Chapter 2
As I finished that sentence, I knew the mistake I made right then and there. Arnuk stood up in his full eight-foot height. His long black hair and brown duster made him look like a pissed off cowboy. His brown eyes turned red with rage. I forgot how much he loved books.
He stomped forward with his steel toed boot and shoved the book in my face.
"Brom, this book is a classic, and I will read it as many times as I want. Yes, they give a wrong description of orcs, but it is the story that grabs me. Yes, The movie is fantastic, but it will never hold up to this book and my imagination. Of course, you will be like everyone else and says the movie is better. This is why I'm not a fan of people and stay in my gunsmith lab. Maybe once in a while don't follow the sheep and pick up a damn book!" said Arnuk.
I stepped back, not wanting to keep his rant from escalating even more. I swear he is in the wrong business; he should have been a librarian. But I doubt from the way he looks people would rent any books, especially with his teeth protruding when he closes his mouth.
"OK, cut the rant Mr. Sensitive. Can you tell me why you woke me up this morning? I thought I had a day off. Didn't we already take out a terrorist cell last week?" I asked.
Arnuk composed himself and put his book back in his secret pocket of his duster. "Oh, right, sorry about that; you know how I am with my literature. I can't get enough of it. Well, your day off is done. The boss called us and we need to head to hallway twenty-three, conference room AB."
As Arnuk and I walked around the many halls of the compound, the other workers always have a second look at us. We have worked for this company for a couple of years now, yet people are still surprised. Like they haven't seen a dwarf and an orc walking side by side. It is the year 2050, that type of thinking should be washed under the table. Well, I can't blame people in the company for looking. Most of the coworkers are elves and humans.
There are a couple of minotaurs who work in the basement, but we are the odd men out. I think that is why we get the crazy missions. When we walked toward the room, a new janitor passed by with his bucket and immediately froze in fear. I guess a dwarf with scars across his face and a muscle-bound orc, who looks like he can crush your head with one hand, can make any little human crap his pants. We just moved the poor guy over and head to the door.
Right on the spot, the room smelled like an ashtray. The smell came from one person, our boss, John Saint. It's always a wonder how a talking mole became the head this whole mercenary company. Arnuk and I always try to hold our laughter in. Seeing a four-foot mole, with a cigar that is too big for him, is always a good laugh. Maybe this mole is some lost god who could destroy this world. John was always an enigma to us warriors. The conference room always felt cramped, that is why most of the time we think John could just send us the mission details through our emails. But John loved hearing the sound of his booming voice in the room. He crushed his cigar in the ashtray and looked up with a stern face.
"What the hell took you two so long to get down here? You two braiding each other's hair and talking about your feelings? Made me wait so long that the cigar lost its taste. Now, let's get down to the nitty-gritty. Here in my hands is a file from the higher ups," John said in a voice so deep that it felt kind of ridiculous coming from him.
John got the chip and inserted it through the tube next to the computer. The screen expanded around the room, engulfing it with pictures of Senator Bartholmue Lightfoot. The man was a saint around the cities, all over the country. Helping pass bills across Congress and helping people. Arnuk took out a notepad and began scribbling down notes. John walked, took out a remote, and pressed to the next screen. I leaned over to look at a truly revolting sight: pictures of dismembered bodies all over a marble floor.
