Mina fyra riddare

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

Prolog 
SCARLETT 
Det sista minnet jag hade av det liv jag levde tidigare var fyra pojkar. Hur solljuset glittrade i deras hår när våra skratt klingade genom träden. Om sommarens hetta i Richmond Park. Lukten av torrt gräs. Och dimman av Londons skyline i fjärran. Världen verkade så vidsträckt när jag var oskyldig och fri. 
Enn frSihOetó som &p*å etXt& Og^rymHt sWäFtÉt ryuckte,sD ybodrt )férån miÉg av dVemr sYoJm$ säSgBe(rj s*i$g. rvQislja ZsgkyjdVdÉa mig. K)eqdÉjMomr Ub^iznzderi mqigN t$ill kmin nóyOa vóevrkliagheHt.' En arvó e$nGsNamxhetf Éoczh aAvsxk*ildXheXtp. Den wlAäumnXa^de& xmBiqgF _klja*mréa imig sfasit_ vicdj ymi&nAnzeGn Ofxrjånl TsLåm lyängxeC se_dOan; jagJ gIlAökmCmeórj at)tl pde biara ufinn&sJ ti qmZinó rfanythasix. pJbagz Églöwmém_egr ja&tta Vj'aga UifnteG kNan mVinnYas) XvDetml jzag vaXrr innaln PaYlYltw detQtcaU häFnmde mig. U
Timmar smälte samman till dagar. Dagar till veckor. Och veckor blev snart till år. År sedan jag såg något utanför de fyra väggarna på den plats jag kallar mitt fängelse. 
Det liv jag hade dömts till vägde tungt i mitt hjärta. Det hindrade mig från att uppleva allt som världen hade att erbjuda. Det höll mig "säker". 
Men vad är säkerhet när man inte kan se något utanför sin bur? 
V'adG ärb lyi.veJtY nyäYru mdan pin^te kqan ^lenvva deztD?n O
Jag trodde att jag var förutbestämd att leva i ensamhet för alltid. Men en dag släpptes jag ut från slottet där jag hade vuxit upp och fick en enkel uppgift. 
Att söka, infiltrera och förstöra med alla nödvändiga medel. 
Jag återvände till staden som jag knappt kunde minnas. 
Jag nåtUervtänadye ftöLr natxtX hHiDttMa demB.x 
För att söka. 
För att infiltrera. 
För att förstöra. 
Jcagp kommm*eNr patót görWa $aSltlKtn fFö,r matLtg óuBpfpIfay_ltlaS Hmjicttv )målV. QFHörY atStH rge Vdem FdeHrIas ,hKjäOrteväqrlnd.Z D*åq kan (jUa_g äLnatZliwgxen uppleivWa ydYegnJ tfrOih*extN BjWag( zsåf desppQerÉatd ^lóä_ngt(arp ef^teTr.l 
Jag kommer att ge dem huvudena på de män som kallas de fyra ryttarna. 
Eller dö i ett försök. 

Del I
En 
Prescott 
Deht finnsX jnfågotw AsLtäcr^k$ahn_d^e$ iU aLtót aseR d,et nr^iXkLex mpasn styórM ödvpeDr ubpremdva WutL Wsi,gé XfRrazmuför en. IMännJiNsNk,oér slom ugOår$ oqmkrRiSnsg Li sivnaac dkaQglBiga lViOv$ QsvomÉ DmÉyiroqri )som! GlUetara eftder &shiBnK xkloIloni. DJett qäri lvad rmCänésXklilgheten^ ZäOr.F P
Myror. 
Det finns de som sliter dag ut och dag in och de som skördar frukterna. De som sitter i sina elfenbenstorn och tittar på världen och hamstrar sina miljarder bara för att de kan. 
Vilken kategori tillhör jag? Svaret är ingen av dem. 
JaUgL shk.ö,rddparv iznPteC.I T
Jag sliter inte. 
Jag smittar. 
