PROLOGUE

The train stopped at the station, its doors flying open, and out one of the doors a couple of burly attendants threw a frantically resisting Ikavod out onto the pavement head first, closely followed by his large pack which hit him on the back as he attempted to get up closely followed then a by guitar he’d recently acquired which he managed to catch. He was a young man in his early twenties. His hair was scruffy and a little long. A bit of unkempt stubble collected on his chin. He had an air of bohemia about him although his fashion sense seemed to be more ‘grab ‘n’ run’ opposed to anything stylised.

He bounced violently about on the platform cussing and flipping birds at the train and the people on it before it started off on its way and he realised he was surrounded by people just… looking at him, all slightly bemused, some looking a little aggressive. He quickly quietened down and gathered his things and headed hurriedly away from the station, not having a clue where he was until he saw a sign saying ‘Welcome to Hathian’, the sign was pleasantly decorated with an array of bullet holes and bloodstains that reminded Ikavod exactly why he’d heard of this place before.

He stumbled unsurely out onto the filth-trodden streets. Keeping a tight hold of his pack and his guitar which he cradled close to his stomach. He’d heard stories from Hathian and wasn’t certain whether he believed them or not, either way he didn’t feel like he wouldn‘t prosper here. He’d always wanted to see the infamous city and because of this; he believed that getting thrown off the train at this specific stop was down to fate, and that there was something waiting for him here.

He pressed on, stopped for a coffee, sat down for a smoke, bought a copy of the local newspaper and gave it a quick flick through. Yes, he was certain he could survive here. It drew similarities in his mind of the wild west, and he imagined sitting around not doing much when a gangwar of epic volumes would collect in the streets and he and a few other locals would watch on as people got decapitated and shot like it was an everyday occurrence. He imagined scavenging the bodies of the dead too, picking them of their wallets and expensive items. Then he decided it’d probably be best to leave the crime to the professionals in this city. He knew that in places like this you could do as little as look at someone wrong and you’d get your cock cut off without a second of deliberation.

After a bit of exploring he found a quiet alleyway and being sure to avoid the excrement, dirty needles and broken glass he found a spot to sit on the floor. He laid out his things and allowed a hand to explore his bag, searching for his beloved notebook. A black leather-bound journal with a thin ribbon to keep the pages. He opened it up on a fresh one and fished a pen from his coat pocket before he began to spill his thoughts onto the page:

‘So Here I am, in America’s favourite cesspit. There are whores on almost every corner and the soothing smell of marijuana is heavy in the air. Crack-heads stumble from place to place and it looks as if everyone is concealing weapons, some of them even walk around brandishing them in public. I saw one woman with a cleaver… and I’m sure it was bloodstained.

What I expect to get from Hathian is this; excitement, cheap narcotics, experienced woman, flowing booze, a place to sleep and hopefully a few published articles in the paper here or elsewhere. It is the slum city I’ve always dreamed of, a paradise of debauchery, a hole of heretics! Hathian is the city I should’ve been born into - but until now I’ve had no reason to come here and to be honest, I’ve avoided it, but it doesn’t seem so bad. I’ve never been one for material possessions so there’s not much they can rid me of before they take my life, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that.’

With that, Ikavod slapped his journal closed and returned it to his satchel. He collected his things as he lifted himself upright. He would walk back out of the alleyway, observe the scene before him, take in a large deep breath, slowly exhale, and start his new life as a Hathian local.