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Description
Reavan forcefully made his way down the packed streets with Kate following apologetically in his wake. Though she kept her eyes peeled, she saw no sign of her shadowy persuer.

Before long they split away from the crowd and walked in the relative peace of darkened side-streets, making their way steadily downhill. The now familiar detritus of the evening lay scattered around them: torches, flaming and smoking; drunken youths, whose faces Kate scanned eagerly, desperate to recognise someone she knew; explosions, sometimes shrill, sometimes echoing around the buildings.

The rain came in the aftermath of one such explosion. It fell from the sky like a bomb, landing around them with a sudden crash. Kate stopped and looked up with a gasp, the raindrops plummeting hard against her. Reavan didn't break his stride until he noticed that Kate had stopped. He looked back with a look of deep satisfaction etched into his features, rain streaming over the brim of his hat.

Weirdo, Kate thought, holding her arms close to her side. What's he looking so pleased about?

Reavan looked down at her as she approached. A shadow passed across his face, as if he were recognising for the first time how small, scared and miserable she was.

"Cold?" he grumbled over the tumult of the rain.

"This something to do with you?" Kate retorted sarcastically. To her surprise, Reavan beamed once more – a dark smile which somehow contained more malice than joy.

"Bait," Reavan replied, looking pleased with himself. "What I like to call 'the Stick'."

Kate didn't dignify him with an answer – she just stared, arms crossed across her chest, and stalked away doggedly. Her thin jacket was already soaked through, leaving her clothes clinging to her skin.

The road opened out into a junction where three young men stood in the slight shelter of an overhanging roof. They laughed raucously as they handed a bottle between one another. Kate felt a pang of jealousy at their drunken smiles and thick coats – they, at least, had dressed for the weather.

Reavan paused when he saw the group, slinging the rifle from his shoulder.

"This is Faith," he said simply, pushing the weapon into Kate's hands. "She's a part of me," he added, before looking back to the drinkers.

"Don't let her go, and don't move from this spot."

Kate stood awkwardly, unsure what to say, as Reavan moved towards the small group. She clutched the wooden stock of the rifle between her frozen hands. The men turned at Reavan's approach – Kate couldn't hear what they said above the roar of the rain. She wondered if the parades would still be able to operate in the torrential conditions – she didn't like their chances.

Unable to follow the conversation that took place on the far side of the street, her thoughts drifted to the rifle. She had never held a gun before, and was suddenly very concious of its weight. She adjusted her grip against the wood, holding it out in front of her as if it might explode.

Her gaze lingered on the weapon. It looked old. It was like something from an old Western movie. Most of the body was an orangey-coloured wood – smooth from varnish and frequent usage, yet riddled with scars. She ran a hand across the grain, feeling the notches and grooves. The barrel of the rifle extended from the trigger: a cold metal, dark grey and coated in thick droplets of water. The gun spoke to her of power and nobility. There was an honesty, a sureness, in its solid construction. It might once have had a charm – an elegance - yet the years of service had been unkind to it, giving it an ugly edge. Unadorned and unembellished, it was unabashedly tool for taking lives. Not cruel: but hard and unforgiving.

"Faith..." Kate whispered, the word sending a chill down her spine.

Something snapped her back to her senses. The conversation ahead had become heated. One of the men was squaring up to Reavan – who looked huge and imposing in his heavy coat and hat. The man's eyes were only just level with Reavan's chin.

Without warning, Reavan lashed out a fist and struck the man in the jaw. Kate's stomach lurched in panic as he fell to the floor with a cry. Reavan's other arm seized the smallest man by the collar. The third backed away, arms held out passively. The speed and brutality of Reavan's assault had been shocking. Reavan released his grip on the smaller man and said something. With a nervous look to his friend, he began to urgently tear his coat off – handing it to Reaven when he'd finished and scuttling back out of arm's reach.

Reavan confidently turned his back on the miserable trio, shaking the coat out as he returned to where Kate stood frozen in place. The men picked up their friend and fled into the darkness of the night, the bottle long forgotten. Reavan handed the coat to Kate, who stared at it dumbly.

"You have got to be kidding?"

"They'll be fine."

"What? You.. you can't just do that!" Kate shouted.

"Put it on," Reaven replied quietly, siezing the rifle with his spare hand. "I need you to keep warm."

With a mixture of disgust and – and to her shame, relief – Kate shrugged into the coat. It was a size too big for her, but brought welcome shelter from the cold and rain.

"This is too wierd," she said, zipping the coat up.

"You'd rather freeze?"

"It's just," Kate sighed, "Christ, I didn't even realize this... thing..."

"Daemon."

"Whatever – I didn't realize that sort of thing existed."

"Company spends a lot of time making sure of that," Reavan replied.

"What company?"

"They don't want you to know that, either."

Kate just shook her head. Some part of her mind wondered if all this – the 'daemon', Reavan, the storm and the guys in the street – was all part of some joke, some wind-up. Some wierd marketing exercise, maybe. She resisted the urge to look around for a hidden TV camera.

A bang went off nearby, causing Kate to jump out of her thoughts. She looked around, but couldn't see where the sound came from. She absently started to rub her aching shoulder and accepted the cigarette that Reavan offered.

What the hell. I'll quit in the new year.

