To Dragoon the policeman, Town-4 was a great place, if you took away the violence in the apartments, to which he was assigned to.

It was almost noon at that time, and he was patrolling, his polished boots clicking on the cobblestoned ground, whistling a happy tune.

Unlike his squad leader, Metro, or his childhood friend, Imppala, Dragoon cared about his appearance. This was evident at the meticulous care he had given his uniform. Unlike Metro or Imppala, he actually ironed and washed it everyday, and actually bothered buying new sets were there a single tear in it. Metro and Imppala did not appreciate quality, instead choosing to save money rather than their appearances, a virtue of theirs Dragoon could not comprehend. Why would cost be an issue compared to your appearance in the end?

Indeed, Metro is a money whore. And, by extension, so is Imppala, because he had gotten close to her and inherited that particular trait of hers. Before they ever got transferred to Town-4 to help out with security, Imppala was always neat and tidy. But, look at him now! Looking more and more like Metro by the day.

He ran a hand through his black spiky hair. Now that I think about it, I don’t fit in with them at all… I mean, why am I even patrolling alone? He shook off sudden feelings of insecurity. Of course I’m patrolling alone. How many crimes are committed at noon, anyway?

Oh, Metro. Dragoon actually liked that girl. Independent, strong, brave. You don’t get that in many female fighters, actually. Sure, they hold a sword, they shoot guns, they’re bad ass and everything, but then they’re still pretty weak at the end of the day. In addition to that, Metro was a veteran. And most veterans were boys.

However, I heard that Cavalry clan has… One, two, three female veterans. Cool.

He walked past the houses as he patrolled, eager to end his shift and have a cold cup of water. The sun, even at this time of day, was quite merciless.

‘Nothing peculiar happened around here,’ Dragoon said to himself, stretching his limbs. ’Ending patro…..What the?’ His voice trailed off as he saw one of the last houses in the area.

Its door was covered in blood.

‘****,’ Dragoon swore, approaching it with tentative steps. This sort of thing, even in the Apartments, doesn’t happen everyday.

Pressing his back against the wall, edging towards the half open door, peering through, heart thumping. A domestic nightmare, this house. No, it was every living person’s nightmare. He knew many fighters who would do something like this if allowed. And that makes the culprit very hard to find. Which makes the area very dangerous, by extension. This was slaughter at its finest.

The whole house…. Covered in blood and bits of organ and brains. Dead bodies.

Dragoon could feel the screams locked in their throats. This lingering… Despair. Fear.We were killed, defenseless. Like pigs in a slaughter house. What will you do, Dragoon? Will you avenge us?

Dragoon shook the voices out of his head, muttering under his breath. He knew not whether to be utterly terrified, or just plain annoyed.

‘Stupid fighter causing trouble,’ he said, trying to sound braver than he was.

A firm grip on his katana, Dragoon snapped out a foot, kicking the door wide open, and darted in with the other. At first he was in his stance, his sapphire eyes scanning through the room. Finding no other presence, he relaxed and let go of his katana.

Just a regular massacre… I reckon the fighter has le–

Creak.

Dragoon tensed, eyes narrowing. He heard that.

‘Who’s there?’ He called out, keeping his voice firm, but there was still a tremor in it.

Another creak; closer now.

‘Show yourself!’

The slamming of boot against floorboards behind him—

Dragoon spun around, snapping his sword out instinctively as he vaguely spotted the blur of another blade. A sharp clashing of metal at the point of impact. Rattled, he staggered back. The figure in front of him dashed towards him in another slash. Yelping, flaring at the extent of this man’s dishonor, he parried the next blow, the impact throwing him off balance, making him fall backwards. He hurriedly planted a foot behind him, barely finding strength to prevent himself from falling.

The whooshing of air dashing as his opponent attempted to seize the momentary opening.

Dragoon saw that.

He desperately rolled backwards as a last resort without checking what was behind him, painfully crashing into a wall -which seemed to exist simply for the purpose of blocking his path-, just avoiding the next slash, which grazed the sole of his shoe.

Even as he lifted himself upright, the opponent closed in, hammering blow upon blow onto his waning defense. Dragoon struggled to remain alert as he blocked the blade again, again, and again, panic building a nest in his stomach. No, he would not, could not let panic get the better of him. He gritted his teeth against it, cold sweat sheathing his forehead, dashing away from the wall and into more open space –

His opponent’s sword licked out, caught him in the shin—

Hot blood, searing pain. Dragoon snatched back the limb, pressed a palm against it in an attempt to curb the pain, but his opponent would not allow him to, immediately performing the butterfly spasm, the sound s of air dashing and crashing objects filling the room. Dragoon cursed, his sword snapping back and forth, blood trickling out of the stray slashes his opponent made on his forearm—

And then, it got through, his collar bone erupting in pain and blood. Dragoon gasped in agony, falling back—

A sharp, acute pain as cold metal plunged through his stomach. His eyes filled with disbelief, watching as it went sideways… Watching…

Horror as his innards tumbled about his lap, followed by something warm and somewhat viscous.

Revelation; I am going to die.

He fell forwards, curling about the horrible wound he had sustained, half blinded with pain and disbelief. He couldn’t be dying… Was it possible? This must all be a dream, and when he woke up, he would see the sunlight again, and have his daily cigar…

Sudden shots of pain ensued. Dragoon gasped. No, this is not a dream… I… Really am dying…

The world seemed to be slower than usual. He stared up, seeing nothing but intelligible shadows, some light. Blur. Nothing was defined…

Wait…That’s my opponent… He thought. Yes, he saw it now… A human shaped… A man, dark hair, wearing all black, pale skin…

And…The Fable insignia.

Dragoon flared with sudden hate, but pain met him instead, making him yelp out, falling forwards, crumpling onto the floor.

The faces of his comrades flashed in the darkness, and his agony seemed strangely distant. A small sense of relief, then utter grief. Oh… how would Metro feel…?

Voices, from the outside world. Slowly, they grew softer. The world grew dark.

I’m so sorry, I screwed up, I’m so sorry…

Just as his world plunged into total darkness, he thought he felt a hand on his collar. Dragging…

Dragging…

——————–

Ooh, and Metro and Imppala thought he was fine.

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Corrupt gms ftw