Part Eight: Endgame
I turned the hospice into an abattoir. Mary’s minions all over the hospice flooded towards me in vain attempts to protect the woman who held the keys to their million-dollar paycheck, and I took great pleasure in cutting them down. I unsettled them with my grim grin of satisfaction as I shot them dead with my gun. I terrified them with hysterical laughter as I slashed and stabbed them to death with my knife or hatchet. Soon they ran. Then the slaughter began in earnest, for always in the rout does most death-dealing occur.
The gang members fled, and as they fled they panicked and fired their guns without care for who or what was in the way. The close quarters of the hospice allowed me to play to my strengths, so I hit quickly and slew swiftly before I slipped back out of sight to reposition myself. Then I did it again. I did this repeatedly until every last gang-banger slumped to my feet, dead or dying, blood spaying all over the place.
I let a couple live, because they would lead me to her. She recognized this as soon as they got to her and shot them for their incompetence. I did not immediately go after her, but instead stayed aloof for a time. I did so because I recognized that to solve this properly, I could not stop with Mary; I had to get her entire family, which mean reaching out to that place called “Morocco” somehow. I waived to one of the many machines watching me and motioned for my friend to contact me. I asked her to put forth a call to Mary’s husband, connecting me into the call and showing him what’s going on.
She did as I asked, and moments later I had both husband and wife where I wanted them.
“Hello there,” I said, as I closed in on Mary, “it’s about time we talked.”
“Who are- oh, my God.” He saw from that vast distance that I stalked his wife. “I know who you are. What are you doing?”
“Protecting mywoman from yourwoman- from you.” I said, “Because that’s what this is really about now, isn’t it? You using your wife and my friend as proxies. You’re a coward.”
I heard the gasp. That wordless expression of “What are you thinking?” came through loud and clear. Good.
“Oh yes, I had you figured as soon as I knew your role in this scheme.” I said, “You’re a bankster, and just like your wife you like your deniability- and, for you, that’s something that includes playing your wife like a sucker so you can keep your hands clean.”
I kept Mary in line of sight, but concealed from her.
“See her? She’s getting her hands dirty. Right now, the cops are on their way here to deal with a mass shooting that she brought about due to personally handling the hit on my friend. She’s got bigger balls than you do, and you’re content to let her suffer and die for your ambitions- aren’t you?”
I leveled my gun at her and took aim. I made certain to show this to this dickless wonder of a man.
“Yet, right now, I can fuck you over right good and all of your planning won’t mean shit.”
“No, wait!” he said, but I just didn’t care anymore. I fired.
The shot hit Mary in the hip. I fired again and hit the opposite leg. A third shot crippled her shooting arm. All the while, her husband could do nothing but watch.
“STOP!” he yelled, but I shot Mary one more time in her other arm- just to be certain. Then I approached her as she slumped to the floor, bleeding and helpless. I kicked away her gun, pointed mine at her head and then put my device so that Mary could hear us talk.
“Say hello to your husband, you back-stabbing bitch.”
“Help!” she said.
“She’s not dead yet, but you wire me the funds and we’ll call it a day.” I said.
“WHAT?!” they said, harmonizing.
“You heard me. A deal’s a deal. You wanted a clean get-away, and I wanted the money for the hit. You’re rid of a bothersome bitch, and I’m rid of you. Win-win, buddy-boy, just like you said. You’re not going to welsh on me now and play the Indian Giver, are you? I found you once; I can do it again.”
“John, you asshole!” she said, “You cut a deal?”
“No, honey, I-“
I shook my head in mock disbelief. “Yes, he did. Why do you think he fled as soon as you got into trouble, and took the kids with him, to a place where the government can’t touch him? Why do you think he didn’t fight harder to get you to come with him? He’s just like you, Mary. He’s got to have at least one woman on the side, probably with him right now; he’s as much of an opportunist as you are, so he’s got to keep his options open.”
I then called up an image on my device. I quickly mocked it up to appear as if the transfer of wealth went through, and then showed it to her- knowing that she’d not catch the forgery. The look on her face as she finally experienced—if it was illusory—being on the wrong end of a betrayal made me beam wide and bright; my smile could’ve lit up the room.
“DAMN YOU, JOHN! COULDN’T KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS, COULD YOU!”
I heard him stammer something, but I didn’t care to listen. Facts, at this point, couldn’t save the Creator Himself so why bother? Mary went on about the usual post-birth body adjustments and how she worked so hard to keep him satisfied and so on. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Once she finished her tirade, I piped up.
“No turning back now, pal.” I said, and I looked up at the devices that my friend used to keep an eye on all of this. I shot her an inquisitive look, and she broke in on the call to answer.
“Gotcha, suckers! Finish it, Ken.”
I executed Mary then and there, and then I hung up on her husband. Sometime later, after I did some creative editing, I made the record look like the deal was between him and one of the gangs; he got killed as revenge by Mary’s side of their family a few days later- her mother still had friends far from home.
