Venators

The hour was late. So late in fact, that night had become predawn, with only the barest glow of red light on the horizon signaling the oncoming march of day. Water sloshed gently against the ship as it crept towards the port of Bristol, their tugboat chugging ahead of them, guiding them to safe harbor. Aboard the deck with hands clasped to the railing, Johnathan Adams stood and did his best to keep from vomiting once more. Sea sickness was always a grueling experience, but sadly it was safer, if much slower, than a zeppelin; boats made for an easier space to defend against demons than airships, surprisingly. Aside from himself, there were no other civilians aboard the deck, the crew busy milling about, getting set for their landing at Bristol.

His stomach settling for the moment, Johnathan used the moment to focus on more important matters, such as what would come next upon making port. He was to make contact with a member of the British branch waiting for him, and take the first train for London. If they were lucky and did not get attacked....well, from there he'd have the hardest part of the assignment: convincing the Council of his findings. It would be easier if he were a Venator, those inhuman, warriors for humanity. They had respect, and carried influence even if the Templars acted otherwise. Sadly, while useful he was still little more than a scholar.

-----

Half an hour later, and the liner had finally come to port, the anchor dropped and lines cast to the dock to keep her moored. Gangplanks were lowered, and Johnathan was among the first to depart. As soon as his feet touched the wooden pier, he felt a small measure of relief. Even if it was not quite the solid ground he had hoped for, it had been far more stable than the ship. Casting a glance back at it, he took a moment to look at the name painted on the side of the ship. The RMS Titanic, he thought. "Safe travels," he murmured, a customary goodbye these days. Slinging his traveler's sack over one shoulder, and keeping a tight grip on his briefcase, the scholar made his way along the pier, eyes roaming for his contact.

From afar, Johnathan's contact could not help but roll their eyes upon spotting him; the scholar was hardly even an amateur, rubbernecking around and broadcasting for all the world that he was looking for someone. The suit and belongings, particularly the expensive looking bag, marked him as....well, a mark, and potentially rich one at that. And that he kept looking around like that, suggested he was a newcomer to Britain, and told the watcher the American would be easy to rob, perhaps even in broad daylight. So, in order to ward off any would be thieves--as there always were around arriving ships--the Templar agent moved through the crowd as nimbly a lion in the tall grass, closing on the American scholar.

Johnathan was so busy looking for something obvious, he never noticed the unassuming stranger casually walk behind him. Only when he felt a sudden tap on his shoulder did the barely amateur scholar twitch so fast his glasses went askew on their face, and come face to face with his British contact. Johnathan looked the man over, appraising them while trying to appear relaxed. The man was of a level height with him, wearing a brown leather Inverness coat that went down to their shins, with the mantle ending between their shoulders and elbows. A round topped bowler adorned their head, a simple suit partly visible under the coat, and a pair of oxfords. The entire ensemble was worn and ragged looking, with patches missing here and there, and giving the man the appearance of, if not a vagrant, then certainly a hardy commoner. "So," he said, their accent thick, "I take it you must be Adams."

Fumbling with his bags, Johnathan took a moment to shift the handle for his duffel bag into the same hand holding his briefcase. It was uncomfortable, but at least he managed to shake the mans hand. Or, tried to anyway, as he was the only one with an extended hand. "Yeah, Johnathan Adams. I'm from the American division." His contact grinned, showing a few crooked teeth. "Thought you was all the 'Coalition' or some sort," he said, more of a statement than a question. Sighing, Johnathan lowered his hand to retrieve his duffel and said "Well yes, our government did reorganize into the Coalition of Allied States. Can't be any different from 'The New British Empire."

At that, the man barked out a laugh and said "Oh it is different. Britain's always been an empire. It just took naming it that way for you American's to notice." Walking past Johnathan, the man continued to chortle while the American stood there, halfway between annoyed and confused. The man then stopped when they were ten feet away and made a gesture with his hand. "Well move on then," he said. "I haven't got all day here. Oh, and my name's Archie."

Johnathan followed Archie's lead down the pier towards the city proper, his guide hailing a grey cab and instructing them to head for the train station. Johnathan seemed perfectly fine riding in silence. Archie on the other hand couldn't seem to shut up, blathering on about God knows what. Johnathan did his best to tune the man out. As their cab drove through the dirty streets of the city, a glow from the east signaled the rising of the sun. It was smothered though, by the dark clouds that hung heavy in the sky.

Nearly everyone though knew it was more than bad weather. Smoke and ash, rising from the Hellgates....the sun was blotted out, and there was hardly a soul left alive that could remember what it looked like, to have the sun shining. Still, the absence of full blown day, could hardly stop the people of the city from waking up and getting their days started. Johnathan watched them from inside the cab, until Archie grabbed his attention with a firm poke to the ribs. "Ey," he said, "you payin attention to me there Johnny boy?"

Scowling at Archie, Johnathan said "My name, is Johnathan. If you have to, then call me John." Shrugging, Archie said "Whatev' you say there, Johnny boy."

It went on that way for nearly ten minutes, as the cab continued onward; John sat on his side, trying to ignore his contact while Archie kept trying to get another rise out of him. When they finally did reach the train station, John couldn't have left the vehicle any faster, an amused Archie fast on his heels. "Hey, slow down there!" his contact shouted. "You my friend, still need your ticket." Stopping in his tracks, John turned around and said "Oh....right. Sorry, this is all ju--"

"Quit your blabbering and take the bloody ticket mate," Archie growled, handing him a the boarding ticket. "Now, I'd go with you and all but my job ends here. Supposed to go back to the HQ here and report." He turned around to leave, leaving John to ask "What, no goodbye?" That stopped the other man, and he slowly turned his head, showing a near amused look. "Johnny boy, these days it's goodbye. It's called 'good luck.'" And with that, he walked away, disappearing into the growing crowd of people.

John checked his watch, wondering if he had time. No, better to simply board the train now than risk missing it. Finding the platform and the train, he got aboard, showing his ticket to the conductor (guard, he reminded himself) and taking a seat. It was only then that he noticed how armed, most of the staff were; all of them soldiers and carrying rifles or submachine guns. It didn't surprise him though, as travel between cities was......dangerous, did not really cover the scope of it. Suffice to say, there was a very good reason a train would be host to armed soldiers.

It would be an hour, if not more, for the train to reach London. Peering out his window, John looked out as the city drifted by. Houses and larger buildings, factories and even barracks first crawled, then darted past his view. The wall was coming up now, that hulking mass of concrete and steel that towered above the city limits for meters. Save for the glow of lamps just then, the world went black as the train entered the tunnel through the wall, the noise of it now echoing loudly.

Soon, the darkness broke and gave way to.....not quite the light of day. Just a dreary, world of gray. They exited the tunnel on elevated tracks, and John shifted in his seat to get a better look at what was outside the wall. Gun emplacements lined the fortification, both atop it and even jutting out from the face of the wall itself. For what looked like miles, the ground was barren and devoid of life before the wall, pockmarked with craters of various sizes. Husks of long abandoned military vehicles, burnt and decrepit, lay scattered in that no man's land. And here I am in a train, on a trail right through it, John thought.