Rough Prologue

So here's a taste!! Keep in mind, this is VERY rough. The first chapter is coming along better, and I will come back to fix this, but here's a little teaser...

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Prologue: Earth, December 13, A7


“I’m looking for a man. He may go by the name Werzbowski.”
The woman atop the wall holding the very big gun stared down at the man below, her eyes squinting in the evening sun, and raised an eyebrow at the name.
“How do I know you’re not working for the Raves?”
The man looked up at her without even so much as a flicker of emotion. “You don’t. If he’s in there, tell him that his soul has come a-callin’. If he’s not, I’ll be on my way.”
She stared down at him for a moment longer, and then turned and motioned to another guard nearby. “Wait here, and watch him.” With that, she turned and made her way for the stairs.

The doors yawned open before him, and he made his way towards the thirty-foot-tall walls, brushing road dirt off of his long duster coat as he went. The woman who he had spoken to stepped through the opening, a shotgun cradled in the crook of her right arm, the barrel pointing towards the ground. “You’re lucky, stranger,” she said. “Follow me.”
He walked through the twelve-foot-tall doors and couldn’t help but glance up at the thirty feet of wall towering above him. In the seven years since the Vicorians – Ravagers, they were called here – raided Earth, humans had gotten pretty good at building fortresses that could actually withstand a direct attack from the Raves. He knew that a pair of rails ran around the top of the wall, supporting the 50mm guns that seemed to be the only thing that could even slow down the Raves, short of trying to blow them up. Having leathery skin nearly tough as steel had served the Raves well during their invasion. He lowered his eyes back towards the back of the woman in front of him.
“So what do I call you?”
“Joan of Arc,” she replied sarcastically.
The man cracked a grin at that, despite the annoyance in her tone.
“Do you have a name, stranger?” she asked.
He paused. “Soul. They call me Soul.”
“Yes, they do.”
Soul stopped, and his face went emotionless again. He turned slowly towards the sound of the voice and watched a man step out of the shadows, a scraggly beard and a well-worn baseball cap partially hiding an equally expressionless face. The two men stared each other down.
“Soul.”
“‘Ski.”
“Nice coat.”
“Thanks. Got it at a yard sale. I like the hat.”
“Really? It doesn’t quite fit. I might have to return it.”
“I’m sure if you wait a few decades a store might open back up.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for. I’ve got some underwear that is really starting to chafe.”
“Ah, I’ve been there. Sorry, can’t help you. Got a good tailor in town?"
Through all this, Joan of Arc stood nearby with a confused look on her face as the strange banter passed back and forth between the two men who still showed no emotion whatsoever. Soul watched out of the corner of his eye as she shook her head and walked back towards the main doors. Werzbowski saw the movement as well and turned away, ending the small talk and gesturing for Soul to follow him. Three rings of walls circled the city, and ‘Ski disappeared between two of them. They walked for a distance in shadow before an opening appeared, leading to an open area bordered by a row of dilapidated wooden houses, most in various stages of disrepair. Passing those by, they headed down a lane that was initially bordered by weeds, but as they continued, flowers began to appear, and the houses themselves actually showed signs of upkeep. It was into one of those houses that ‘Ski stepped, prompting Soul to glance around quickly before following him inside.

“So how many are with you?” Werzbowski asked after a while, handing Soul a cup of water.
“Four.”
“What about the others?”
Soul shook his head.
“Damn. To much sacrifice.”
Soul drank the water slowly, speaking between sips. “Did you find him?”
‘Ski nodded. “I found him. He has the mark, too.”
Shoulders visibly relaxing, Soul leaned back in his chair. “We have to leave, and soon.”
“How?”
A smile broke out on Soul’s face. “Let’s just say that Krisor is a genius.”
‘Ski raised an eyebrow as Soul moved in close and lowered his voice.
“Cerlitas.”