Setting Sun, A Tesla-Punk Story

They say every idea starts out pure. I've never quite believed that. I believe that every idea reflects the person who though of it. So if you're an evil man, you ideas will be evil. If you're an innocent child your ideas will be innocent. But no, no matter how you cut it, no idea is ever pure. Take mine for example. Revenge. Maybe it's pure in it's hate. But I feel like it festers and oozes in my heart.

--From the Journal of Elizabeth Crow
March 23, 1734

The heat was oppressive. It was like it had a physical weight. It pressed down on weary travelers and on villagers alike. There was no escaping it. It crouched in the shade. It lurked inside darkened houses. It smothered you in it's weightlessness.

"Aww, Hell." Elizabeth Crow cursed. She whipped the flight cap off her pink hair. She ran a careless hand over the wet, stringy, mess of her hair. Sweat poured off the woman in buckets. She slapped the hat back on and drank deep from her water bottle.

"You're cursing me ain't ya?!" Liz, as her friends called her shouted at the sky. "You just can't leave me in peace!" She took a deep breath and sighed. It was no use shouting at the sky. If any God existed, it was only to mock her and her sad quest for revenge. Ma had always told her daughter the One God didn't like people blaspheming his name and going against His Word.

Liz flipped off the sky just in case the One God was watching. Screw him. It's not he had ever done anything to help her. Then again, she had always been swearing and getting into fights and not behaving very lady like ever since she was born. Maybe that was why she was being punished and those around her were suffering for it.

Liz kept her head low and she shambled off down the road. The weight of the rifle on her back was a reminder of her task. It was also making her sweat more. "Punishment." She snorted. "Sounds 'bout right."

------

A few hours later as the sun was finally sliding down the sky and the heat was beginning to remove it's weight, the town came into view. It was a beacon in a field of grass. A shinning light for sore feet and tired eyes. It lit up the sky in a haze of blue electricity as flows arced from the power plant next to a running river into the village to feed hungry houses. The warm blue light allowed Liz to relax slightly. It meant civilization, warm food, a cool drink, and a decent place to sleep.

The spire from the power plant shot off electricity into the sky creating a web of energy. The flows of the arcs connected to spires on individual houses. The web eliminated the need to street lights in the city proper. It was easy enough to tell the inn in a small town like this. It was the building which had the tallest spire, other than the power plant. In larger cities, you can go off spire size because the wealthier you are the more power you get.

Once there was an idea of free energy, but it was only just a dream. Wealth and power buy you electricity. Electricity grants you luxuries and more power. It was a cycle that kept the rich rich and the poor, poor. Liz never liked it, even though her family was wealthy enough by small town standards.

Liz opened the door to the inn. There were only a few people seated at the bar, getting an early start. They all turned and looked at her when she came in. She knew they started with her pink hair, worked their way down past her leather flight jacket to her trousers and back up. Their looks were disapproving. Should could almost hear their thoughts. 'Why is a girl dressed up like a man?' Where is her escort, is she a harlot? Maybe she's looking for a bed warmer?' Puh-lease.

Liz rolled her eyes, ignored the men and walked up to the counter. "I need a single room for the night." She placed a silver piece on the counter. "And a warm meal."

The innkeeper accepted the money. "Room 7. No guests. The rest will get you some mutton and soup." The innkeeper handed her the key and tucked the money away.

"Thanks." Liz smiled honestly at him. She wouldn't get any trouble from any of the men here tonight all because of the innkeeper. She took the proffered key and headed up stairs to clean off before getting her food.

'Such an odd girl, shouting at the sky like that...'
With that thought still echoing through his mind, Jarrod followed the girl to the little town. His throat was more then a little parched, and the suit he was wearing was as uncomfortable as they came. He'd kill for some ale and a chair to rest his tired feet, but then again it was that same killing tendency that got him here in the first place. Or a lack thereof, to be more precise. He sighed, before shaking his head. Getting last in depressing memories wasn't how he had intended to end the day.

He noticed the girl vanishing in one of the larger buildings in town, and he guessed that was where the inn should be. He still wasn't very used to small settlements like these, or for the vast and seemingly endless grassy plains around these parts, but he had quickly discovered that following fellow travelers worked wonders. And because of that he was quick to open the door to the little inn as well, hoping to get out of the still slightly lingering heat if possible. When he closed the door behind him however, he was met by more then a few prying eyes in his direction. The locals, always eager to show their hostility to strangers- especially when that stranger was a well armed ex-mercenary. He looked at them directly through his red goggles, knowing what kind of effect it had on most people. And sure enough, a few moments later they looked away or outright turned back around, though instead they started whispering behind his back. Oh well.

