Virgil blinked.
It was raining outside. He knew this, because he could hear it, but otherwise he had no idea whether or not it was a lie. The world was fuzzy, and not in the way people usually prefer. Like a bad home-movie. He heard muffled voices surrounding him. If they said anything worth hearing, he missed that. The rain was the predominant sound.
Virgil blinked.
He was fully aware of his situation. They thought he was someone else, no doubt that Slig he'd seen crash in the jungle. Of course, their mistake was going to have horrible repercusions on him when the figured out it was not their long lost comrade, who's body was busy fertilizing Virgil's lawn. He sighed. They wasn't much he could do at this point, nor wanted to do. What he did want to do, however, was blame someone. Anyone. Anyone else.
"Winters," he muttered, and then he passed out again.
***
Winters. Now there was a chap the likes of which you wouldn't meet in a dark or even well-lit ally, nor want to. He was exactly the kind of person you would usually predetermine someone named Winters in Winters' possition to be. He pushed buttons, and people were miserable. He snapped his figures, and chaos spread. He wrote a note on the back of a napkin and handed it discreetly to someone from under the table, and profound confusion was instigated.
But, nobody every actually
died, that is to say not directly anyway. That's what all the rumors stressed. That's all any of it was. Rumor, and Rumor Kontrol.
There are some people who were born, specifically, mandated by higher powers to serve specific purposes. Winters had full knowedge of his purpose, and he carried it out to the letter; the initiating and preserving of confusion in mass numbers. The Magog Cartel never wanted anyone to trace any kind of line to anything, especially not a straight one. Someone need to deliberately mess up the system. That someone was, supposedly, Winters. Numerous black lists had his name engraved upon them, and more than one secret society was formed bent soley on his destruction. Pipe dreams, unfortunately. No one was in any possition to do anything, benefitial or otherwise, to Winters. He was untouchable, untraceable, and thusly invincible.
Virgil knew why. That was the start of his troubles to begin with.
To Be Continued...