Agent Atlantis

Chapter 3-Hellfire

It wasn't just cars the military cared for; they wanted anything that could be scrapped. The building in the center plaza had been originally made of steel and glass, like any other modern city. However, a few months before Luke freed Portsmouth, Western Artenian soldiers had literally bulldozed through the existing structures and bounded off with the resources, leaving the townspeople with nothing —not even food.

It had taken them a while to build up everything again, but they had learned. Instead of steel, they had used wood and thatch—materials that could be quickly taken from Central Artena's abundant forests if the West Artenians invaded again. As Luke bounded past a blacksmith shop, he thought he saw an old radio on a counter—one of the village's only remnants of the modern roots.

Soon, the buildings turned from neat, smooth wood into the unorderly chaos of the slums downtown. The dirt road reeked of human fecal matter, and stray dogs sniffed through trash bags for food. As Luke walked past, the animals begrudgingly moved out of his way.

Luke didn't mind. Because he was preoccupied with something else.

The road halted abruptly in front of a tiny house. It was a sagging mess, built with broken planks of wood patched up by plastic bags, ready to collapse with a slight breeze. The place looked like the stereotypical haunted house in movies, yet a crowd of townspeople had gathered before it, encircling something—or someone.

Luke pushed through the gathering of people, trying to ignore the smell of dirt, garbage, and body odor. The people gave him glares but let him pass until he was at the front, having a clear view of what was transpiring. 

Inside the circle of the crowd, a mother was shielding her frightened son from the blows of an angry man. "I gave you two extra hours because I'm nice!" he bellowed, kicking the mother. "Now pay up!"

Behind him, two bulky men stood on guard. At first, Luke thought they were tense because their employer was resorting to force, but then he realized they were worried about the crowd. Their arms and legs were in calculated positions, ready to shield their boss immediately.

Their anxiousness was understandable, however; there were enough bystanders that, if they all charged at the loan shark, not even two martial artists could hold their ground. But the crowd was only that—bystanders. The people around Luke were watching in fear, not in anger.

A man he was squished up against seemed to notice his confusion. "We all owe money to that hoodlum," he muttered. "He'll charge double interest to whoever steps in to help."

"How'd you get into this mess in the first place?" Luke asked. "There's got to be a less risky option."

"You must be new to town," the man said with a dry chuckle. "A week ago, we were saved from the tyranny of West Artena by a god named Hellfire."

Oh, here we go again, Luke groaned. 

"But even Hellfire couldn't reverse the destruction the West Artenians left in their wake," the man continued in a grave tone. "We were suffering, with no food for us or our children, no resources to build our infrastructure, and no money to buy materials. Then the loaners flooded our city. They promised to give us money to get back onto our feet and then some. Unfortunately, in our delight, most of us signed the contracts they gave us without reading a sentence." His eyes were sad as he watched the mother drop to the ground, unconscious and bleeding. "As it turns out, the documents were riddled with clauses and technicalities that made it legal for them to increase the interest rate by an infinite amount if we went even a minute over the collection day—and coupled with collection days being every few days . . . well, we're all in heavy debt." The man sighed. "No doubt we've disappointed Hellfire—our only help and savior."