He walked up to the bar and sat down on the only available bar stool. He waited patiently for the innkeep to come to him, for like most innkeepers in backwash towns like these he stalled as long as he could before, reluctantly, asking Jarrod what he wanted. Just another price pays for wearing a Red Dusk mercenary outfit.
"One of your finest ales and a bed for tonight, my good man" Jarrod replied friendly enough, but as always his mask twisted his words to make them sound mechanical and ominous.

The innkeeper cringed, but a second later he came back with what seemed like a glass of pure mud. "Finest ale of the house" The inkeeper smirked, but a single look to the other patrons of the place would tell that the so called 'finest ale' was anything but. Probably freshly scooped out of the river too, but Jarrod didn't comment. He was used to this kind of treatment, so he just let his head hang and slowly took his mask off with plenty of hisses of his external hydraulic systems. He let the mask hang on his chest, only suspended by the oxygen hoses still attached to his back, and looked at the innkeeper.

His face was by no means a better sight then his mask. On his countless of fights his body had been forced to endure quite a bit of hostility, and as such he wore enough scars for ten men. His nose was crooked, his lip busted more then once, his chin had a big nasty scar along the length of his right jaw line and he was wearing an eyepatch to make up for his lost left eye. A gruesome sight, if ever they saw one. "Thanks for the ale, my good man" Jarrod said warmly, though even his voice seemed mangled as sounded hoarse and far too deep. The innkeep cringed again and, along with the rest of his customers, quickly resumed their business only to avoid looking at Jarrod's mangled face.

Liz stopped in front of room 7 and fiddled with the key in the lock. The key stuck a little. The gears made a grinding noise when she finally got the key to turn, sand in the contraption. But the room was small and clean and there were shutters on the window. She made sure the shutters we closed and locked after she had closed and locked the door.

Slowly she began to pull the sticky, grimy clothes off her filthy body. First the hat followed by her weapons, onto the bed for easy reach, then the coat followed by her shirt and pants. She left on her small clothes. Once that task was finished she scrubbed at her body with a small dry cloth. Satisfied after a few minutes that she had gotten off the majority of the sweat and grime, she redressed herself. She tucked the mass of pink hair into a messy knot at the base of her head.

Then Liz finally turned to her travelling bag. She riffled through for a quick second pulling out a small roll of paper. She smoothed it out on the bed, using her rifle and hand gun to hold down the edges. She frowned at the map for a while before sighing.

"Where the hell are you bastard?" Liz asked the map as if it would respond. The only noise however was a crackling of electricity coming from the arcs high above the city.

Liz scrubbed at her face suddenly and fiercely. No news for the past two towns. If this was another dead end she'd have to turn back and try to pick up the trail of missing children. By then she'd be days behind, possibly with no hope of catching up. But she wouldn't cry. Sinners had no need for tears. Least of all those aiming to kill a man.

Stiffly Liz crammed the map into her bag, crumpling it. She slung the rifle over her shoulder and shoved her handgun into her waste band. If she left her weapons here they'd be gone by the time she came back, lock door or no. She made sure her money was securely on her person before heading back downstairs for her warm meal.

It was louder than when she had left. More men had come. There was a distinct atmosphere over the room and Liz quickly spotted the source. A mercenary, but not just any mercenary. A Red Dusk mercenary. She was suddenly insanely glad she had her rifle and handgun on her. She didn't check her weapons even though she truly wanted to. Instead she caught the innkeeper's wife's eye and sat at the far end of the bar. As far away from the mercenary as possible.

Jarrod coughed, a deep sound which strongly resembled two rocks getting bashed together. And again. And again. Finally the bartender looked up, to see the piece of gold Jarrod had put on the counter. “For the ale” he said with his mangled voice, “And for the room I mentioned. I take it you've got keys for your rooms...?”
The bartender gave him a dirty look, but a gold for just a room and an ale was more then adequate and thus he quickly found himself reaching for the gold with his greedy little hands. Jarrod slammed his fist down on the bar that instant however, making the man flinch. “The key..?”

Begrudgingly, the bartender gave him one of the keys. Jarrod nodded in thanks and turned around, not caring how the bartender quickly grabbed the gold or how he signaled obscenities at his back. Didn't they all?
He tossed a glare around the room and noticed a few new faces, but gave it little thought. With the mask still dangling on his chest he marched up the stairs with loud thuds, silencing the many conversations going on to make almost all patrons stare at his ascending form. Ah, the pleasures of being feared, hated and scorned.

