The rhythmic clatter of horses' hooves against a concrete road and the low murmur of men talking were the only things Darrel could hear. A thick bag was over his head, completely blocking his eyesight, leaving him alone in the darkness of his own mind.

  He was heartbroken, his thoughts consumed by the massacre that had occurred a mere twenty minutes ago. "My fault..." he whispered under his breath. A tear tracked through the dirt on his cheek, though no sob escaped his mouth.

  "It is my fault..." Darrel repeated the phrase over and over, both in the silence of his head and in the quiet of the night air. All he could focus on was the weight of that singular decision. The command to turn north, back to Lockwood.

  He felt stupid. He was angry, burning with a rage directed entirely at himself. He had thought his life was finally getting better, it had been hard, yes, but improving. He had foolishly believed the world was finally being kind to him, finally showing him grace, only to have it ripped away.

  "You alive in there!" one of the horsemen shouted. Harsh laughter rang out around him as the bag was suddenly yanked from his head. The moonlight assaulted his eyes, bright and stinging.

  As his vision cleared, he saw a gate in front of him, a massive, looming structure. Emblazoned on the metal doors was the same insignia from the banners. An eye, circled by a sheriff's star, a construction drill, and a cherry blossom tree.

  "Welcome to the rest of your days, meat bag," the horseman sneered. The Governor rode forward. "Open Up!"

  As soon as the order was given, the gates groaned open. It was clear this man held absolute power here, he was undeniably in charge. As the horses walked the group inside, Darrel looked around.

  He saw a city, a huge one, but it wasn't a metropolis of skyscrapers and trains. It was a sprawling town of western buildings and wood, with horses everywhere. In the far distance, however, he spotted another gate. This one was blue, a stark contrast to the brown wood of this district. It was far away, but it was proof that there were levels to this place.

  "Take him to the calaboose, we will talk later," the Governor commanded. "Yes, Sir," the horseman replied.

  The convoy stopped, and the two horsemen accompanying the Governor dragged Darrel off his horse and onto the dirt ground. Darrel did not fight them, he couldn't. He had no fight left in him.

  A door opened, and the moonlight was cut off as he was shoved inside. It was dark in this place. The metal door creaked shut, the lock engaging with a heavy thud, and Darrel was left in a cell. He sat up and leaned against the cold wall, just thinking.

  He tapped his fingers against the ground rhythmically, trying to drown out the maddening sound of a leaking pipe dripping somewhere above him.

  "You—You okay mister?" a voice asked, followed by a cough. Darrel turned to see another man sitting on the metal bench next to him, he had been too lost in thought to notice he wasn't alone. The man wore a large farmer's hat and a necklace featuring a symbol of a clock with two white hands.

  "I'm fine," Darrel muttered. The man, Deqavious, adjusted his posture slightly. "You don't look fine, you got blood all over you..."

  Darrel snapped. "My friends were killed in front of me with no mercy... is that what you want to hear?"

  Deqavious paused, his demeanor shifting from curiosity to pity. "Oh. I am... truly sorry sir. I thought you were thrown in here for the same reason I was. My name is Deqavious by the way."

  Darrel looked at him properly for the first time. "Which was?"

  Deqavious shrugged. "Oh, uhm. Stealing medicine. I have COPD so I need it to relax my airways... and if I don't use it I lose lung function a lot quicker."

  Darrel nodded slowly. "So it's like a lung disease."

  Deqavious nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Exactly like that."

  Darrel looked away, back to the ground, and began tapping his finger once more. "Where are you going to go once you get out?" he asked.

  "Not sure," Deqavious replied. "Probably near a big city so I can get my meds, but who knows how many of those are left."

  Darrel looked back at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

  Deqavious blinked. "What, about the meds?"

  Darrel shook his head. "No, no. About the city part."

  Deqavious's face went cold for a moment. "Do you not know what's been happening for the past five-ish years?"

  Darrel swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "No, me and my crew we... We lived in the wild for the most part, only going into a city when we really needed to."

