A leather couch squeaked in surprise as War’s full weight came down on it.
“What?” Drake spluttered. “There’s no time!”
“Sit down and catch your breath,” War insisted. He lifted a magazine, then rested his enormous feet on the coffee table. “You’re nervous. I get it. Take a minute to get your head together.”
“My head is together. I’m not nervous,” Drake said. “That’s nothing to do with it. It’s just... it’s wrong. It’s all wrong!”
“Aye. It’s hardly surprising, you seeing it that way. You’ve only been in the job a day. No wonder it’s messing with your head.”
There was something different about War’s voice. It took Drake several seconds to realise what it was. He wasn’t shouting. “I’m gonnae let you in on a wee secret,” War said.
Despite himself, Drake took a step closer. “What?”
War held up the magazine. There was a salmon on the cover. “I always wanted to go fishing,” he said.
Drake blinked. “What?” he asked, for a second time.
“Fishing. I always wanted to go, but never did. Don’t know why, really.” He flicked through a few pages. “You ever fished?”
“No, I... Why are you telling me this?”
“I’d have liked a boat too,” War continued. “You know where you are with a boat.”
“On the water, usually,” Drake said automatically.
“Exactly.” War sighed and sat the magazine down. “Still, too late now, I suppose. Missed out on that opportunity.” He looked over at a clock on the wall, then picked up another magazine. It was a thin, glossy one, filled with ‘Real Life’ stories sent in by readers.
War scanned the cover, picking out the headlines. “My baby breathes through his ears,” he read. “Look at this one. Cannibals ate my feet.”
“What? So what? What are you on about?”
“It’s life’s rich tapestry,” War said. “Check this one. I’m afraid of my own hair. Her own hair. The nutter.” He turned a page and chuckled at another headline. “They’re a strange old bunch, humans. Interesting. Annoying, a lot of the time, aye, but... interesting.”
Drake watched the giant, as he casually flipped through the magazine, occasionally chuckling at some story or other. He didn’t know why, but as he looked down at War, a question just popped in there, right at the front of Drake’s thoughts.
“Do you want to do it?”
War’s eyes lifted and glared over the top of the magazine. “What?”
“I asked if you wanted it to happen. Do you want the Apocalypse?”
“Do I want it? What do you mean, do I want it? What are you saying?”
“You don’t, do you?” Drake realised. Excitement flushed through him. “It doesn’t have to happen. Don’t you see? We can stop it.”
“Stop it?” roared War, suddenly back on his feet and looming larger than he had ever loomed before. “Stop it? Have you even read your job description?”
“You didn’t give me a job description,” replied Drake, standing his ground.
“Well, it’s the exact opposite of what you just said,” War barked. “We don’t stop Armageddon, we welcome it in.”
Drake searched his face. “But you don’t want to.”
“What I want has nothing to do with it!” War bellowed.
“Just admit it,” Drake shouted back. “Say it.”
The bit of War’s face that wasn’t beard turned scarlet. “Admit what? That I don’t want the Apocalypse to happen now because I’m worried you’ll mess it up? That I don’t want to have wasted six-and-a-half thousand years waiting for the end of the world, only for you to come along and ruin it for everyone?”
War kicked one of the couches so hard it flipped across the room and thudded against a wall. “You are without doubt the worst Death we’ve ever had,” he boomed. “And I’m including the goldfish in that. You’re not picking any of it up, you haven’t developed any of the abilities, you can’t even whistle! We’ll be a laughing stock!”
The gleaming breastplate rose and fell as War took a series of deep, steadying breaths. “So, in answer to your question, no I don’t want the world to end. At least, not today,” he admitted.
“Besides,” he added more quietly, “I’d quite like to try fishing.”
“Well, OK, then,” said Drake. “So what are we going to do about it?”
“What’s taking them so long?” sighed Pestilence. He was wearing a hole in the floor, pacing back and forth, his eyes trained on the open hatch. “It’s all very well War taking his time, he’s not the first horseman. I am. If we turn up late, who do you think’s going to get the blame? Muggins here, that’s who.”
There was a sound of footsteps