The Postman Ep. 1 (Any Idiot)

Linwood stood dead center in the vibrating tracks. The train was a black silhouette against the sunrise. "Are you ready, Vinnie?" He asked. A dark haired woman stood to the side of the tracks loading up a repeating rifle. She nodded, her unsettling eyes set into the distance.

That train barreling down the tracks held the one thing Linwood wanted. The one thing he thought about for the past six years of his life was in a little black box on that train. Vinnie was his only companion on this journey. In a matter of moments, there would not be another opportunity to go back ot their old lives.

"Now's your chance to back out. Once this is set into motion, there is no turning back."

Vinnie turned her gaze to Linwood. "There was no turning back from the start of this, Linwood. We have a mission, we can't just back out now." Vinnie pushed the lever of the rifle down and raised it at the train.

It was barreling down the tracks at break neck speed. It showed no signs of slowing. Vinnie took careful aim at the wide eyed engineer. He pulled the emergency break; sparks flew off of the rails. Linwood saw the man's body jerk, but he didn't hear the gunshot over the roar of the train. To some, the shot Vinnie had made would seem miraculous. However, Linwood knew it was common place for a perceptualist as skilled as she was. Her senses were honed over years of training and operations with the Imperial Scout Unit. 

Now it was his turn.

He took a deep breath and felt the sensation building up in his chest. The Source, the force from before the beginning that set creation in motion, he forced it from his chest down his arm and into his palm. There was no glowing light, just an invisible crackle. Other practitioners, less talented ones than he, wasted plenty of energy with bursts of flames or jolts of electricity. Linwood used pure kinesis.

He thrust his fist towards the train. It stopped in its tracks, the front car crushed in half. The back half of the train whipped into the air and snapped back down like a snake's tail. The rails between Linwood and the train rolled like a wave. It was pitched from the tracks, flipping and twisting on itself. Coal from the engine car poured out into the wide open plains. Within minutes the train would be molten metal, just a heap of twisted steal and bodies in the Northern Plains of Valtura.

"Alright, Vinnie. You take it from here. You know the rules, no survivors."

Vinnie nodded, "You got it."

***

Rylan Warrick hated sheep. The wretched creatures smelled awful, the bleated constantly, and worst of all, they were all he ever saw. Day in and day out, it was feed the sheep, herd the sheep, and shear the sheep. His life back in the city wasn't much better, though. At least here, there was only one other person to get along with.

Get in one little fight, and your family sends you off for some 'discipline'. Wouldn't even have been a problem if the guys brother hadda minded his own business. But they both got what they deserved... a swift kick in the ribs and bloody nose. Showed them.

"Rylan, look sharp."

Rylan jumped, he nearly fell off of the fence he was perched on. He turned around to see his Uncle Leam. His canvas overalls were stained with whiskey, or his own vomit.  It was hard to tell with Leam some times. "Your parents sent a letter." Leam tossed the letter at Rylan.

It was crumpled and yellowed from waiting in Leam's pockets too long. Rylan opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. It was on white paper, not the yellowed parchment most poor folk used. His parents were highbrow, and they always wanted to remind their beloved son of that fact. It just made Rylan want to gag, always flaunting their wealth around. Leam must have started tailoring him for a simple life at a young age. The young man held the same sense of cynicism towards showiness as his uncle.

Rylan,

We are terribly disappointed that you haven't written us this week. You are always complaining that there is nothing to do in Sablebrook, why don't you take the time to send us a letter? It may alleviate some of your home sickness.

Rylan groaned. He hated Sablebrook, but he was far from homesick.

Your father and I have been thinking, and, according to your uncle you are behaving well. If you are sincerely regretful for your actions, we will let you come home. Send us a letter of apology, and convince us that you have reformed.

With love,

Ari and Cynthia Warrick

Rylan crumpled the letter up and tossed it at a sheep. It bleated and ate it. Rylan smiled and gave it a pat on its velvety nose. "Good girl."

"What'd those two want?" Leam asked briskly.

"They say I can come home if I send them a letter of apology."

"Are you going to?"

"Hell no."

"Good boy, I've raised you right." Leam patted Rylan on the back. "I'm glad I finally got some back bone up in you. The thing is, you can't stay here your entire life. You're nearly seventeen." Leam said. He reached into his pocket again and pulled out another letter. "This is from the Post Service."

It was merely a notice stating that his letter, the one his parents should've received a week ago, had been temporarily misplaced. "I can't believe this. My parents are on my case over a letter the Post Service lost. This is the second time they've lost my post in two weeks. Apparently they'll hire any idiot."

Leam perked up a bit. "Any idiot you say?"

"What?"

"You're an idiot, why don't you join the Post Service? It gives you a good excuse to avoid your parents. And there's the added bonus that I won't have to feed you anymore. You're a growing boy, Rylan, and I won't be able to feed you for much longer." Leam said.

"I thought my parents were covering the costs of living?"

"Nah, you could say I owe them a favor or two."

Rylan felt a twinge of guilt. He was eating Leam out of house and home. "The Post Service, huh? Do you think I have what it takes?"

"Any idiot, Rylan. Any idiot."

***

After sifting through Compartment 14 for about an hour, She had turned over bodies, sifted through pockets, and pulled one man from his seat only to discover he was still dying. But she had finally found the little black box. She gazed at the box, her face reflected back to her in the sleek black stone. We're going to pay the price for this. These people didn't deserve to die, they don't even know what's in this damned box.She shook her head solemnly and looked up to spot Linwdood gazing off into the rolling plains. "Found it, Linwood." She called out from the rail car as she walked away from the stench of singing flesh and soot.

"Good job, Vinnie. Open it."

Vinnie tampered with the smooth box for a moment. There were no latches or keys. It was just a plain, unmarked black box. "I'm not sure how." She said. Linwood groaned and held out his hand. Vinnie gave him a piercing glare, and grudgingly handed it over. It was easy for Linwood to forget that Vinnie was not a practitioner. The Source was a mystery to her. She preferred to harness the inner workings of her own mind and body.

Linwood took the box. Vinnie watched as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. The blast he used on the train must have been a drain on him. Some times, the Practice took it's toll on his body. His chest heaved as he took in a deep breath. He pressed his palms into the sides of the box, an iridescent light traveled  down the crown of his head, through his finger tips,, and into the box. A sigil began to glow on the surface. Vinnie felt a thrum of energy in the air around her. Whatever's in their must be powerful.

The glowing image was crude, but somehow masterful. A young man in a robe stood on top of a mountain, one hand pointing to the sky, the other to the ground. It looked like something off of tarot card. "What does it mean?" 

Linwood was smiling.

"Vinnie, we've found what we're looking for."

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