(Year is 2012...5 years before the Personal Apocalypse)

The Chaser stalked his prey much the same way a lion stalks a gazelle on the African plains. Every step was a well-practiced and thought-out movement. No energy was wasted, instead preserved for when the kill would be made. When such a predator hunted, every second mattered, and each inch had to be carefully considered. A misstep could lead to the prey eluding capture. This, in turn, could mean a lingering death for the lion in the form of starvation.

This was how the Chaser felt as he followed his target down Grafton Street. He felt like a fierce lion, prowling after his next meal with utter dedication and focus. The Chaser felt powerful and in complete control of his environment. He was the boss; the king of this concrete jungle – everything, and indeed everyone, was his to dominate. At that moment, that precise point in time, there was nothing in the world that mattered more. There was nothing that could sway the Chaser from his target. His concentration was absolute. He was absolute.

‘Oi, Gary, mate! You still want that treadmill or wha?’

The lion-like Chaser stumbled.

Oh balls.

Not turning around, the Chaser quickened his pace. He could still see his target up ahead, though it was difficult with the afternoon crowd. This particular target was crafty – continually slipping down side-streets with abrupt changes of direction. On more than one occasion, the Chaser had nearly lost him. But he hadn’t. He never lost a target. Just like the lion. The lion never went hungry. Well, most of the time the lion never went hungry…such a thing was impossible to know for certain. And, if truth be told, the Chaser had indeed lost targets before. Many of them. Most of them. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that both the fierce lion and the Chaser were the–

‘For the love of the Divine Mary would ya slow down, Gary! Where ya powerwalking off to like that?’

Oh for the love of…

Fortunately, the Chaser’s target had decided to stop in front of a shop and stood inspecting whatever was on sale in the window.

Casting a longing look at his target, the Chaser reluctantly slowed his pace to a halt. He turned as another man caught up with him. ‘What do you want, Steve?’

‘Dear lord, Gar, where’s the fire, man?’ asked Steve. ‘I’ve was shouting at ya there for a solid minute.’

The Chaser’s irritation grew. ‘Steve!! I’m in the middle of something here! Could you please just tell me what you want.’

Steve held up his hands. ‘Alright, alright. The treadmill, do ya still want it?’

Gary the Chaser threw a glance back over his shoulder. His target was still examining the contents behind the shop window. ‘Huh?’ he said distractedly, turning once again.

‘My sister’s treadmill!’ said Steve in exasperation. ‘Said ya were gonna take it off her hands, remember?’

The Chaser’s patience finally ran out. Like the lion, he too could roar when pushed too far. ‘Steve, for the love of god! To hell with your sister’s treadmill!!’

Steve’s eyes narrowed in a dangerous fashion.

The Chaser gulped, instantly regretting his outburst. Steve was known around town for being rather ‘ard. Gary was not.

‘Don’t ya take that tone with me, Gary O’Toole,’ said Steve menacingly. ‘Ya promised my sister ya were gunna take that bloody treadmill. That was ten days ago yet it’s still sitting in the front hall. Looks more like a coat rack these days than something you’re meant to run on. If ya don’t want it then do the right thing and just say so. She can stick the damned thing up on eBay or something if that’s the case.’

The Chaser held up his hands in a placating manner. ‘Relax, Steve, no need to get angry. Ye I’ll take the treadmill. Tell Jenny I’ll be over later with the van to collect it, OK?’

Steve smiled in satisfaction. ‘Perfect! See ya around, Gar.’

The Chaser named Gary waited until Steve was well out of earshot. ‘Absolute troglodyte.’ He turned just in time to see his target move down another side street.

‘Dammit,’ swore the Chaser as he broke into a run. He ran and ran, weaving through the unaware pedestrians, until his side ached with the exertion. He knew all too well that the opportunities to catch this particular target were far and few between, so he pushed through the pain, continuing until his lungs felt like they’d explode. Finally slowing to a halt, the Chaser sucked in a deep lungful of air. He’d covered no more than two hundred meters. Wheezing, the Chaser took a moment to steady his breathing as black spots flashed across his vision. He was suddenly quite happy that Steve had tracked him down. That treadmill was badly needed.

The Chaser desperately tried to relocate his target. Many might have given up and called it a day, but fortune smiles on those who are brave and dedicated. The Chaser had no doubt that he ticked both those boxes. One did not do what Gary O’Toole did without being both incredibly brave as well as possessing the utmost dedication. You see, Gary was on a journey. No, scratch that. A mission. Nope, wrong again. He was on a quest. A quest to expose the darkness and evil that were lurking beneath the surface of the known world. A dark underbelly needed to have the light of modernity shone down upon it.

Gary frowned at this line of thinking. Surely the drugs; gun crime; robberies; gangs et cetera et cetera make up the dark underbelly of society? Perhaps I’m looking to expose the darker, second underbelly? Could there be two bellies? If a person was exceptionally obese then perhaps…the secret world!!!

Yes. That was it. Gary’s quest was to pull back the blinds that hid this secret world from view. To reveal it and show everyone the truth. This was why he, Gary O’Toole, was the Chaser of Truth.

As he continued walking, Gary couldn’t help but resent the lion a little bit. Lions hunted on wide open plains where there were no masses of people or high buildings to obstruct their view. Just a vast space that supplied a clear line of sight to their prey. He began to think that perhaps the lion got too much credit for their hunting prowess. He’d love to see a lion try track prey through lunchtime traffic in Dublin City centre. Personally, he gave the big cat no chance. That made him feel a bit better, even though he’d clearly lost his target.

‘The lion has it easy,’ muttered Gary.

‘Pretending you’re a lion now, are we, Gary? And what would that make me? A deer? A Gazelle, perhaps?’

Gary paled and slowly turned on the spot. A tall man was standing in front of him. The man, who appeared to be in his mid-30s, wore a crisp fitted navy suit with a sky-blue shirt and no tie. His brown brogues shone. He had a closely cropped beard and his hair was dark – the sides and back were cut short while the top, which had more length, was slicked back. This man was the Chaser’s target.

—————

“Gary means well, but he’s crusin’ for a bruisin’. Stridin’ for a hidin’. Anglin’ for a stranglin’. Marchin’ for a…well, you get the point. Aul Gar is in trouble. Will this be the moment he realizes that somethings are best left well alone?? Click below to find out! (Mmmmm…coffee)” ;)

- Aj Shand