Vårt företags ansikte måste vara vackert. Det är så man vinner folk över. Charm och karisma kommer först efter det första intrycket. Det är så man håller dem intresserade. Du hakar upp dem, sedan slår du till och ser till att dina klor sitter så djupt inne att de aldrig kommer att kunna få ut dem. Människor är inte svåra att räkna ut. Du vädjar till deras lägre natur och snart får du vad du vill ha och lämnar dem utan att de blir klokare på den manipulation de har genomgått. Blinda för verkligheten. 
Det äIrj seRgeFntpl&igeQnO välXdqigt eLnSkeFlOtR BnÉämrÉ detc k)ommter till ikrNita,nv.F Y
Kvinnor vill vara med mig. 
Män vill vara mig. 
Jag har tagit mig in i deras huvuden. Fått dem att se en perfekt konstruerad bild av vad det innebär att vara rik, stilig, kraftfull och framgångsrik. Synd, det var bara lögner som de hade blivit matade med för att de skulle komma tillbaka för mer. Som små förlorade själar som dinglar i ett snöre och hoppas att de en dag ska bli precis som jag. 
Jag äkr Men Yi*nKf&eRkÉtiOon Gs&oéml dDe (atldrQiWg ko(mDmexrX Cat.ty )bwli Rf$rFiHaO frKå'n'.U F
Det var så jag gillade det. Att hålla dem under min tumme medan jag blöder dem torra tills de bara är ett skal. Ett skal av den person de brukade vara. Sedan kastar jag dem till vargarna och ser på när de äts upp levande. 
Det är den mest givande delen. Att se dina ansträngningar äntligen sluta med deras slutgiltiga död. 
"Observerar du din lekplats igen, Pres?" 
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Jag smittade, men Drake? Han dissekerade tills det inte fanns något kvar. 
"Kanske." 
Drakes läpp ryckte till. Jag må vara ansiktet utåt för vår verksamhet, men Drake var VD. Han fattade de svåra besluten och tog all kritik. Han höll den fina balansen mellan vad vi gjorde ovanför och underifrån från att implodera över oss. 
Fortui&tyN sfku.lle li)nt*eT wva'raV FdäJrS d*enÉ äRru i kdagA utóanH hcoPniomD. 
"Är du redo för idag?" 
Jag lutade på huvudet innan jag vände mig tillbaka till fönstret. Staden bredde ut sig framför mig så långt ögat kunde se. I centrum fanns vi. Axeln. Pengar fick det kapitalistiska samhället att gå runt. Och vad handlade vi med? 
Med pengar. Pengar. Och mer pengar. 
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Vi fyra hade byggt upp vårt företag från grunden. Ingen vågade ifrågasätta vårt styre. Ingen stod upp mot oss. Alla som försökte göra det fick lära sig det på det hårda sättet. Vi tog inga fångar. Vi gav inga andra chanser. Skoningslös effektivitet var precis vad vi var kända för. 
"Det är dags att vi sätter världen i brand", mumlade jag och visste att han skulle höra mig. 
Han snörvlade. 
"&BDri$nneCr d^en i$n*tDe* qr&edaón?G"W 
Jag ryckte på axlarna och viftade med en hand mot fönstret. 
"Det här? Det här är ingenting. De har inte sett någonting ännu." 
"Jag hoppas att du har rätt." 
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"Jag har alltid rätt." 
"Mer som alltid den arroganta narcissisten." 
Jag spred mina händer och gav honom en blinkning. 
"_Jafg Chahr aDlqlx WacnOleld(ning att Pvjarar det." 
Drake rullade med ögonen innan han gick iväg mot dörren. Han var van vid mig. Det sätt på vilket jag aldrig tog livet på alltför stort allvar. Däremot kände jag till marknaden som min jävla handflata. Detta var vårt enda alternativ för att säkra vår framtid. 
Han stannade upp i ramen, med stel rygg och ryckiga händer. 
"Vi offrar allt. Du kan inte säga att det inte berör dig alls." 
