The World Of Steam

40

Jennix sat in the comfortable seat of the small, warm, metal room. With her vision blurred, she rubbed her eyes, clearing her sight, and looked outside the window straight to her side. The city appeared small to her, the people below being nothing but tiny dots. The armies that killed one another reminded her of television static, barely recognisable as people from the dizzying height at which she sat. She looked down at the huge tank tracks that laid waste to whatever they came upon. The tank suddenly drove over a building, crushing it to stones. The gigantic stones were then crushed to mere pebbles under the tracks, the thousands of tons of weight being too much for them to bear. Nothing stood in the tank's way as it cleared a giant path through the ruined city. London was falling, submitting to the tank without the slightest resistance. The tank slammed into an apartment block, breaking the entire building in half, shattering the concrete as it easily tore through. The air was filled with a giant cloud of dust as the tank continued onwards, crushing the building into the ground. Jennix's seat did not judder one tiny bit as the tank compressed everything beneath its tracks, squashing them into the earth. The monstrous machine was a moving mountain that killed anything in its path, offering a small mercy to whatever stood in front of it. The only mercy that it did offer was giving its enemy time to move out of the way as it trundled along at a snail's pace. Turning her head forward, Jennix looked at the man that sat just a few feet in front of her. She stared at him in abject fear, gasping slightly, her heart hardening to stone, turning cold. His hair was combed back almost too neatly, not a single strand out of place. He wore a startlingly white suit that stood out against all of the dull red iron that surrounded them. A black tie was wrapped around his neck, secured with a shining, slim silver bar. The outfit was perfect, looking like it had been pressed this morning. Not a single tiny crease was to be found. It was almost like he had an image to uphold, a declaration of authority to his troops. He was not going to control an entire army looking like an oilfield worker. Detail and tidiness was essential in maintaining superiority. His face was deadpan, not a shred of emotion present. Coldness seemed to emanate from his person, warning his hostage that he was not going to change his mind in any of his actions, should he decide. His grey, cold eyes pierced through everything that they looked at like an icy spear to her chest, almost hurting her in the process. Decisions were final and negotiations were off the table. It was his way and his way only. Jennix had never seen his picture, but instantly knew who her kidnapper was. She silently counted the last remaining seconds of her life, praying for a miracle to occur. But the chance of that was almost in the zeroes. She was doomed.

"Hello darling." Knox Colbin said to her and smiled wickedly.