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Parasite is the third part of The Underground series

Chapter 4 of 29

Living Dead Girl

Terwilliger never liked the city of Arcadia.

There was just something about it, perhaps the seaside air, that he just couldn't stand. There was just a smell of wetness and decay, as if everything had a moist, unpleasant connotation to it. The city reminded him of an old, worn out boot. At one point in its history, it had been important, useful, and new. However, time took its toll and the boot became broken down, and eventually ended up in its current state of rot. The same seemed true of Arcadia. Sure, at one point it had been something new, the apex of the western world. Now, she was a simple port city with a famous name.

Like wrinkles on an aging female's face, you could see Arcadia's age by the architecture. Sure, some of the buildings were taken care of. But her age stood out on the less fortunate structures. The West End was particularly bad where she went from historic to gothic and held a certain nightmarish quality. Those places make you question if the passage of time, or progression ever really existed for anyone living there for generations.

Terwilliger didn't think it had.

Rumor had it, that it was those areas that sprouted the grassroots the The Underground. People always wondered what The Underground was. They have this preconceived notion that The Underground, even though most capitalized it as so, was a particular place, or existed in certain locations. Like that guinea pig's pad he played poker at a few times in New Ritmo, or the warehouses of Graefenberg. They treated The Underground like it was a meeting location for all this black market shit.

The Underground wasn't anywhere, and yet it existed in every facet of society. The Underground, simply put, was your connections. Every time you had the recommendation from someone, or cashed in on that favor your friend owed you for something, or when you pulled some strings to make something happen, that was your Underground. Given, those examples hardly scratched the surface of what The Underground had the potential to be. Regardless, that's how it always starts, small of course, but one day finds itself out of control. If the walls of the decrepit buildings of western Arcadia could talk, they'd probably tell you that's exactly how it all started. It just so happened there was always someone there to take it to the next level.

Terwilliger was one of those middle children of the "real" world and The Underground. He, himself, was raised in Urban Palamont. His parents, two rabbits, were straight edged enough. They paid their bills, voted in the elections, and never missed a tax payment. It didn't take an inner-city kid long for The Underground to find him. The hare could remember being fourteen and knowing who he had to go to for drugs. The streets themselves became a smorgash board of contraband if you knew the right people. All one need do was ask. Those were how his early years were spent. Gradually, through love of drugs and love of money, he dug his own grave into something deeper than The Underground.

He discovered the Invisible War.

Imagine, as you're pulling those strings and doing those favors, that someone decided that they wanted control over who's favors you can use or what recommendation you get. It'd piss you off, wouldn't it? Of course it would. That's what the conflict, ingrained in selfishness and greed, was fueling The Invisible War. Again, there were no battle grounds, or areas where people, or groups of people, would fight exclusively. It was anywhere there was a conflict.

The Underground and the Invisible War finally managed to leech onto the ignorance and naivety of the "real" world through the development of The Internet. People always buying and selling shit to each other. Finding deals and steals at these online auctions. No one ever questions where it comes from, and no one ever questions where it goes. However, all this is socially acceptable, or so they say.

Terwilliger found himself much deeper than drugs on the streets these days. He hadn't used regularly in years now, but wouldn't pass up a free offer that came his way every so often. His two enjoyments, drugs and money, eventually couldn't coexist, and in the end the money won out. He could always buy more drugs, but if he fucked his job up, he'd be replaced quickly.

A quick bullet to the back of the head would be his pink slip.

When one doesn't like their boss in The Underground you don't simply quit your job like you would a fast food restaurant. A simple, but polite, "Hey, sorry, but I don't think things are gonna work out for me here," didn't quite end business relationships. Most would cut you loose, or just simply cut you. They'd either abandon you to the merciless, rabid Underground without their protection, or they'd simply have you killed. Even independent mercenaries have their regular clients they rarely say no to. But if the opportunity came along for anyone to go freelance again, to get out from under their current employer, they'd usually take it.

He did take it.

If you took the most heartless, cruel, most vicious female with the coldest cunt alive, you'd have his employer. There was only one redeeming quality that made him not totally despise her, and that was her amazingly sexy body, and even cuter face. If he were to guess, he'd say she was in her late twenties. In reality, Isis, as she called herself, was closer to her mid to late thirties. Her blue eyes were like strobes of light that seemed to cut into him like knives. He had never seen another siamese with eyes like that; so full of emptiness. Sure she was hot as the fires of hell, but he still wouldn't mind seeing her die.

He'd seen what she'd do if someone tried to walk away from her, which is why Terwilliger never had. One had kids and didn't like where they were going with the operation, the other had disappointed her, and there was one she had shot just because she "felt" like it.

Just like that.

By the time he realized just how screwed he was, it was too late and Isis had him snared in her web. So, when someone asked him if he'd be interested in removing Isis from power, he said very much so.

As Terwilliger walked through the warehouse Isis had taken up as her office space, he had a folder in his paw. Pushing open her office door, he strolled over to the only desk in the large room. There she sat looking as tempting as ever, only Terwilliger knew better. Isis didn't even look up at him from what she was reading.

"Yes Mr. Terwilliger, do you have what I asked for?" Her velvety voice requested, not missing a line of reading. Terwilliger always thought it was creepy how she could do that. It was like she was a machine or something.

Terwilliger cleared his throat. "Uh... yes ma'am." He replied, jumping slightly. He slowly placed the folder on her desk. Her head snapped up, looking at him, a cold chill whipping up and down his spine like tiny fingers of sharpened ice.