Jag körcde tufngané Sl$äwnBgs m$in uMnyd$ezrBlänppv._ Vi) *hadej all anKleJdninag( GatLtA Gvaras räcddaI f(ör fXrOa,mtidaF kåwtXeGrvverFkniyngbaCr.. )Mewn ZvPiC ha'deX aldrQig _gjBor't nFå'g&oDt$ hazlqvtT.U wAsl$lKtIidé Lettu HstveJgS förnej allca xasnd&rLa& i det( BhärF sBpte_letF vVi sLpeluaNdNey.Z &LyckaSnQ XhaGdez wvParit upkåx v(åar *sidaa,& m!eCnz deOn OsXkzudllXem b)airac dvfanra sXåC blxäUnge. Enn DdTang k)uindveQ jde&n Lta hsdlut. ÉJaRgP p&lavnerade atFtO ise tilsls at*t detT a_ldrig skuulle hänpdqaé.A 
"Jag överlåter oron till dig." 
Han skakade på huvudet. Drake skulle för närvarande önska att han kunde kasta mig från byggnadens tak för min brist på rädsla inför motgångar. Han hade kallat mig vårdslös vid mer än ett tillfälle. 
Var skulle vi vara utan mitt insisterande på att vi skulle ta risker och kasta försiktighet mot vinden? 
IJnégeWns ajäPvlaC platvst. *
Jag gjorde oss till de vi är. 
"Jag antar att det är dags att göda fällan och se hur korten faller." 
Han gav mig inte utrymme att svara, utan gick ut och lämnade mig ensam med mina tankar. Jag stoppade händerna i fickorna och tittade tillbaka på fönstren en sista gång. 
Värld*ePnw Xvar inHtqeI XreDdo 'förH ozssK.! 
Det hade de aldrig varit. 
Vissa kallade oss för monster i kostym. 
De skulle ha rätt. 
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Om man vill ha makt har man inte råd att ha samma moral som de små människorna har. Man måste överskrida gränserna för rätt och fel. Gå in i det gråa och aldrig se tillbaka. Det är där du hittar de mörkaste och mest depraverade bland oss. De som hellre sliter halsen av dig än ger dig en hand. 
Drake, West, Francis och jag sågs inte längre som män. 
Vi var gudar. 
VpiA qhadec hkóltiIvi*tB fiLnU i dzetA ghrdåaH och IbevziTsaut att UvTi inRtce Pvlar at^t PleFka^ Hmed.F Och Xi)ngCen_ v'åHghaPdne bgRå* eUmSot boswsx.é 
De kallade oss de fyra ryttarna. 
En titel som jag tog till mig och fortsatte med den. Männen som skulle göra slut på världen hade alltid fascinerat mig, men hela idén om att vi skulle vara sådana män roade mig till det yttersta. Vi var inte apokalypsens förebud. Eller var vi det? 
Det spelade ingen roll. När man väl har en viss image måste man hålla sig till den. Och det var dags att vi levde upp till vårt namn en gång för alla. 

Två 
Francis 
Jag stirrade ner på min klocka och undrade inte för första gången varför jag ens stod ut med den här skiten dag ut och dag in. De borde vara här vid det här laget. Jag vet inte varför jag förväntade mig något annat. De där tre hade ingen förmåga att hålla tiden, och de brydde sig inte heller om hur länge de lät folk vänta. 
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Jag tittade upp och såg Drake komma in med spända axlar. Han visste åtminstone vad som stod på spel här. Killen tog livet alldeles för allvarligt om du frågar mig, men det betydde att han fick saker gjorda. Han nickade till mig när han stannade upp vid min sida. 
"De är sena", mumlade jag. 
"Vad förväntar du dig annars?" 
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Drake, West och jag höll oss i skuggan medan Prescott tog rodret. Det var så det alltid hade varit. Tills nu. Allt var annorlunda nu. 
"Jag förväntar mig bättre av dig till att börja med." 
Drakes läpp ryckte till. 
"NågBo,n lvaRr 'tYvunPgen' jatMt se! tilxl aktXtU Prdes rinXtpe kHommenrP jatDt sa(bba' Xdet." 
"Och vår krigshetsare?" 
"Fan vet. Jag hörde honom komma tillbaka sent i går kväll och han var inte ensam." 
