Vs Reality by Blake Northcott Page A

washing her out, giving her blond hair and pale skin a ghost-like quality, but her sparkling blue eyes seem to radiate with even more electricity against the harsh glow. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” she shouts. “What if I’d never made it through the portal? How were you planning to get out of here?” She glances around, squinting into the never-ending horizon. “Wherever the hell ‘here’ is?”
    “I guess I didn’t plan that far ahead,” he replies through labored breaths. He’s enjoying the new physique, but this much muscle mass is difficult to move around. It’s exhausting, like wearing a suit of armor.
    “So where is Goto?” Dia asks, crinkling her nose.
    “I’m quite sorry,” a voice calls out. It’s an affected British accent, but it doesn’t belong to Goto.
    They spin to find a towering man just a few arm’s lengths away. They’d just looked in that direction, Cole thinks; he was just gazing out in that direction and saw nothing. Just sand, flat and sprawling, no end in sight. And now he’s here.
    The imposing figure offers a charming smile and spreads his arms wide; calm, inviting, and more than a little unnerving. “I’m sorry, Miss Davenport, but for you and your associate here, this is the end of the line. Access to The Basement is limited strictly to my employees.” His smile widens and he motions around him. “But welcome to my Backyard.”

Chapter Fourteen – Relent
    The Backyard
     
    The ominous figure stands perfectly still with his hands casually resting in his pockets. Apparently unfazed by the heat, not a single bead of sweat has formed on his brow despite the rising temperature.
    “Who is this guy?” Cole asks in a hushed tone as he leans towards Dia, not really sure why he’s whispering.
    “I was just wondering that myself,” Dia replies, equally quiet. “But if he’s the guy that I think he might be, I have a feeling that we should be running away…kind of now-ish.”
    The man is dark-skinned, broad, and has very pronounced features; a long pointed nose, intense almond-shaped eyes and razor-sharp cheek bones, but the most striking feature is his head: he’s shaved bald with a swirling tribal tattoo inked on the back of his scalp, a thicket of wavy spikes wrapping around his ears and extending down his neck. He’s attired like a wealthy business man; his black suit and flaming red tie are perfectly tailored to match his imposing frame. His outfit is completed by heavy hoop earrings, thick gold rings, and an oversized gold watch – a very distinctive design, not unlike Goto’s.
    Cold and calculated, the man waits for his unannounced visitors to respond.
    “So…” Cole says, “this is weird.”
    “So, Mister…Cole, is it? We haven’t been formally introduced, you and I, although I know you’re familiar with some of my Collectors.” The man removes his right hand from his pocket and extends it towards Cole and Dia, taking a few measured steps in their direction. “My name is Govinda, and I’m the Director of Operations here at the Global Liberty Initiative.” His voice is unnaturally deep and resonates like a thunderclap, echoing as if it’s coming from every direction at once.
    Cole stands his ground. He slowly crosses his arms in a clear display of defiance. He’s not sure how Govinda knows his name, but that’s the least of his concerns at the moment.
    With his gesture of goodwill being rebuffed, Govinda returns to a stationary position and returns his hand to his pocket.
    Cole cocks an eyebrow, trailing his gaze up Govinda’s suit and back to his shoes. “Nice suit…Armani?”
    Govinda touches the hem of his suit jacket, rubbing the fabric in between his thumb and index finger. “Ah, not quite. It’s custom made, actually. I was recently in Westminster so I stopped by Savile Row. Apparently that’s where Clinton gets his tailoring done, so I had to see for myself if their lofty reputation was warranted.”
    Cole remains