Locke was hanging out with Henry, Justin, and of course Tibs. the uslay group. Sitting in the high point bar, that sat next to a river. They were in the capital city of Iberia. Of course Locke was a Norman, and he got some flank from it. But his friends had no complaints. Together they were at their spot, at a table by a window that gave them a view of the road and the bridge that crossed the river.
Locke was being rowdy with his friends. They had just done a small heist. Because of course they weren't just a normal friend group. They were a part of the anti-war movement led by key. Locke was known by Locke though. His friends called him John. Their anti-war movement was multiple group arcorres cities and towns that would attack military factories and steal from them . they would also spread news about the death and the horrible conditions of the war.
They found John ages ago hanging out by the bridge, the group took him in and found a liking to him, he was quite gifted in finding out when shipments would arrive. Today they had just stolen six hundred Ibreain dollars from a shipment of rifles. They usually will sell them to the Nelson trading company.
John’s friends were drinking, John didn't, he never liked alcohol after moving to Iberia. As a group they were rowdy and loud. No one was outside. It was too late. With only the moon and the haphazardly placed lamp posts The bartender, a nice woman called Jean, was cleaning glasses at the bar. And a gentle rain patted against the window. John loved the gentle noises being mixed with the laughter and banter. It helped him focus.
The door creaked open loudly as it never got oiled. And Eric, a fencer that John was friends with, walked though. Eric knew that John’s name was actually Locke. He had moved over with him.
Eric took off his cap, to show bright red hair, like orange flames licking his head. And waved to John to come over. John did.
“Look over there.” Eric said pointing out of the door out into the night time street. Out in the rain a young man, no more than 19 stood there. A slightly too large overcoat that was a faint blue. With patches on them, as if there were badges sewn on that had been ripped off. It reminded Locke of the Normandy uniforms. One of the sleeves of the coat was tarred at the edge and reddened. With dripps of red dripping with the rain down on the stone road.
The young man was standing on the side of the bridge. Looking over into the river. Only having a small stone barrier coming up to his thighs. He seemed to be teetering forward and backwards as if a little drunk.
Locke was worried. He instantly knew what Eric was thinking. And swore inwardly.
“That's the same place the other one stood at”
“Yeah. I know…. I'll talk with him. Go talk with Tibs.” Locke said. Waving Eric to go.
“You sure? I could go with you. Business can wait.” Eric replayed. Locke stroked his chin covering his mouth doing so. He always did so when he had to think hard. His mind buzzed. Should he. The boy had blood on him, he could be dangerous. Why call him a boy, he's barely younger than me. the last person that stood there had jumped. The whole group saw it. Including Eric. Since then. Three more had jumped. It was horrible. Every time we barely laughed for days. Why can't they think about not hurting us!
I was there once hurting. But I was brought inside. I made friends. I could do it for this young man. But the blood scared me. I wasn’t really a fighter. Other than my illegal knife tucked on my belt, I had no way to fight. And if he was a redbrand he would whip the floor with me.
If he was dangerous. What if he had only gotten mugged. And was slashed. He could be hurting like me.
Locke started getting anxious. Ruining his hand across his head. And his other hand tapped against his leg. He waved Eric by.
I’ll do it. If it was a mistake, I can take it. Just let's not get stabbed. Locke took a breath, grabbed his heavy coat, downend on his cap, and walked out the door.
The rain pattered down on Locke as he walked out. The city smells wafted into his nose. Making him miss the smells of his old home. When he was four meters away from the young man he called out.
“Hello” no response. Locke walked closer. “Hello fellow soldier.” This made the young man jerk his head. Almost looking back. But keeped his face forward. What's up with him? Locke thought to himself.
When Locke was only a meter away, he called out one last time. “Could you step away please.” Then the rope snapped.
The young Norman hands clenched at his side, and he jumped. Locke dove for him, tackling him down on the little ledge. Holding him down.
Locke went into panic, his mind racing faster and faster trying to figure out what to do. He was completely focused on the young man; he didn't see the uniformed men being led by the tall man with a cap on his head and the long trench coat. The uniformed men carried bats and police knives at their hips. Their uniformed were white wit
Locke was able to drag the young man away from the edge, and push him to the ground. Now what. Locke thought to himself. The young man stood up and that was the first time Locke saw his face.
It was… sad. The eyes had dark circles around it and the eye was a faded red color. The face was sunken. He looked like he was starving. Locke could barely see his body as the oversized coat covered it.
With fury on his face the young man sukered punched Locke. Locke relied back gasping and gagging. The power of the punch was above any punch he had ever been punched by. The guards called out but Locke couldn’t hear them. That punch had completely downed him. The only thoughts he had was pain.
Locke gagged some more, trying to hold his dinner in. A few more seconds passed and Locke was helped by some of the police. Locke stood up and noticed the police, the young man was also being held by two guards. Now looking at the young man Locke says that his face had been filled back up, it wasn’t sunken anymore.
Locke knew exactly what was happening. He was a red brand.
“Hey!” the coarse voice of the policeman entered his mind.
Now what Locke thought.