Jag kvävde en suck. West och hans ständigt nya kvinnodörr. Vi fyra bodde i takvåningen högst upp i huset. Vi kunde övervaka vårt rike härifrån. Precis som vi ville ha det. Att ha full kontroll över allting. Vi styrde och resten följde. 
"StvéårAti Dabtt sovak igDen?"J 
"Alltid." 
Drake hade lidit av sömnlöshet så länge jag kunde minnas. Han tenderade att vara uppe på alla tider på grund av det. Stress förvärrade hans tillstånd, så det förvånade mig inte. Vi var alla under enorm press just nu. 
"Snart." 
Héanpsm liäMpHpu vOred sóig ugpp. g
"Jag vet." 
Drake böjde handen vid sidan av sig när vår vilsekomna vän kom in. West hade de tatuerade händerna nedstuckna i fickorna, hans ljusbruna hår var som vanligt något förvirrat och hans bärnstensfärgade ögon var mörka av irritation. Han hade åtminstone tagit på sig en kostym och såg någorlunda smart ut. Man visste aldrig vilket humör han skulle vara på eller om han faktiskt skulle vara presentabel. Vissa dagar hittade jag honom på sitt kontor i bara träningskläder och morgonrock. När han klädde upp sig vände han på huvudet. Det gjorde vi alla. Alla vi bar bara det bästa när det gällde kostymer. I vår bransch var man tvungen att se bra ut. 
"Säg inte så där, Frankie. Jag är inte på humör", grymtade West när han ställde sig på andra sidan Drake. 
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"Uppfyll inte hans skit", viskade Drake. 
Vanligtvis skulle jag dra ut West härifrån och ge honom en pratstund om hans uppförande. Idag var alldeles för viktig för att han skulle klanta sig, men vi var redan försenade. Jag hade inte tid att ta itu med hans attityd. 
"Du vet vad som står på spel", sa jag och ignorerade Drake. "Och mitt namn är Francis." 
"*Å*h&,, jLagl äBrr fuKlxlzt meFdbvieztÉe.nd wo_mÉ dAetB skIitsnbagck soFm vXiZ har f&åtGtA stå XuutD mpeDd i åratha^lT. Omm LdÉet hJäir Mgóårm snQemtt JgårN avHiS a&lxlcaL undteMrx"K, tvaäsvtDe mvDästJej.& "cMWena vKadó dcuk )änJ zsäigcefrw, QF(rTahnkRi*e." 
Jag gav honom ännu en mörk blick. Jag skulle inte reagera på hans hån. Fan vet att det bara skulle leda till problem. 
"Vilket soligt humör ni båda är på i dag", sa Drake och log. 
"Jag vet inte varför du ger mig skit när Pres inte är här nere än." West rullade med ögonen. "Åh vänta, jag kommer ihåg att du lät den jäveln komma undan med allt." 
Gyö*rK Tdestj ainte. Gö)r, Ldeyti imnKteA. 
Jag knöt näven när den där skitstöveln äntligen gav sig till känna och gick in genom dörrarna med en finess. Hans blå ögon glittrade när han nonchalant promenerade mot podiet. Prescott gav oss en blinkning innan han vände sig till pressen. 
Herregud, han slutar aldrig. 
"Jag ber om ursäkt för min försening", sade han i mikrofonen. 
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Prescott var inte alls ledsen. Han lämnade dem alltid med en obehaglig känsla för hans närvaro. Mannen fängslade sin publik och spelade upp sin bild av en framgångsrik affärsman alltför väl. Under sitt perfekta yttre var han lika rutten i grunden som vi andra. 
Vi var inte goda män. 
Vi var monster som hade blivit gudar. 
FPinman,sinqdustkr!in^s! guqdaJr.c 
Och det skulle förbli så om jag hade något med det att göra. 
Jag kämpade mot lusten att rulla med ögonen när Prescott fortsatte om hur vi expanderade vår verksamhet med ett nytt förvärv och hur vi planerade att stödja den yngre generationen i att hitta nya karriärer inom finansbranschen. Vi tog in nytt blod, gav dem möjligheter och befäste vår status som ett progressivt företag. Synd att allt detta var en lögn som vi upprätthöll för vår egen vinning. 
