Apocalypse: Fairy System by Macronomicon (fox in socks read aloud txt) 📕

his neck to keep an eye on the storm as they turned away. It wasn’t moving very fast—maybe fifteen miles an hour—but Jeb didn’t wanna be anywhere near whatever the hell that was.

Jeb drove the Jeep down the opposite side of the butte, the Jeep threatening to roll several times as they made their way down the dusty hill.

Jeb spared a second between boulders to glance over at Smartass, who was glancing out the back of the truck at the flickering rainbows behind them.

“I thought the agreement was you keep watch at night, and I let you sit on the air conditioner during the day,” Jeb accused, his hands jerking as the right tire caught an oversized rock. Jeb compensated quick, before they began tumbling down the hillside.

“But it’s so boring!” Smartass protested.

“It was an informal arrangement because I thought you could handle the responsibility. I guess I was wrong. You’ve lost your air conditioner privileges,” Jeb said, hitting the gas as they neared the bottom of the butte, turning south and aiming for the desolate highway.

“Nooo!”

After the close encounter with the Roil, Jeb continued to scavenge his way down the west coast until he came across Solmnath in all its glory.

L.A. and Solmnath were both so big that the Stitching tore them apart, mixing them back together in a confusing jumble of architecture.

Ye olde castles stood right next to skyscrapers, and the city wall had a huge, ten-mile-long rent in the side where the American city and its paved roads spilled out into the desert. They were currently in the process of patching those pale blue walls up, but in the meantime, anyone could just drive in if they chose.

On his way in, Jeb came across more and more people fleeing the city, cheeks sunken and hollow from lack of food. Men, women, and children were leaving the city in what appeared to be a mass exodus, carrying little but the clothes on their back, wandering out into the desert to die.

They gave him strange, hungry looks when they saw the color in his cheeks, and Jeb didn’t stay long enough to find out what it meant. He faced forward and hit the gas.

Deeper into the city, he found the public order somewhat retained, as he came across the people who could afford to eat.

There was a port with a massive fleet of fishing boats just outside the torn coast, navigating the complicated Stitchwork that had been created when the two uneven coastlines merged.

Jeb’s opportunity to buy a mansion came easier than he thought it would.

As it turned out, the aristocrats of Solmnath had sort of…hermit-crabbed into the more impressive skyscrapers, bringing their servants with them.

This made it almost downright cheap to buy the recently abandoned mansions and castles. Of course, ‘cheap’ meant cheap for a mansion, and Jeb still had to pay about ten pounds of gold bullion for a semi-abandoned property, with peeling paint and weeds choking the front lawn.

It was big, though…. Three stories, with forty rooms on each floor, kitchen, bathrooms, basic plumbing. With a little TLC, Jeb could see it housing several hundred people.

Now I just need to staff it, Jeb thought, scanning the massive building.

***Kol Rejan, level 57 Courier***

Kol Rejan walked through the doors of Garland Grenore’s office, head on a swivel, taking in every little detail, his heartbeat measured but heavy. He knew that he’d made enemies along the path of his career, and there was every chance this Grenore fellow had arranged a trap.

There was a bodyguard in the corner, but by the way gravity was pulling on his skin and hair, his Body couldn’t be any higher than twenty.

The dim look in his eye didn’t suggest much Nerve, either. And the melas certainly wasn’t a Mystic. They didn’t take low-paying bodyguard jobs.

Kol dismissed the melas as a threat and reoriented on the slimy businessman in front of him. Garland Grenore was wearing typical loose keegan clothing, albeit made of rich Zanta silk and woven gold.

Tacky.

Kol was wearing similar loose clothing. Although his was far more drab, it was also concealing body armor and several hidden weapons.

“Kol Rejan!” Garland said, rising in his chair and offering Kol his hand. “You come highly recommended, I must say.” Kol stared at the hand until the buffoon put it away.

“Highly recommended by who?”

“Come now, I was instructed not to tell anyone that. You’re someone. As far as I’m concerned, it came to me in a dream. I don’t even remember.”

Good. At least the rich man had a modicum of discretion.

Kol glanced over his shoulder at the bodyguard. “Your bodyguard might be more comfortable outside in the hall for the next few minutes.”

“Indeed, it’s a rather hot day.” Grenore nodded to the muscle, who shrugged and left, leaving the two of them alone.

Kol briefly lamented not having a contract for the sleaze in front of him. If he had, he’d already be done with his job, and he’d probably enjoy it.

“You’re going to write a letter,” he said. “Address it to the target, pay me my fee, and I will deliver it.”

“Oh. Is that it? I thought you were going to—”

“Obviously, I’m going to kill him,” Kol interrupted, his head pounding from the sheer stupid.

“Is there anything in particular I should write?”

“No, I’m gonna kill him. If you want me to deliver the letter first, that’ll cost extra.”

“Well then, what would that cost?” Grenore asked as he dipped his pen and wrote a big ‘Fuck You’ diagonally across the page in flowery letters.

“Two hundred, up front.”

“Done.” Garland folded the letter and slipped it in an envelope. “As for his address... Just his name, or…?”

“Name and location, to the best of your knowledge.”

“Jebediah Trapper,” Grenore muttered as he wrote. “Solmnath.”

“There you go,” he