Once on the first floor he looked at the key. It had a little 9 carved into the handle. He pulled his bad eyebrow at the crude key but once again gave it little thought as he strode further down the hallway. His thoughts were occupied by past memories after all, memories where he and his men were sitting in a similar run-down inn and the day ended with him fighting for his life between the corpses of his fallen subordinates. Even the rickety planks had the same noise to them when he stepped on them. He shook his head, knowing that the inn was several hundred miles away from here and looked at the doors on his left. Room number five. Seven. Nine.

He stopped and looked at the crudely made brass door, another sign of obvious wealth here in the town of flourishment and bourgeoisie. He opened the door with slight effort and first checked for any obvious signs of life before he sighed and walked in. Too many times had someone been lying in wait for him in rooms like these, demanding his life. Not today, it seemed. He walked up to the bed and pulled the sheets to examine the mattress. Sturdy, uncomfortable and... dotted. He sighed, great. Naturally the innkeeper gave hím the room with the bed lice.

He was an ex-mercenary and had slept on worse things than a liced bed, but just for tonight he craved something a bit more... comfortable. Though heavily armored he was a man still, and a man could only take so much punishment a day before he snapped. And so it was that he took off towards the hallway and looked around, before he tried the handle on room number 7. Locked, but silent as well it seemed. Too early to be occupied. He took a sharp breath before putting his shoulder to the colored brass, slowly applying pressure to see if the door was any good.

It wasn't. Though the door was brass the hinges were old and worn, and easily gave when he pushed. Naturally, every metal door has its weaknesses. He grinned and took a step back, before slamming into the door in full force. The door squeaked and protested, but the hinges were no match for such brutality after years of neglect. The door easily gave, and Jarrod was quick to catch it before it made a ruckus. He put it neatly against the wall of the room before looking inside. It looked just like his own room, but with a couple of personal items lying about probably belonging to a traveler.

“Sorry, who-ever you are” Jarrod muttered before he grabbed the stuff lying on the bed and putting them on the floor. Next he dragged the mattress out onto the hallway and went inside his own room to grab the lice-ridden mattress he so generously received. A minute later he had switched them perfectly, and had finished putting back the various stuff belonging to the traveler. It took him some time to place the various things in the right spot, as well as to repair the door, but to a well-traveled man such things were almost as common as knowing how to bake an egg.

Not that he could cook, but still. Satisfied by his own work, he tossed a final glance up and down the hallway before retreating back into his own room, falling on the bed and enjoying it's softness. “If only I wouldn't need to fight for luxury every day...” He muttered, staring at the ceiling through tired eyes.

Liz and the rest of the room let out a collective breath as the mercenary left. The noise level went up and everyone sounded generally more happy. Liz found herself relaxing slightly. She was still tense and wary, which was only natural being a girl and travelling alone, but now she was no longer drawn tighter than a tension cord. Even the innkeeper looked relieved. No one likes the like of men who are just hired guns.

Liz happily accepted the food brought to her by the innkeeper's wife. She was a skinny thing, not what you'd imagine when you thought of a woman who ran an inn.

"Here you go dearie. Eat up. You're too skinny." The wife said as she laid down a bowl of soup with meat in it and a warm bit of bread. Liz's stomach growled as the smell hit her.

"Thanks." Liz said truthfully. The meal looked delicious. The woman beamed as Liz voiced her opinion and nearly skipped back to the kitchen. Home cooked. Liz thought. If the innkeeper's wife didn't make it there was no reason for her to be so happy at the complement.

But the thought of food quickly pushed aside all thought. It was time to eat. Liz happily ate the warm meal. When she was finished she let out a contented sigh. Feeling both full and sleepy Liz lounged against the counter for a bit watching the common room. They were all so happy. Not a care in the world. This town was a dead end. Liz had mixed feelings about that. She was upset because she lot the trail of the murdering kidnapper that stole her cousin. Soon there wouldn't be any hope of finding him in one piece. She had already given up hope of finding him alive. Now all she could do is hope that he died quickly and painlessly.

Her other feelings were of relief. Relief that this town hadn't had any missing children. There would be no crying mothers or broken fathers. Not hollow eyes. The relief was that this town missed out on all the suffering from the other towns. Not that this town was completely untouched. She hadn't seen any children playing when she had wandered in despite the fact that it was still light when she came, even if it was dark now. No, this town had been touched, but not irrevocably. In a few months it would be like nothing had ever happened and everyone would move on with their lives. Liz frowned, suddenly very tried of seeing happy people. She got up and left for her room.

