Black Flame

Chapter 11: The Outcasts

"I'm telling you man, give it a month or two, and we'll be getting so many orders for our stuff that we won't even be able to keep up with the demand," Felix said as he drove down the dark road, his head facing forwards towards the lights of Sanctuarium that were visible in the distance.

"You've been saying that for half a year now," Salam said with a plain tone.

"This stuff takes time Salam. After all, Sanctuarium wasn't built in a day," Felix replied, lifting his hand off of the steering wheel for a moment to gesture before returning to it. "Nothing good ever happens quickly."

"I suppose you're correct," Salam conceded. "But we only ever get word about it being good. Never does anyone more of it. Perhaps they throw the stuff out and just say it's good?"

"Pfft! We just deal with too many dirt-poor losers. They simply can't buy more vials, that's all," Felix responded with a dismissive shrug, not taking his eyes off the road.

"I don't think so."

"Yeah? Why don't you think so Salam? You know something I don't?" Felix asked sarcastically.

"I believe I have an idea."

"Tell me it then."

"It's your presentation."

"What do you mean by that?" Felix asked as he spotted an upcoming Militia checkpoint, a feature that every road in and out of Sanctuarium possessed except for a singular road that led to the city trade depot, an area where delivery trucks from both Sanctuarium and the U.A.R would park to load and unload cargo.

"You don't sell it well enough. You scare them off."

"What?"

"You describe it as an amazing product, but then advertise it as a poison by mentioning the side effects," Salam said matter of factly. "Why not lie about the side effects or just leave out that information? You don't have a problem with lying about anything else you sell."

"Because dead customers can't pay," Felix stated bluntly. "I'm a little more careful when it comes to peddling something that can either be the best thing ever to a guaranteed death sentence if you drink an ounce too much."

"Okay," Salam conceded with a sigh, leaning back against the passenger seat as Felix rolled up to the checkpoint, which consisted of a roadblock and a small building, with a truck visible behind the building, the whole area illuminated by the glow of a massive bonfire which burned steadily next to the small structure. There the Militia stood, dressed in an assortment of civilian clothes and old military fatigues from a time long since passed. Worn over their clothes were brown canvas vests in which were solid steel plates ,an extra layer of brown pouches and slots sewed into the canvas, in which the Militia were able to store their ammunition and equipment.

The Militiamen watched as Felix slowed down and parked in front of the roadblock, with a lone pale-skinned Militia Officer dressed in a pair of jeans and a camouflaged jacket stepping away from the fire and walking towards the driver-side window. Clipped to his belt was a holster, an M1910 tucked snugly inside, along with a sheathe containing a long and thin fixed-blade stiletto, a dagger that was common amongst the Officers of the Militia.

"Ah shit... that's not Captain Pompey..." Felix muttered quietly under his breath, as the armed Officer reached the window and tapped on the glass, trying to get Felix's full attention.

"Roll down the window," the Officer commanded, his voice gruff and slightly nasally as if he had been smoking.

"Why?" Felix responded coolly, refusing to roll down the window despite the fact the Officer's request