Dry Mist (part 1 of 4)

Kaph Martin stands on a black mountain staring the executioner in the face. His focus remains only on the groan of sky as clouds blot out the sun. The air around him seems to tremble as he remains perfectly calm.

“So you’re one of them,” the executioner says. “Gutterpunks – or do you have a name for yourself?”

“No names, no organizations. We are men from Penumbra who have taken to the underground to escape all traces of arrangement and the essence of which the Vides are made.”

“What’s so wrong with the Vides, huh? Or organization, for that matter? I think the majority of people would agree that it’s worth what we ask to sacrifice – independence from all forms of law and order – for the protection and additional freedoms they get back.”

“Not me. I won’t rest until every human on this planet is free. I suppose the term you’d staple on me is ‘anarchist’, though that’s not the half of it.”

“Well, I’ll take special pleasure in offing you,” he says. “But it’s that agent you got, Kaph Martin, that we really want. Gotta give it to you, it’s hard to catch a guy when you can’t see his face. Or does he even have a face?”

Kaph smiles, cloaked by another man’s flesh. “Only in the naked soul. The face you will see him in belongs to someone else – perhaps, one day, that face will be your own.”

This clearly shakes the executioner. “Alright, let’s get this over with. For all I know, Kaph could be you.” He opens a chest filled with ropes. “Which noose you wanna go down in?”