  Deqavious stared at him. "So. You don't know where you're sitting right now."

  Darrel frowned. "Well, I mean I know this place is called The Agency, but I'm not sure what that means."

  Deqavious looked shocked that Darrel had no idea of the scale of the organization holding them prisoner.

  "They're the largest and biggest faction in the entire world. They came out of nowhere about six years ago and just took power in a snap."

  Deqavious looked down at his hands, his voice dropping. "When they showed up, they invaded towns, cities, small areas, and slaughtered their people. They claimed it was for a cause, and they would expend any cost to get to their goal."

  Darrel leaned in quickly. "Did they burn the cities and make tornados!?"

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Deqavious looked confused. "Uhm, no? They just went in and killed people with guns and chemical warfare. They say that the world was dying, suffering because not enough resources were available. So they killed billions of people in a matter of no time."

  Deqavious took off his hat and placed it on his lap. "They put everyone under the same banner, the same flag. The flag of the Agency. But a group is trying to rebel against them. They call themselves the Outlaws. The Agency is currently at war with them, but only five Outlaws remain. All in hiding."

  Darrel’s mind raced back to the moment Uriel was shot in the car. There were five. Five of them: Darrel, Uriel, Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel. That was why they attacked, and why the Governor sent the horsemen away after learning that Darrel's group were not the actual Outlaws.

  "I still find it strange how the Agency showed up out of nowhere," Deqavious continued. "With hundreds of thousands of soldiers. All trained in different conditions and specialties. Literally in the first week of their appearance they had over 500,000 soldiers. With weapons beyond us. It's just so strange."

  Darrel nodded grimly. "It is."

  The sound of doors opening and slamming against the wall filled the room. A man wearing a uniform that paralleled the Governor's walked into the cell block and unlocked Darrel's door.

  "You," the guard said stiffly. "The Governor demands your presence. I shall take you to his office."

  Darrel was dragged out of the jail and back outside into the night. They walked down the dirt roads, and Darrel watched as people traded, worked out, and trained. An entire functioning society in this one town.

  They turned a corner and began walking toward a tower that pierced the skies. It was made of perfect white marble with brown trim on the sides, an imposing monolith. There was no door at the foot of the tower, only an elevator that was already open.

  They walked inside and the man pushed a button. It was not a floor number, but a symbol, a sheriff's badge. There were three other buttons. A construction drill, a cherry blossom, and the full insignia seen on the banner.

  The elevator moved very quickly, faster than Darrel expected, and they arrived at the floor as the doors slid open with a ding. The man pushed Darrel out, removed his handcuffs, and ordered him to take the first door on the right. The elevator closed behind him, leaving Darrel alone in the hallway.

  He walked toward a giant window situated between the left and right doors and looked out. He was stunned. A city of western design spanned for hundreds of miles, he couldn't see the end of it. To the right of the western town, he saw that blue gate again.

  From this height, he could see slightly over the wall to the other side. It was a modern city, not futuristic, just modern.

  "Holy shit..." Darrel whispered. He backed away from the glass and turned right, toward the door.

  He opened it, and there he was. The Governor. His hat was on the table, and his mustache gleamed with a brown hue that was all too noticeable.

  "Sit," the Governor said. "We have much to discuss."

  Darrel took a seat slowly, trying to contain the heating rage he felt inside, but he couldn't do anything, the Governor's Colt-96 sat directly next to him on the desk.

  "What do you want," Darrel spat.

  The Governor smiled, recognizing the anger. He put his feet up on the desk. "I want to offer you something you cannot refuse. I want you to work for me, Darrel Roanshaw. As a General for my District's army."

  Darrel looked at him in disbelief. "Are you crazy? I would never work for you. EVER!"

  "You say that..." the Governor mused, "But you know it's not true. You will work for me, whether you like it or not, Darrel. This is my world now."

  The Governor took his feet off the desk, his face growing serious. "I am power, Darrel. I decide what lives and what dies. I decide whether you get to see the sunrise today."

