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Staring again at the gun, gripped with the almost casual air of an expert, in the bloody gloved hand of the "Sandwich Artist", he tried to remain calm. He couldn't remember when or where he heard the quaint phrase, "Panicking never helps any situation", but it seemed to apply all too well to the situation at hand. The young man with the bloody gloves and the disturbing grin gestured at him with the gun, laughing a laugh that never seemed to make it past the corners of his mouth. "Poor timing, Sport. Looks like you caught me red handed, and we can't have that, now can we?"

It took every bit of self-control he could muster to just stand and listen, trying to look around and see what was going on; He wanted nothing more than to throw his folded newspaper at the terrifying young man and run as fast as his legs would carry him, back out of the sandwich shop, away to his car, or another store or indeed, just anywhere. Inhaling slowly, he instead just set the newspaper down on the smooth, soulless, fast food table, staring at the headline with a strange sense of growing dread. The headline should have made the city feel safer; "Red Handed Butcher dies by lethal injection" complete with pictures, including an image of the man himself. A picture complete with the same twisted grin and cold eyes that desecrated the face of the blood-spattered young man before him. Shivering, despite a nagging uncertainty of what it all could mean, he spoke as calmly as he could manage. "Now, look, I don't know what's going on here, but I know I don't want any trouble, and I'm sure the young lady there doesn't either. So, why don't we all just relax and."

"Relax?" he snapped, cutting off the rest of the words. "I don't have time to relax! They're after me; they'll be looking for me even now." The man's fever bright eyes darted madly around the room, as if expecting some as-yet hidden pursuer to burst from any corner or shadow and pounce upon him. "I don't have much time before they find me again, but I have to finish. I have so much work left to do. I just need to finish here so I can go before they get here."

Smiling disarmingly at the frightening young man, he tried to sound more calm and understanding than he felt. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were working or I wouldn't have interrupted. My father always told me to respect a man that's willing to work. Would you show me what you have been doing? I'll admit, you seem fascinating, so I can only imagine your work must be much more interesting than my own."

"Well now, I'm not so sure I should do that, you understand. I'm not hardly finished and this lady here is being most difficult, so I'm really behind schedule." Smiling again, the young man seemed once again in control of himself; in control of himself and the situation, he gestured slightly with the gun, never moving it fully off his interloping new target. "However, I do suppose it never hurts to have a second opinion on things. Sometimes someone else's eye will find that little fault that could have ruined hours of work. Very well, let's go look, shall we? After you."

Seeing the pleading, terrified look in the young ladies eyes, he stopped a moment. "Well, I'd love to see, of course. However, she doesn't look like she's doing so well. Why don't you just let her have a seat here? She could read the paper, maybe look at the comics, and try to relax while we go see your work. I mean, it's not like she looks as if she could go anywhere in the state she's in, and besides, I'll be there with you, and that should be good enough, right?"

"You know, I do believe you're right. She does seem like she could use a chance to sit down. Besides, let's be frank, this is really more man's work anyway." Releasing the frightened girl, he pointed her at a chair, near the discarded newspaper. She slumped into it, a look a slight relief bringing a touch of color to her ghost pale features, like the bloody red handprint marking the breast of her otherwise brilliant sweater. Gesturing with the gun again, the young man directed his new "partner" towards the office in the back of the shop.

"Oh... Oh, I see... That's very..." Stammering, he tried to take in the scene of carnage in the tiny office, struggling for words as he stared at the dead body of the older man in the nice shirt. His eyes darted quickly across the huge gunshot wound in the victim's chest, past the bloody handprint marking the man's face, the writing in blood on the desk, seeming only half done, as if something or someone had disturbed the writer. Turning again to face the young man, he shivered again. This was insane, this was worse than insane: this was exactly like the murder scenes of the man in the paper, the one who had been executed last night.

Even as the man started to speak, looking intently at his unfinished work, the bell chimed out, showing the door had been opened. He scowled, suddenly angry, no longer in control. "You! You tricked me! She left before I could finish with her, and now you get to take her place. But no more distractions; I have work to do." Snarling, he pulled the trigger on the heavy pistol, two quick pulls matching two thunderous roars.

A tremendous stab of pain blossomed in his chest. Suddenly it was hard to breathe; his eyes blinked but couldn't focus, then after a few moments he realized he didn't feel like he wanted to breathe anymore. It was getting dark, even as he heard more noise, gunshots, people shouting, a sudden weight pressing him into a blood slick floor he didn't even remember falling onto. Then blackness; He knew he was dying, then, but it didn't seem to matter. He just relaxed and slipped into the blackness, wondering what had happened to the girl with his last living thoughts.