Description
Reavan forcefully made his way down the packed streets with Kate following apologetically in his wake. Though she kept her eyes peeled, she saw no sign of her shadowy persuer.

Before long they split away from the crowd and walked in the relative peace of darkened side-streets, making their way steadily downhill. The now familiar detritus of the evening lay scattered around them: torches, flaming and smoking; drunken youths, whose faces Kate scanned eagerly, desperate to recognise someone she knew; explosions, sometimes shrill, sometimes echoing around the buildings.

The rain came in the aftermath of one such explosion. It fell from the sky like a bomb, landing around them with a sudden crash. Kate stopped and looked up with a gasp, the raindrops plummeting hard against her. Reavan didn't break his stride until he noticed that Kate had stopped. He looked back with a look of deep satisfaction etched into his features, rain streaming over the brim of his hat.

Weirdo, Kate thought, holding her arms close to her side. What's he looking so pleased about?

Reavan looked down at her as she approached. A shadow passed across his face, as if he were recognising for the first time how small, scared and miserable she was.

"Cold?" he grumbled over the tumult of the rain.

"This something to do with you?" Kate retorted sarcastically. To her surprise, Reavan beamed once more – a dark smile which somehow contained more malice than joy.

"Bait," Reavan replied, looking pleased with himself. "What I like to call 'the Stick'."

Kate didn't dignify him with an answer – she just stared, arms crossed across her chest, and stalked away doggedly. Her thin jacket was already soaked through, leaving her clothes clinging to her skin.

The road opened out into a junction where three young men stood in the slight shelter of an overhanging roof. They laughed raucously as they handed a bottle between one another. Kate felt a pang of jealousy at their drunken smiles and thick coats – they, at least, had dressed for the weather.

Reavan paused when he saw the group, slinging the rifle from his shoulder.

"This is Faith," he said simply, pushing the weapon into Kate's hands. "She's a part of me," he added, before looking back to the drinkers.

"Don't let her go, and don't move from this spot."

Kate stood awkwardly, unsure what to say, as Reavan moved towards the small group. She clutched the wooden stock of the rifle between her frozen hands. The men turned at Reavan's approach – Kate couldn't hear what they said above the roar of the rain. She wondered if the parades would still be able to operate in the torrential conditions – she didn't like their chances.

Unable to follow the conversation that took place on the far side of the street, her thoughts drifted to the rifle. She had never held a gun before, and was suddenly very concious of its weight. She adjusted her grip against the wood, holding it out in front of her as if it might explode.

Her gaze lingered on the weapon. It looked old. It was like something from an old Western movie. Most of the body was an orangey-coloured wood – smooth from varnish and frequent usage, yet riddled with scars. She ran a hand across the grain, feeling the notches and grooves. The barrel of the rifle extended from the trigger: a cold metal, dark grey and coated in thick droplets of water. The gun spoke to her of power and nobility. There was an honesty, a sureness, in its solid construction. It might once have had a charm – an elegance - yet the years of service had been unkind to it, giving it an ugly edge. Unadorned and unembellished, it was unabashedly tool for taking lives. Not cruel: but hard and unforgiving.

"Faith..." Kate whispered, the word sending a chill down her spine.

Something snapped her back to her senses. The conversation ahead had become heated. One of the men was squaring up to Reavan – who looked huge and imposing in his heavy coat and hat. The man's eyes were only just level with Reavan's chin.

Without warning, Reavan lashed out a fist and struck the man in the jaw. Kate's stomach lurched in panic as he fell to the floor with a cry. Reavan's other arm seized the smallest man by the collar. The third backed away, arms held out passively. The speed and brutality of Reavan's assault had been shocking. Reavan released his grip on the smaller man and said something. With a nervous look to his friend, he began to urgently tear his coat off – handing it to Reaven when he'd finished and scuttling back out of arm's reach.

Reavan confidently turned his back on the miserable trio, shaking the coat out as he returned to where Kate stood frozen in place. The men picked up their friend and fled into the darkness of the night, the bottle long forgotten. Reavan handed the coat to Kate, who stared at it dumbly.

"You have got to be kidding?"

"They'll be fine."

"What? You.. you can't just do that!" Kate shouted.

"Put it on," Reaven replied quietly, siezing the rifle with his spare hand. "I need you to keep warm."

With a mixture of disgust and – and to her shame, relief – Kate shrugged into the coat. It was a size too big for her, but brought welcome shelter from the cold and rain.

"This is too wierd," she said, zipping the coat up.

"You'd rather freeze?"

"It's just," Kate sighed, "Christ, I didn't even realize this... thing..."

"Daemon."

"Whatever – I didn't realize that sort of thing existed."

"Company spends a lot of time making sure of that," Reavan replied.

"What company?"

"They don't want you to know that, either."

Kate just shook her head. Some part of her mind wondered if all this – the 'daemon', Reavan, the storm and the guys in the street – was all part of some joke, some wind-up. Some wierd marketing exercise, maybe. She resisted the urge to look around for a hidden TV camera.

A bang went off nearby, causing Kate to jump out of her thoughts. She looked around, but couldn't see where the sound came from. She absently started to rub her aching shoulder and accepted the cigarette that Reavan offered.

What the hell. I'll quit in the new year.