“Well, his eyeballs were being picked out by a flock of jaybirds.”I shrug.“Do with that what you will.”
Gripping the bag straps, I turn and follow the path lit by the headlights until I get to the end, where a thick iron gate is built formidably into a moss-covered stone wall.There’s no monitor, no buzzer, no lever.No visible hint of how to get this thing open.
Am I supposed to knock?Shatter my knuckles on cold iron?
At the sound of Pavlov’s engine revving, I glance over my shoulder.Son of a bitch is speed-reversing out of the tunnel, leaving me in complete darkness.Spiteful asshole.
I unzip the duffel and fumble around until my fingers find my phone.Power it on and switch on the flashlight.Then spend the next few minutes scanning the gate, the wall, the ground… Nothing.
Shatter my wrist it is, then.But before I can, a beep echoes in the tunnel, and the gate slowly creaks open.Blinding daylight slices through the dark.
I squint, blinking hard as I walk through.Going from a VR headset, to pitch darkness, to bright daylight is a hell of a ride for a man’s eyeballs.
Fuck’s sake.
There’s no one on the other side, just a narrow path framed by jagged rocks.As the gate clangs shut behind me, I follow the rocky path that winds forward until it spreads open into what resembles a rural pasture.
Rolling green hills stretch wide across the landscape.Various buildings scattered far and in between, surrounded on all sides by towering, jagged mountains, looming as far back as the eyes can see.
From some of those peaks, thin slashes of waterfalls stream down from rocky heights.The soothing rush of the streams blends with the obnoxiously cheerful birdsongs and the jingling of the bells around the necks of meandering cows.
What is this place?
Several people walk right by me, averting their gazes and quickening their steps when I attempt to stop them to ask questions.Unmannerly little shits.
Eventually, I come across what looks like a semi-enclosed bar.Or food court.Or whatever the hell this blue obsession is.The ground’s paved and painted blue.Blue benches, blue stools, blue high tables.Everything’s blue.
On one end, a bar.On the other end, a kitchen with a food station.Off to the side, a row of vending machines.
By the bar is a group of men just chilling in tactical gear.
Some pause to watch me approach.Others ignore me.
“Damn, Castello,” one says.“You really are a pussy with nine lives.”
Ah.So that’s what the “Nine” nickname is about.
“Nah, even a cat would be dead by now,” another counters.“Wanna be you when I grow up, Castello.Fuckinglegend.”
I’m not interested in whatever this is.“Where’s Soraya?”
“It’s Ray,” one of them corrects.
“What?”
“Here, she’sRay.”
Would’ve been nice if Pavlov mentionedthatinstead of all the other shit.“Apologies.Where can I find Ray?”
“Can you rock climb?”
Jesus, I’m tired of being confused.It’s a frustrating place to be.“What?”
A chorus of chuckles follow.
One of them points toward the southward mountains.“Ray’s sparring on top of that grumpy-looking rock over there.Grumpaa.”
“Sparring?”
