had caused to be overly warm and a little sweaty.
The man took in a deep breath, and sighed. it had been so long since he had felt free, and now as the air rushed to greet him... it felt as if he had never been running. Dante turned to Tess as she stepped out beside him and stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets. she looked around and then up at Dante. “What now?” she asked, smiling. “Back to the house?”
“After that terrible film I need a drink. Lets see if there’s a bar around here somewhere.” Dante said, looking around.
Tess smiled and rolled her eyes at his comment on the film. “I liked it.” she said, shoving him playfully with her arm.
“Of course you liked it.” He said, starting to walk towards the first bar he saw and, judging by how many other movie goers were heading for it, probably the only one. “It was a chick flick. They show one chick flick a day, a different film every couple of hours and you managed to shove us into the only movie genre I can’t stand, and, by the way, the genre that would continue to solidify your wild accusation that we’re a couple.” He laughed. |