  Darrel’s face grew stern. "Why me? Why do you want me?"

  The Governor leaned forward. "Because you're smart. You called for your Legion to retreat into the woods, you called for you and that other man to surrender. You made all the right calls."

  Darrel stood up from his chair in a blind rage. "THE OTHER MAN YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT WAS MY FRIEND! HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT HIM LIKE THAT. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HIS NAME."

  The Governor didn't flinch. "Michael."

  Darrel paused, the air sucked out of his lungs. "Ho—How did you know that..."

  The Governor sat back and lit a cigar. "You see, Darrel, you think I am evil, a monster even. But I am not. I am simply doing everything in my power to make sure I and the Agency prosper. That this world stays intact."

  He took a big puff of the cigar and let out a sigh. "I know the name of every single person I kill, and I hold onto them. Because the difference between me and a monster is the fact I feel guilt for everyone I kill. I remember them, I reach out to their families and explain."

  Darrel sat back down, confused and horrified.

  "Before you came here, I had my men search your friends we killed. I called Michael's parents. Who do not live in Lumenhaven anymore, they live here. In the City District...as for the others. We could not get in contact with any family."

  He paused. "I am evil. But I am evil for good. I will never forget your friends, Darrel. Never. But that does not mean I can spare mercy or pity. If I did, this place would fall apart."

  Darrel's expression was indescribable. He was confused, yet he wasn't. It made sense, what the Governor was saying. It made cruel, awful sense.

  "You are smart," the Governor continued, "and I think with enough training you can become something greater than ever before."

  Darrel looked up. "Great?"

  The Governor nodded. "Yes."

  Darrel went from hating the idea of working for the man who killed his friends to actually considering it.

  "That night... at Lockwood," the Governor said suddenly. Darrel immediately looked up. "What about it!?"

  The Governor held his gaze. "I can help you find out what happened. We, the people of the Agency... we will help you find out the truth."

  That promise was too grand to ignore. It meant too much to him.

  "I'll do it!" Darrel said. "I'll work for you..."

  The Governor smiled, so wide his lips bled slightly. "Good, very good."

  He pressed a button on his desk and spoke into a microphone. "Dorian, he is ready for you."

  Just ten seconds later, a man in a black jacket with an eye patch covering his left eye walked into the room. "Darrel, meet Dorian. The second leader of the Agency. Ruler over the City District."

  Dorian nodded politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Darrel. I'll have you come with me."

  He walked out of the room and signaled Darrel to follow. Darrel stood, but before he closed the door behind him, he turned around to see the Governor now facing away, staring out a window.

  "Wait," Darrel asked. "How do you know about Lockwood..."

  The Governor spoke without turning around, taking a puff of his cigar, his tone strange and distant. "I know a lot more about this world than you would think, Mister Roanshaw. Good night to you."

  Darrel walked out of the room and back into the elevator with Dorian. They rode the elevator back down, and Dorian walked with Darrel to the gate of the City District.

  The gates opened seamlessly for Dorian. As they walked through, Darrel was in awe that two types of cities, so different from one another, could exist right next to each other.

  He saw cars, street vendors, and people walking on the streets. Everyone looked happy, wealthy, perfect.

  They walked a bit further and reached a skyscraper, it wasn't as tall as the center tower, but it was massive. Inside, the scene was chaotic yet organized. People trading stocks and scientists testing chemicals all in the same room.

  Dorian led Darrel down to the basement. It was huge, but cleaner, more sterile than the rest.

  "I'm here to teach you things, Darrel," Dorian said, his voice echoing in the stark room. "Things people out there don't need to know about."

  Darrel approached him slowly. "What kind of things?"

  Dorian did not respond verbally. He just stared at Darrel, raised his hands, and clapped.

  Instantly, he vanished into nothing, leaving small blue particles floating in the air where he had stood. Darrel turned around in shock, and there he stood behind him, Dorian.

  Darrel understood just then. He was not here to learn how to fight with guns. He was here to learn something different.

  Something supernatural.