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


3. two

Victor Cobalt had his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. The white mug was yellow. Cobalt sipped the scalding coffee, enjoying the caffeine burn his throat. He imagines the brown liquid seep into his system, set his heart pumping hard. He threw his head back, drank it all, and drained the pot.

Another sleepless night.

With each day, the caffeine's effetcs wore down to point that today, Cobalt finally felt no effects from the coffee. He drained the last cup anyway and dragged himself out of his house. The cold morning air teased his bare skin. Dressed in just his black jeans, he began to run.

His house had a path in front that ran to the main road, but behind it, was a dense forest where Cobalt who run every morning to get his system moving. His lean and muscular build allowed him to move quickly and lightly through the forest, his eyes detecting the invisible path effortlessly, as he did his round. Straight ahead, see the tree with a torn red T-shirt tied to a low branch, a left. Eight seconds, an internal clock counted, and he arrived at a small stream. Right this time.

And so on.

He did not object the chill. He allowed it grip him and shake him out of his lethargy. As he rounded the stump, he broke into a full on sprint, allowing his anger to fuel him back to the house. His long, muscular legs pounded the ground, propelling him full speed.

Inside again, he picked up a grimy towel and wiped off his sweat. In the bathroom, he glanced at the cracked the mirror, rubbed his beard. He used to be clean shaven but now he couldn't be bothered. He washed his face, completing his morning ritual. He peed, then put on a long sleeved shirt that hugged his torso and accentuated his leanness and muscles.

He was single, never bothered with girls. He had no stable job, no stable income. He used to be a night watchman for a warehouse, but he fell asleep. How mocking that experience was, now that sleep was as elusive as the Jersey Devil. Today, he was a truck driver for Bachman, who regularly hooked him up for odd jobs. Yesterday, it was to wipe tables at a restaurant. Tomorrow, who knows, he might be engaged in being a bodyguard. Whatever rakes the cash in.

He jogged to the main road and spotted Bachman, who was short and portly. He dressed badly in a black anonymous cap that hid his baldness, cheap, fake gold jewellery that decorated his neck, a shirt that opened at the neck to reveal the absence of intimidating chest hair, and pair of pants pulled to high. His foot was clad in ragged sneakers.

Cobalt knew Bachman was rich. He had many 'assets' like Cobalt who had other 'assets', a chain of free workers who were employed as anything- mechanics, high end restaurants, real estate agents, even hookers. It was all legal, paid for, and lucrative. It was rumoured that Bachman would soon ditch everyone in the mud and fly to the Bahamas with a woman in each arm and a cheque for a billion dollars in his pocket.

For now, Bachman extended his hand. Cobalt shook it. Bachman's grip was flimsy and wet; Cobalts was professional, firm yet light.

"Vic, my man. How's ya goin'?"Bachman laughed as if he had told a joke.

"Same as ever, Lawrence. What's the job here?"Cobalt smiled warmly, although he felt cold as ever.

"Always gettin' to the point, eh, Vic?"Bachman grinned, slapping the door of the big truck parked illegally on the road. The resounding bang jerked Cobalt, reminding him that he was still tired as ever.

"That Big Betty?"Cobalt asked, glancing briefly at the monstrosity.

Big Betty was used to be Ford model something, but it was so heavily modified that nobody could recognise it anymore. It was agreed upon that it was a model somewhere between 1970-1980s. Big Betty had a monstrous engine, a bulky chassis, and wheels that belonged on a monster truck. The only thing not modified was its paint job, which was rusted to all hell, and the interior was peeling leather, the dashboard replaced with cheap wood that was chipped and would prick those unawares.

"The very girl. Ain't she a beauty?"Bachman gazed at the truck as if it was his wife.

"If you say so. The job?" Cobalt asked, folding his arms, trying to hustle things along. If he finished the job by late evening, he could try to find a psychiatrist that wasn't too expensive.

Bachman tutted disapprovingly, but Cobalt wasn't worried about losing his job. He was too important an asset, able to work early in the morning and late in the night.

"Those boxes at the back, I want em' at the big warehouse. Then collect whatever is there, Barney will direct you, and bring the stuff back to my base. Here's the keys to beast,"Bachman tossed over the keys. Cobalt barely managed to catch them.

"Toodle-oo!" Bachman turned around, then waddled off slowly. Cobalt opened the door, pulled himself into the cab.

And drove.

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