As for my friend and I, we escaped official notice. I took her the now-abandoned home of Mary and her husband, gave it to her and she resided there until the Azure Flames consumed the Old World in its entirety. I kept my promises all right- to her as well as myself. In the years to come, that bond would become the foundation for a renewed commitment to a very old way of life. I only regret that my dear old friend could never become my most beloved wife; because of her, I became a stalker of monsters- the Father of Stalkers.
Showing posts with label a. Show all posts
Showing posts with label a. Show all posts
Monday, March 21, 2011
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Legacy of the Hero: The Last Meets the First-24
Monsters in the Gloom
Gish left the room for a moment, saying something about meals, leaving the three youths alone. All of them looked over at each other, and instantly they saw in each other the confusion and unease in themselves.
“I cannot ignore that this ‘Gish’ is not wholly truthful.” Yearling said.
“Nor I.” Zacharion said, “He’s hiding something.”
“I don’t like the way he looks at me.” Sihaya said, “It reminds me of the ways that some of the old men in court did before Father killed them all.”
“Let us not trust him, then.” Zacharion said, again leading, “Let us press him and push him to reveal his true self so that we may deal honestly with honest hatred than falsely with false friendship.”
Not long thereafter, Gish returned. “I have prepared a suitable meal for travelers like you three. Come, follow me.”
Wary did they follow, but follow they did and they came to a small room with a small table and four chairs. Food and drink rested upon it, ready for consumption, and Gish pointed each to a chair as he moved to his own.
“You see the Twilight Son.” Gish said, inquiring, “Why?”
“You know the answer to that question.” Yearling said, “No one who knows of the Twilight Son would not know why he would be sought.”
“I am but an outcast, learned through my own efforts. Some gaps are inevitable.”
“An outcast? From where?” Sihaya asked.
“I no longer recall.” Gish said, dismissive, “It was so long ago, and since I have become no less a capable man than I would have otherwise.”
Zacharion sampled the goods on the table, and then motioned—covertly—for Sihaya to deal with the now-revealed threat. From unseen pockets out of Gish’s sight, she passed pills to each of the boys, pills meant to used in such situations to dissolve poisons. (Even then, princesses had to protect themselves from cunning courtiers.) Each in turn, when Gish looked away from them, slipped the pills into their food and drink and then partook as if nothing was wrong.
Over their meal, the three did push and press their host. They pressed Gish over his unusual appearance, producing an implicit admission of albinism. They pressed him over his origins, getting an admission of his ignorance over his parentage, and they got him to admit that he still serves the man that raised him as his own son.
Then Gish realized that his young charges were not succumbing to the toxins in the food and drink, toxins meant to be mixed with chemicals in the air, and his demeanor changed.
“I am dismayed.” Gish said, “But I know from bitter experience when I must abandon a plan and resort to something more direct.”
Then with a wave of a hand a flash of light blinded the three, after which Gish had disappeared. The three, from places that their own short lives could not provided, knew that this was not the end- and when noises unnatural echoed into the room, they knew that something else had occurred.
“Is the building still watching?” Sihaya asked.
“Heiress Sihaya, this system is operation.”
“What did Gish do?”
“The surviving organism is attempting to access the database. Unknown intruders have gained access to this facility by way of a super-energetic phenomenon.”
“I think that’s Ancient lingo for ‘summoned monsters’.” Yearling said.
“Can we stop Gish?”
“The organism is unable to access the database. It may attempt to destroy it instead. Time unknown.”
Without further talk, the three took up weapons and got on the move. They encountered a group of near-mindless mutants coming from the plush room where they met Gish, and in a shocking (to the mutants) display of violence the three children quickly cut them all down; more and more, lifetimes beyond their own find expression through their own bodies.
They found on the floor a carefully-constructed summoning circle, concealed under a floor rug previously, and dealt with by breaking the circle at its key points of intersection with the hexagram that it contained. Wordlessly, they quickly ransacked the room; Sihaya found a log book, and Yearling an orb.
“He’s been attempting to divine the Son’s location himself.” Zacharion said, quickly deducing the significance.
“No time to hash it out.” Yearling said, “We need to move.”
The three then heard loud sounds down a distant hallway, as loud alarms arose and spinning red lights came on.
“Security measures initiated.”
The three followed the noises, and soon they found two metal war machines shooting ancient weaponry into another room. Out of that room flew a brilliant giant-sized phantom fist that grabbed one of the machines as another materialized as a fist of the opposing hand and repeatedly slammed it into pieces as if it were made of rotten wood. The remaining machine, heedless of its own existence, kept firing. It too got seized and smashed into pieces; then the hands disappeared.
Without fear or hesitation, the three ran into the room- and Gish, sword in one hand and a spell of some power held in the other, stood ready.
“Regrettable indeed.” Gish said, “For all three of you would have made wonderful allies.”