* * * * *

The sight would have been breath taking, if that were still possible. A tall figure loomed over him, six feet or maybe more, wrapped in a flowing hooded black robe that danced and twisted in some wind that he could not feel. Staring down at him from the shadows of the hood were two bright, golden eyes, set in the grey furred face of a wolf bitch, her muzzle set in what he could only call a sad smile. He glanced down her form, noting a long, thin silver whistle on a chain around her neck, a brown leather belt around her waist holding a rectangular leather pouch held closed with a string wrapped around two buttons. Two paws jutted from the ends of her sleeves; long, thin, and flexible, they seemed more like his own hands than a wolf's paws. In her right hand she grasped a strange weapon, a tall, black, menacing rifle with a long scope and a barrel thicker than his thumb. The butt of the weapon sat on the ground and the muzzle sat as high as the top of her cowl, and from the underside of the muzzle protruded a long, curved scythe blade, as black as the rest of the weapon and gleaming with a keen edge. Two more paws supported her from under the robe, smaller and on her toes, like the stance of a normal wolf. Had he been able to, he would have gasped as he looked up again into her eyes, for he saw that when viewed from the edge of his vision, the gold vanished from her eyes, leaving them red and empty, like two pits of flame. Her mouth moved as she spoke, and yet the words seemed to ring in his mind, not his ears. "I am the Hunter of Souls; this is the Pack of the Chosen." She gestured around her with her free paw and he looked around for the first time, noting at last that she, no, that they were surrounded by a massive pack of wolves, fifty to one hundred strong, he could not count them all. Each one was huge, far larger than any wolf he had ever seen, and they were thickly muscled far beyond what seemed would be required by any creature, yet the strangest thing about them was the wings sprouting from their shoulders and folded away across their backs. The wings were large and feathered, folded the length of their bodies, some feathered white like a spotless dove, others feathered as black as a raven dipped in ink at midnight. The other thing he noticed was the intense stares of all the wolves, staring at him with piercing yellow eyes that seemed to shine as if they would glow in the darkness. She turned slowly in place, a sweeping gesture with her free paw traveling across the whole pack. As she faced away, another strange sight greeted his already overwhelmed eyes, for peeking from under her robe was not one grey wolf's tail, but three.

Shaking his head, he stared at her with confusion. "What - is this? Where am I?"

Again she smiled at him, more sadly, her eyes shimmering as if damp. "You have passed on, Man-Child."

Crossing his hands in front of him, he waved them as if to ward her away. He took a half step backwards away from her before he recalled the strange wolves around him, freezing in place. "No! No, please... I - I was a good person, I swear. I don't want this! Just let me go back, please?"

This time she shook her head, slowly, her words again echoing in his head. "I'm afraid that cannot be. You must go on. If you run, we will hunt you and we will catch you, like this one." With a gesture she drew his attention to her left. There, the pack of wolves parted to show five wolves pinning down a struggling man by his wrists, ankles, and throat. The man twisted and struggled, trying to scream, but no sound came out. There was something strangely and terribly familiar about him, with his beautifully pressed suit and his hands stained red with blood. Then as quickly as they parted, the pack closed in around the figure again, even as her gaze returned to him. "Come now, you have been judged and the door to Heaven has been opened to you." To her right a door seemed to open in the very air, a door of gold set in whitest marble. A golden light streamed forth from the open doorway, accompanied by soft strains of music and the sweetest, most wonderful scents; surely this could be nothing but the door to paradise and it beckoned to him, seeming impossibly to make heart leap in his chest with desire. "It is time. The way is open to you. You may enter now and find your reward in eternal rest, Honored Soul."

"No."

Her eyes bored into him, as if examining the inside of his skull for what would spawn such a response. "You cannot go back and if you run we will hunt you down and bring you back, but not to such a pleasant reward, I can promise you. You must go now."

"No. I will not go. If I cannot go back and I cannot leave, then I will stay here. Leave me, I will go nowhere."

"This too cannot be. None are allowed to dwell here, save for my pack and myself."

"If that is how it must be, so be it. Let me run with you, then. I will follow you if that is what I must do, but I will not leave the sight of my beloved home."

"I see... You would trade your freedom, your final reward, even your very humanity, to remain here with me? You will forfeit your chance to dwell forever in Heaven to one of my pack and take, forever, their place? You do this freely and understanding what you are doing, what you are giving up?"

Gulping uselessly once, he set his jaw and stared back into her blazing eyes. "I would. I will. I do."

She nodded grimly to him. "So be it. Stand there among the Brethren of the White Wings, then. Their load is easiest and they love their work, for they find the lost and misguided among the noble souls and we take them to Heaven. Such souls would not seek to harm us and they taste as the sweetest honey on the tongue when held."

With one hand he gestured toward one of the raven-black winged wolves. "And what of them? Who are these ones?"

"Those are the Brethren of the Black Wings. Their job is long and hard, for they hunt the dark souls, the cursed and the doomed who seek to flee their punishments. Their prey hides as best it can, fights for all it is worth and tastes of burning pitch and rotten meat when brought down."

"Well then, if I stand instead with them, would I walk with them and would one of them take my place is paradise?"

Scowling, she nodded slightly. "Yes, that is how it would be, but then you would walk their hard path forever. Come now, do as you have been told and stand with the Brethren of the White Wings."

"No. When I am yours, I will gladly obey your every command, but until then I am free to do as I please." Stepping among the gathered pack, he stood between two black-winged wolves, his jaw set firmly. "I will stand here with them. Besides, it sounds like they need the break more, anyway."

Eyeing him coldly, she again spoke in his mind, her words seeming darker now, and more terse. "You are flip, but brave, Man-Child. I fear you will regret both in times to come, but it must be your choice. I have warned you of the results of your choice. Do you still make it, knowingly and of your own free will?"

He grinned flippantly at her, repeating his words from before. "I would, I will, I do."

Again, she nodded grimly. "So be it." She stared at the wolf his left hand rested on and it seemed to nod and bow to her before looking up at him.

Now the wolf spoke to him, with words he could not hear, save in his mind. "Thank you, Brother. Few would do such a thing. I shall never forget this gift." With that, the wolf leapt forward, wings spreading, soaring quickly through the golden doorway, which slammed shut behind him with a strangely echoing, final sound.

She watched the wolf go, returning her gaze to him as the door slammed shut, vanishing as quickly as it had arrived. "Then, it is time. Take your place among your Brethren." With that, the change hit him, washing over him like a wave of fire, a searing pain that dropped him to his knees, howling in agony.