Three people. Two worlds. One destiny.
And that is to stop both worlds from colliding, entwining to a nightmarish morph of death and chaos. How will it all play out in a fateful town?
And with a mysterious entity following them, helping them, guiding them...
In the end, it all comes down to


9. eight

Bachman's phone trilled and he pushed off the clingy scandily clad whore. She was wearing a red microbikini that might as well not been there. Slightly drunk and very high, Bachman greeted whoever it was on the other side with a hearty 'Aaaay!'.

"Shut the hell up Bachman. Where's the damn crates?" It was Barney at his warehouse. Barney was a foul mouthed man who was the direct opposite of every child's favourite purple dinosaur.

"Eyyy, ya know Victor? Victor Iron or something..." Bachman belched heavily.

"Fuckin' Victor Cobalt? I like that man alright, but he ain't here! Get his ass here or our deal's gone!"

Bachman was now sober. Cutting off the deal would hurt Barney more than Bachman, but Barney was a crazy man who lived the high life, doing deals rashly. He somehow clung on to a healthy living as a bachelor. Also, Bachman needed every dollar to live his Bahamas dream.

"Calm the hell down, Barns. Soon as I hang up, I'm going to call that asshat. Chill for a bit, I might give you a discount next time round."

Barney snarled some incomprehensible and very rude. Bachman was already throwing a hundred dollar bill to the woman (she wasn't even that pretty). He shoved his bulk through the bead curtain, into the public area of the bar. Diving through the early evening throng, he emerged out of the multicoloured light into the dimming light.

He checked his watch:  5: 48. Almost ten hours since their meeting that morning. It will take Victor two hours to reach the warehouse, and give or take the traffic conditions, he would be there by ten. He called Victor, twice, but his phone wasn't on.

Cursing, Bachman called some of his friends. When they got his hands on that man, he will know not to mess with him.

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