Grabbing his folder she stacked one on top of the other, and opened the top. "And this was the best you could find?" She asked abruptly.

"Umm..." Terwilliger stumbled, "the best in Arcadia for what we need." Looking down, he noticed she already had opened a file detailing another faction it seemed. Trying to read upside down, he couldn't make out who the file was on or what the hell they called themselves. Was it The Nine Pillars?

He watched as Isis's flawless paws open the folder he handed her; deep blue eyes scanning over the material. They shot across the pages, then back quickly. "Impressive." Isis said aloud, placing this new file over the one she already had open. Her brow furrowed as she continued to read. "This one," she said, eyes darting back up at him, "where'd you find him?"

"Friend of a friend." Terwilliger replied. "Says he does the best work he's ever seen."

"He's been out of the game awhile..." Isis noted, reading over the multitude of information. "Retired?"

"Laying low." The hare corrected. "I was told he might need some..." he paused for a moment, considering his words, "convincing."

"Money?" Isis asked, raising an eyebrow "That won't be an issue."

"Eh..." Terwilliger shook his head. "I think it's more along the lines of lack of motivation."

The striking siamese feline in her black pinstripe suit slowly leaned back in her chair. "Then we find a pressure point, and squeeze." She nodded at her own plan. "Yes. That is how we'll proceed from here."

"We already have an in." Terwilliger informed her, feeling confident in himself now.

She slowly looked up. "I'm impressed." Her paws moved to her lap, folding over each other. "Who do we know?"

The hare reached down and turned over a page in the folder, then pointed to a picture. "Apparently they're buddies or something."

"I see..." Isis nodded. "He's in Arcadia too?"

"Conveniently enough, yes." Terwilliger confirmed. "We weren't planning on going there until the sale was final, but it might not be a bad idea to go set up shop." There. He finally said it. He had finally proposed moving their operation to Arcadia, even though he despised that city. Unfortunately, it had to be done.

"I want proof." Isis spat going back to the two folders, both laying wide open on her desk.

For a second Terwilliger stood there a little dumbfounded. He had just handed her a very detailed dossier on things and people that wasn't ever supposed to exist.

"Proof?" Terwilliger asked, scowling. "What more proof do you want?" He laughed slightly. "I just handed you sensitive information that this guy would probably kill to have buried." Another chill whipped up and down his spine. "Don't let his boyish charm fool you, he's a killer... and then some."

"In your absence, Mr. Terwilliger, I already looked into perspective mercenaries and I found another I believe to be satisfactory." She leaned back in her chair, sharp blue eyes piercing through Terwilliger. "You're pitting a team of mercenaries against one..." she looked down at the folder, "fox?" She finished. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were doing this to humor me."

"No!" Terwilliger explained immediately. "That's not it at all!" Images of past employees of Isis's flashed through his head. The hare didn't like where this conversation was headed. All the same, he had explicit instructions to make sure Isis went with his guy. That part, he had been told by his "friend", was nonnegotiable. "I trust my friend that turned me on to him. If he says-"

"Relax, Mr. Terwilliger." Isis replied in a placid tone. "I wasn't being facetious about the subject at paw." She shook her head. "I believe you're smarter than to try and pull something like that. Regardless, I know nothing of this mercenary and was willing to go forward with contacting The Nine Pillars. Their dachshund was going to be point-man. " She explained. "Howsoever, now that I see this fox, I want to know if he's worth our time; if the few can stand ground against the many. I'll make contact with our collateral, set up a meeting. We'll see who is the better soldiers of fortune, won't we?"

This wasn't looking good. The Nine Pillars were never supposed to be a part of this equation. Terwilliger needed Isis to choose this guy. By hook or by crook, Terwilliger was going to find a way to get this guy involved. It was how he'd get back on top again. "I don't think that's really necessary." He tried to talk Isis out of her plan. "That could waste a lot of time and -"

"Money?" Isis asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's one resource we don't have a shortage of. You see, Mr. Terwilliger," she continued, "I only want the most efficient people under me. Not some trigger-happy merc." Slowly her eyes scanned over both folders, taking in the information. "We'll see who's the more efficient of the two, and go with that one. Our sale date, which is still a few weeks away, cannot be changed. We might as well make sure we have the right people for the job. Meanwhile, I want to know everything about him." She commanded as her index finger came crashing down on a black and white photograph of a dark fox.

"Everything?" Terwilliger asked, raising an eyebrow. Clearly, Isis wasn't changing her mind.

"Everything." Isis replied, nodding slowly. "If all this information you've retrieved is correct, that changes the situation substantially. We leave for Arcadia tomorrow."

Terwilliger nodded, and turned to leave, feeling frustrated with Isis. At least he got her to consider him. Now it was down to this fox. He better be as good as his "friend" assured Terwilliger he was. Otherwise, they'd both end up dead. As he started to walk away, he watched Isis pick up her phone. He hated Arcadia, and had no desire to return. But if there was a chance to get out from under Isis's iron fist, he'd gladly visit that brothel breeding ground. His "friend", as Terwilliger had put earlier, told him these were the steps in becoming an independent man again. The best part was, this "friend" had paid Terwilliger to give Isis that fox's profile.

Whatever. He only had a few more weeks until the sale. He could tolerate this bitch for that much longer. As he neared the door, his ears caught her voice as she spoke to herself.

"Michael Philip Stallard." She said to the room. Terwilliger's paw met the door handle, twisting it and opening the door. He exhaled slowly and continued his march. "It's been a long time..." He heard her say as he pulled the door to her office shut with a bang.