[ IP ] A warm day in the town of undead

The plague ravaged its subject, relentlessly clawing off skin and flesh like the rind of a fruit, until nothing more was left than the hoary bone left underneath. The `` undead'' plague, as it unaptly named — as the afflicted are still very much alive — first manifested itself in the eye, turning the sclera black. Once you developed the `` black pearls,'' you were exiled into the Eastern part of the city. 
 
 Eastern London was walled off from the rest of the city — a twenty-five foot high wall, guarded constantly by the city sentinels. There are three official gates, but if you really wanted to get in or out, there were people you could contact who knew the way. 
 
 Jack Pryor was one of these people. 
 
 Jack rested quietly in the shade of an abandoned market stall, leaning back against some wooden paneling. He was waiting for the Eastern Market rush to pass. Every morning, a shipment of food and toiletries came in from the gates, and if you late to the market, you took home the scraps. 
 
 Jack brushed his jawline with his stiff fingers. Ivory dust on his fingertips meant his mask paint was rubbing off from the heavy heat. He did n't have much time to make this delivery. Jack eyed the embroidered envelope peeking out of his olive-green satchel. A hundred and fifty silver pieces was more than his last five payments combined. 
 
 The market rush had almost passed. He took a deep breath of the dusty heat, rose, and began to saunter to his destination. 
 
 It was important to walk slowly, because everyone in this part of town moved slowly. If you were running, it means you were running from something, or were a criminal. And so, the Eastern Market rush is a misnomer — no one moved faster than a weary, dehydrated mule. *There's no hurry. We're all already dead, anyway, * Jack mused, as he brushed passed a few bony bodies on their way to the market. 
 
 The destination for the letter was inside the upper ring, the area of the Eastern city designated for government officials. The fact that a separate impromptu government formed so quickly came to surprise as many. Jack knew better. *A city of only the poor and diseased would be soon to fall if there was no one to rule over them. * Rulers and subjects, the natural order of life. 
 
 He stood twenty meters from the gate to the upper ring. There were two watchmen, each holding an imperial spear, guarding the entrance, proving problematic. 
 
 The mouth of Jack's mask did n't move. As soon as he spoke, it would be obvious that he was an intruder, so conversing with the guards was not an option. But Jack had delivered to the upper ring before, and it would take too long to find a covert entrance. So he followed his only option. 
 
 He approached the guards slowly, keeping his head down as he moved. In the best case scenario, the guards would simply not notice the faults in his disguise. 
 
 `` Good day, gentlemen,'' Jack said, his head still tilted, `` I have a letter that needs to be delivered to the head of the high court.'' 
 
 `` Name, please,'' one of the guards responded. 
 
 `` Jack Pryor.'' 
 
 The other guard pulled out a small notebook and filed through the pages. `` You're not on the approved list of deliveries for today. I'm afraid you're going to have to leave.'' 
 
 Jack paused anxiously. 
 
 `` How about for 5 silver pieces each, you let me through to deliver this letter?'' 
 
 `` Are you bribing us?'' 
 
 The other guard tilted his head curiously, as if a thought physically struck him on his head. `` Look closely. There's seems to be strange shavings near his temple, some white flakes...'' 
 
 Jack turned and began to bolt, clutching his satchel carefully as to not lose the envelope. The air was dense and humid, and it reached out and tugged against his skin as he ran. 
 
 `` Get back here!'' 
 
 Jack quickly rounded a corner into a narrow alley, which slowly tapered off into a narrow opening barely wider than a human torso. He continued running, his arms beginning to scrape against the grating stone brick. He was sure he was bleeding, another tell that he did not belong in this realm of the undead. 
 
 *Who built this God damned city! * Jack muttered, as he tried to wedge past the last bit of alley. In front of him, peopled walked unsuspectingly in the street parallel from which he came. Only a few more feet until he could escape into the crowd, faceless once again. 
 
 A wiry, bony hand clutched Jack's ankle, and yanked his leg backwards. Jack anchored his hands against the wall, clawed to stay upright, his fingernails making a raw screech against the coarse grain of brick. With one final, rapid tug, the guard managed to pull Jack back toward him, and caused Jack to fall forward, his face colliding with the dusty ground. 
 
 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- 
 
 `` So why does a human trespass in our city?'' A robed figured skulked quietly in the shade of the room, as the afternoon sun struck Jack's now unmasked, sweat-painted face. Jack sat in a sturdy wooden chair, in an office room of some sort, with two guards behind him blocking the exit. 
 
 `` I'm a delivery boy.'' 
 
 `` And what, may I inquire, are you delivering?'' 
 
 One of the guards threw Jack's satchel onto the table, and the envelope slid out. It was a beautiful envelope, with a pure gold border that twisted into leaves in a vine-like pattern, sealed with the royal seal. Whoever sent the letter put a lot of effort into the packaging, whether they truly cared or not. 
 
 `` Who's the letter for?'' The robed figure asked. 
 
 `` One named Arthur Slater.'' 
 
 The robed figure stopped moving instantly, and the whole room froze, and even the dust particles suspended, paralyzed in the air. 
 
 The figure swiftly grabbed the envelope and tore it open, almost recklessly. He pulled out the contents, a singular letter, and began reading. 
 
 *Dear Arthur, *. 
 
 *I'm sorry to have to tell you like this, but you and I both knew that this day would eventually fall upon us. * 
 
 *My heart has fallen for another's. He is wonderful, charming, and wealthy, and my father is going to wed us soon. My father thinks he is suited to be his successor, and who I am to question him? * 
 
 *I adore him very much, but I will always love you, and these words I can say with no doubt that its veracity will remain pure until the day I die. However, today, I must let you go for the sake of future. * 
 
 *Yours forever, * 
 *V* 
 
 Arthur released the letter from his grip, and it fell like an dead autumn leaf to the floor. In one abrupt motion, he raised his fist, and like a hammer, began striking his mahogany-toned desk, the gnashing of his teeth audible. The wood gave way to his iron knuckles, and although Jack knew he could n't feel physical pain, Arthur's eyes burned with agony. The guards quickly moved in to restrain Arthur before he damaged more of his office. 
 
 Jack took this opportunity to shoot for the exit, and as he veered into the hallway, he hear the guards behind him. 
 
 `` The convict is getting away!'' 
 
 `` Leave him be,'' Arthur growled. `` For the days that come, messengers like him wo n't even be needed. We're going to break that wall down.'' 

