A Jewel Tarnished

As we drift into sleep, the Dreamer casts his line, and reels in a vision from the past. Cuvacara, the bustling metropolis capital of Vimal, seat of the Ring of Nations. We pan along the edge of the Dusk Jewel, following along the city’s signature bullet train network, before we’re caught by a crossing car, all black with tinted windows, reeking of wealth and status. Inside, we see… Sarge. But there’s no white in his hair, and his right arm is still flesh and bone. He’s on the phone, but his arm is around a small, brown-haired woman snuggled into his side, resting after days in the hospital, her arms wrapped tightly around their newborn daughter. 
Sarge: “I understand, Saul. Really, I do. But Nathan’s got one hell of an arm, and I’m getting ready to retire.”
Sarge: “What do you mean ‘consequences’? It’s been fifteen years, Saul. My contract was up last week. W-”
Sarge: “I know what you invested in me. [Growls] I’ve paid it back ten times over. Drop it. Don’t call me again.”
The pitcher slams his thumb into the screen of his cell phone, and a splinter crack makes its way down both sides. Sarge grips the phone a little tighter in anger, but doesn’t break it. His wife, Sarah, stirs next to him, idly checking that the baby is still comfortable in her arms.
Sarah: “Ignore him, baby. He doesn’t have any power over you anymore. You’ve got more important things to do.”
Sarge: “You're right... What a sw-”
There’s a loud screech as rubber strips into the asphalt, and then a resounding crash. The camera spins with the car as it tumbles end over end, snapping seat belts, bursting air bags, and shattering glass. In the end, the car is barely wide enough to accommodate Sarge - the only person left inside. His right arm hangs loosely, the bone beneath exposed to the elements through several tears in the flesh.
We watch as the pitcher gains his senses, looks idly at the arm, and then in shock, climbs up out of the wreckage. The camera pans out as he searches, and we see the result of a head-on collision. A white van, its engine vomiting smoke, sits on its side over twenty yards away - the original crash point.
Then Sarge’s eyes, and the camera’s view, focuses on something else. The vision goes black. All we hear is a deep, throaty scream, and then we cut away to full darkness.
Six months later, we stand atop the tallest building in Verces. Sarge looks ten years older, and his right hand has been replaced with a mechanical prosthetic. He’s holding up an oily, middle-aged businessman by the edges of his coat, his feet dangling over the edge. The Haze tells us that this man’s name is Saul, and that it’s more than 3,000 feet to the bottom. As Dusk settles over the Jewel, we pick out a third figure, barely visible in the shadows. He is gaunt, paler than a corpse, with torn flesh held together by tight leather clothing. Zon-Kuthon, the Midnight Lord.
Saul: “Please, Sarge. You have to understand. I didn’t know she was in the car with you.”
Sarge: “They. They were in the car with me, Saul.”
Saul: “Y-yeah. I know that now. Really, I do. I’m sorry. But don’t take it personal, yeah? It was just-”
Zon-Kuthon: “Don’t drop him. Not yet. Let him suffer.”
Sarge: “I’m not a sadist. I just want justice.”
Saul: “G-great, pal. J-just put me down. Send me to jail! I’ll do the time.”
Sarge: “I know who your friends are. You’ll be out in a week.”
The pitcher seems to consider something, just barely loosening his grip on Saul’s jacket. The man screams, waving his arms wildly, sweat pouring down his face as he stammers in desperation.
Saul: “Look, Sarge. I’ll give you whatever you want. Money? I’ll get you a new girl, younger, even. Pret-”
Time slows in the Haze. Sarge’s eyes widen in anger. The Midnight Lord smiles.
Zon-Kuthon: “Lower him down. I’ll show you the way.”
The next minute is brutal. Sarge throws the man to the ground, holding Saul down with his real hand, all while slamming his mechanical hand into Saul’s face. Teeth go flying everywhere as blood splatters over the roof of the building, and Saul’s entire body goes limp.
Sarge: “Wake him up.”
The Midnight Lord releases a terrible, undulating screech - something between a cry of joy and a laugh. And Saul’s arms begin to flail wildly as he regains consciousness, but no longer has functioning eyes to see. Sarge smiles tightly, but there’s no spark in his eyes. They are as dead as his dear child, and will be forever more. Saul screams a few more times before Sarge gets his head off, and with the full form of a professional pitcher, Sarge hurls it off the side of the building, just as the access door behind him bursts open, and the police come swarming in… Zon-Kuthon vanishes from the Haze, and so do we.