The cold bit into James hands as it held the smooth plastic coating of the camera steady. The stump of his little right finger throbbed and he took a moment to look at where his finger had once been and just saw a red throbbing lump, it always ached in the cold. He'd always loved photography when he'd been a teenager, it was one of the few things he'd shown any flare at and other than using it to become friends with a few "models" he'd never really made the most of it until needs must. It had been nearly three years now that he'd been on the run from East Moreland authorities and having sneaked back into Nya Aland he'd begun to get a few things sorted. First he'd reassumed the identity he'd had just before the crisis that had seen the collapse of the UNP, Ragnar Ulriksson had, at least as far as Alander authorities assumed left on a refugee boat, travelled around Mundus a little before returning home. He'd at first found himself a tiny little bedsit in Krokom, it was disgusting, paint peeling off the walls, an ever present smell of mould and if you didn't have the heating on you could see your own breath when lying in bed, which doubled up as his sofa. He'd left there one day in a blind panic after he'd heard someone in the buildings entrance way speaking Morelandish and after calmly walking around the corner had sprinted upstairs quickly packed and then fled down the fire escape. He'd acquired the camera he was now holding a day later, he'd been sat in a park he was sleeping in and some poor unsuspecting tourist had left their camera gear casually at the side of them as they fed some ducks. James had grabbed the camera bag and run, the owner not noticing until James had been well out of sight but still running. He'd sold some of the gear but then realised he could probably do something to earn some money with the rest of it. As such he'd spent the last three months working his way up the landscape photography ladder. He'd set himself up a website and through PayPal was getting a nice little income, infact if the latest picture he got of the Lights in the Sky of Aland he'd probably have enough for that deposit on the little one bedroom place he'd seen. The thought of having a little flat, a proper place to call his home brought a smile to his face as he snapped away. He headed back inside the tent he'd been staying in, climbed into his sleeping bag and used the last bit of his mobile data to send his pictures through. On his little camping stove he made some hot chocolate and prepared to go to sleep. His phone buzzed just before he was going to call it a night and his eyes lit up.
The Free Mundus Network were doing some stories about the blossoming tourist industry of Albion and wanted to use some of his pictures, even going so far as saying they'd offer him a monthly retainer to have first choice of his images. "The flat" was his first thought, a place where he could be settled, have his own things around him rather than what he could cram into a rucksack. He began to sleep feeling happy he had strange thoughts that night, of marrying, having a family once more and his joy faded as he remembered Claire, the girl whose innocence he'd ruined and who had bore him a daughter that he'd never seen. He had often checked the news from East Moreland on the internet, Claire was living in Northfort Palace, his cousin King David having stepped in to support the child who was technically his blood relative, something James wished he could do himself. He had fond memories of Claire, and the Sisters of Helus who had taken him in not realising who he was, not at first anyway. It had been a time when he'd felt valued and while the luxury of his youth had been a long way off even then it had been nice to have people doing things for him. Here in Aland though he was alone, a web of different identities as and when it was needed. It was one thing his time on the run and having got to know some of the criminal community had taught him, how to find fake documents and he'd always had a knack of finding something he could offer a forger. Trafficing drugs and human organs in Zimalia had been a rather sad low but it had paid well and the internet had provided great ways of hiding his money when he had any. He thought now of what he could do now he had a regular job and laughed, a Prince of East Moreland with a regular job, he wondered if Helus had ever thought his choosen bloodline would be working a regular 9-5 and then he remembered it would soon be the Feast of Helus. He'd have to find a way of celebrating it but as always he'd be alone, the Cultists were a group he needed to avoid as he was sure some would recognise his face and then his slowly improving life would be back in that cell in Northfort Military prison where the closest he'd get to a woman would be the latest copy of Beaxotica. He replied to the message accepting their offer and allowed himself to nod off dreaming of the sofa he'd buy for his new flat once he'd trekked to the train station in the morning when he would have a life once more.