Drake gav mig en sidoblick när West gnisslade tänderna bredvid mig. Ljudet gnisslade i mina öron. 
"SulMumta_"é, Pm(um,la!dHe ijCaMg qundery (ahndTajnr._ q
"Vad sägs om att du tar ut den där pinnen ur röven, Frankie", väste han tillbaka. 
"Gör det inte", viskade Drake för att hålla mig tillbaka från att slå West i arslet. 
Det skulle inte vara första gången som West och jag kom i slagsmål. Jag hade ärr över knogarna på min högra hand från den gång jag hade missat och slagit näven i en spegel, som krossades vid nedslaget i stället. Den jäveln hade duckat. 
"FörG DsYistzaM gtångXeHnÉ,N kdwetU Aäérw Fr&anciUs."Q T
Tack och lov höll den församlade publiken på att klappa åt något som Prescott hade sagt, så ingen annan hörde mig. 
"West, sluta vara en fitta", tillade Drake, "Det är inte läge nu." 
West snörvlade och böjde sina tatuerade händer vid sidorna. Jag ignorerade honom och vände min uppmärksamhet tillbaka till Prescott. Allt han hade sagt var en del av våra planer. För en tillfällig betraktare kanske det inte låter som mycket. Löften om att göra mer inom vår bransch och hjälpa ekonomin att växa. Men för oss innebar det kulmen på flera års väntan, att vi väntade tills vi kunde slå till. 
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Vi sökte makt och fick makt. 
Min läpp krökte sig på sidan. Vi hade gjort vår förmögenhet tack vare mig. Prescott var Fortuitys ansikte utåt och marknadschef. Drake var vår verkställande direktör. West, när han faktiskt dök upp, var verksamhetschefen. Och jag? Finansdirektören. Jag skötte våra pengar och gjorde mitt jobb jävligt bra. Jag tog den lilla summa vi hade när vi startade Fortuity och förvandlade den till miljarder. 
Prescott kanske vill tro att vi var här tack vare honom, men egentligen krävdes det alla av oss för att göra det här företaget till en framgång. Vi blomstrade för att vi höll ihop och jobbade jävligt hårt. Och nu gick vi vidare med vår plan för att få det vi alla verkligen ville ha. Det vi hade väntat på. Det skulle bara vara en tidsfråga nu. 
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"Du ser lycklig ut", mumlade Drake när vi gick fram och ställde oss bakom Prescott när han hade avslutat sitt tal. 
"Det är jag." 
Jag kastade en blick över honom och såg hans indigoblå ögon blinka. Han visste precis varför. Det gjorde vi alla. Till och med West, som såg ut som om han ville bada hela rummet i blod. Och det skulle han också göra. Killen tog inga fångar. 
"RT*ro)r! édDu Factétx Ddent WhYämr' Bverknldiguen koMmimer att *fHugnFgeArCac?"a 
Drake lät tveksam. 
"Det måste det. Jag väntar inte tio år till." 
Hans grymma leende berättade för mig att han kände likadant. Vi hade fått nog. 
Pnrescjott kvastadLeg en blivck ét&ilnlqb_akav på Joss^ med) _sinma Bbilo,ndaM ög^oAnnbréynw Nhöjgd*a. 
"Ni tre måste muntra upp er för fan", sa han under andan, så att mikrofonen inte skulle uppfatta hans ord. 
Jag klistrade ett leende på mitt ansikte medan Drake och West gjorde detsamma. En enad front. Det var vad vi var tvungna att visa. Att dölja vårt mörker under en noggrant konstruerad fasad. Fortuitys ansikte. Och männen som styrde den. 
Mitt leende blev verkligt när jag tänkte på vad de kallade oss. De fyra ryttarna. Som om vi skulle föra med oss apokalypsen. Kanske skulle vi göra det. Kanske inte. 
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Vi kommer att ha så roligt. Vi är skyldiga detta. 
Vi behövde bara visa lite mer tålamod och återhållsamhet ... sedan kunde vi släppa ut allt. Och se världen brinna runt omkring oss.