"What the hell?!" Liz exclaimed loudly as she saw the door to her room hanging off the hinges and her bed missing. "Son of A...!" Liz took a deep breath. She needed to see if anything was missing. She hurried into the room with her pistol out and quickly grabbed her bag. It still weighed the same. She tossed it over her shoulder and moved back out into the hallway. Others had gathered around, attracted by her loud outburst.

With most of the locals gathered in the hallway, as baffled as the young lady was, the absence of the big, scary mercenary quickly became apparent. The people standing in the hallway first murmured with each other, but soon enough one grew bold enough to pronounce his voice. "It was probably that blasted mercenary's doing! Those guys are really just up to no good, threshing rooms like that. I bet he's even put poison in your room somewhere, or a dangerous snake!"
The others quickly agreed, and by no time at all their faces turned from bafflement to determination to anger. They knocked on the doors to find out who the residents were, and one by one they opened up if they haven't already. just one door remained closed- number nine.
"He's in there!" The locals growled, a miracle they hadn't found torches and pitchforks somewhere yet. "He's in number nine! I say lets bust open his door and make him answer for his crimes! Lets beat him up!"
"Yeah! This is no way to treat a lady!"
"I'll give him some knuckles too!"

And that's how it happened that from one minute onto the next, the locals were gathered to see what the yelling was about until they were busy busting down the door. However, the scary mercenary wasn't going to wait until the second door would get smashed. Instead, after a couple of loud steps the door was yanked open by the man himself, an annoyed frown on his face that quickly froze the crowd dead in their tracks.
Whether it was because of his mangled face or the rifle in his hands was hard to say.

"What's wrong with you people?" He growled, swinging the rifle back onto his shoulder before crossing his arms over his chest. "Can't you let a guy be? Forcing me to pay five times the original price is one thing, but trying to bust down my door is a whole different story. What the blazes are you lot camping out here for? Has this piss-wackle town finally gone mad then?"

Frozen by indecisiveness, the crowd simply looked up at the tall, broad man and gulped. Nobody moved, nobody even dared to breathe. That rifle dangling on his shoulder looked ominous enough, after all, even if that guy himself wouldn't look like he had wrestled with a couple of bears and won. A couple looked at Liz with a meaningful face, either begging for her to step in or to blame her for pushing them into this situation.

Liz just watched as the people poured into the hallway. They pressed close to her, trapping her, suffocating her. Really, if they could just give her a new room, that'd be great. After all, even if she got her door back, it wouldn't help matters. Not only could the room not be fixed before she fell asleep, you'd have to tie her up and keep a guard on her to make her stay in the room.

"This is no way to treat a lady!" Liz barely understood this comment out of the many being passed around in the small overfilled hallway. It surprised her greatly. However she wouldn't be surprised if the comment came from one of the leering at her from the bar. All men were like that, only thinking with their muscles.

Liz was startled as the door next to her room burst open and the scary mercenary from earlier popped out. It was like all the stories your parents told when you were younger. If you don't behave the Black Man will come for you. Liz thought her heart was just about stopped, never to start again. Sorry Ma and Pa, Liz's internal monologue began. The boogie man came a ate me. Just thought you'd want to know. While Liz was thinking these morbid thoughts, like through a long tunnel, she could hear the conversation keep going.

It wasn't until Liz realized that people were staring at her that she knew she had zoned out. Oh Heavens! She thought to herself. She didn't even have a clue as to what had been said, let alone how to respond.

"I...uh..." Liz stammered. She looked away from the mercenary, she had been staring at his face, and down at her hands. They were sweating and her right hand still clutched her handgun from when she had braved her destroyed room. She swallowed convulsively. He had a mean looking rifle on his back, so did she of course, and a gun in her hand, but she felt like she was naked and defenseless. Would he notice and kill her? She tried to nonchalantly hide the offending weapon behind her back.

"My door's gone you see..." Liz glanced back into the room. "And so is my bed." She was surprised all this came out even as her voice steadied. "Do you know who might have done this?" She made herself look back at him. Sure she might have implied it was him, but if it wasn't she wasn't going to jump to conclusions. Maybe some of that religion stuff did rub off on her. Who would have thought? If her mother knew she would have dropped dead. Being kind to a mercenary, No! Being kind to the worst type of mercenary, a Red Dusk Mercenary to All Heavens.

It was a shame though after she gained a little courage and spoke those words, one more look at his face stole that small light of courage away. She barely looked at him for half a second before she had to look elsewhere.