No talk. They all attacked Gish at once, swords and knives in hand. Gish, being an adult in form and aware due to experience in such positions, held his own through the first press. With the free hand he summoned a translucent buckler into existence. Maximizing his movement, he kept the three away from his back as he maneuvered about the room. His moves seemed swifter, his blows harder and his flesh tougher than his thin and wiry frame would seem to indicate. His feet seemed to blur, as did his outline.
The three cast glances at each other, and at the right moment they each attacked with their swords and pressed him into a corner. As it seemed that he would, again, deflect their swords long enough to wriggle away he found himself off his line- the blades he expected clattered to the floor as he felt child-sized hands grasp his fine clothing. As he hit the floor, he realized that they had synergized their attacks and grappled him simultaneously. Yearling bound his arms and Zacharion his legs. As for Sihaya, she drew back her knife and struck home- burying it to the hilt.
Gish lost the will to live as soon as he felt cold steel sever forever the font of his pride and made a eunuch of him. The boys, sensing an opening, slashed Gish repeatedly as if butchering an animal. Gish expired immediately.
Gish left the room for a moment, saying something about meals, leaving the three youths alone. All of them looked over at each other, and instantly they saw in each other the confusion and unease in themselves.
“I cannot ignore that this ‘Gish’ is not wholly truthful.” Yearling said.
“Nor I.” Zacharion said, “He’s hiding something.”
“I don’t like the way he looks at me.” Sihaya said, “It reminds me of the ways that some of the old men in court did before Father killed them all.”
“Let us not trust him, then.” Zacharion said, again leading, “Let us press him and push him to reveal his true self so that we may deal honestly with honest hatred than falsely with false friendship.”
Not long thereafter, Gish returned. “I have prepared a suitable meal for travelers like you three. Come, follow me.”
Wary did they follow, but follow they did and they came to a small room with a small table and four chairs. Food and drink rested upon it, ready for consumption, and Gish pointed each to a chair as he moved to his own.
“You see the Twilight Son.” Gish said, inquiring, “Why?”
“You know the answer to that question.” Yearling said, “No one who knows of the Twilight Son would not know why he would be sought.”
“I am but an outcast, learned through my own efforts. Some gaps are inevitable.”
“An outcast? From where?” Sihaya asked.
“I no longer recall.” Gish said, dismissive, “It was so long ago, and since I have become no less a capable man than I would have otherwise.”
Zacharion sampled the goods on the table, and then motioned—covertly—for Sihaya to deal with the now-revealed threat. From unseen pockets out of Gish’s sight, she passed pills to each of the boys, pills meant to used in such situations to dissolve poisons. (Even then, princesses had to protect themselves from cunning courtiers.) Each in turn, when Gish looked away from them, slipped the pills into their food and drink and then partook as if nothing was wrong.
Over their meal, the three did push and press their host. They pressed Gish over his unusual appearance, producing an implicit admission of albinism. They pressed him over his origins, getting an admission of his ignorance over his parentage, and they got him to admit that he still serves the man that raised him as his own son.
Then Gish realized that his young charges were not succumbing to the toxins in the food and drink, toxins meant to be mixed with chemicals in the air, and his demeanor changed.
“I am dismayed.” Gish said, “But I know from bitter experience when I must abandon a plan and resort to something more direct.”
Then with a wave of a hand a flash of light blinded the three, after which Gish had disappeared. The three, from places that their own short lives could not provided, knew that this was not the end- and when noises unnatural echoed into the room, they knew that something else had occurred.
“Is the building still watching?” Sihaya asked.
“Heiress Sihaya, this system is operation.”
“What did Gish do?”
“The surviving organism is attempting to access the database. Unknown intruders have gained access to this facility by way of a super-energetic phenomenon.”
“I think that’s Ancient lingo for ‘summoned monsters’.” Yearling said.
“Can we stop Gish?”
“The organism is unable to access the database. It may attempt to destroy it instead. Time unknown.”
Without further talk, the three took up weapons and got on the move. They encountered a group of near-mindless mutants coming from the plush room where they met Gish, and in a shocking (to the mutants) display of violence the three children quickly cut them all down; more and more, lifetimes beyond their own find expression through their own bodies.
They found on the floor a carefully-constructed summoning circle, concealed under a floor rug previously, and dealt with by breaking the circle at its key points of intersection with the hexagram that it contained. Wordlessly, they quickly ransacked the room; Sihaya found a log book, and Yearling an orb.
“He’s been attempting to divine the Son’s location himself.” Zacharion said, quickly deducing the significance.
“No time to hash it out.” Yearling said, “We need to move.”
The three then heard loud sounds down a distant hallway, as loud alarms arose and spinning red lights came on.
“Security measures initiated.”
The three followed the noises, and soon they found two metal war machines shooting ancient weaponry into another room. Out of that room flew a brilliant giant-sized phantom fist that grabbed one of the machines as another materialized as a fist of the opposing hand and repeatedly slammed it into pieces as if it were made of rotten wood. The remaining machine, heedless of its own existence, kept firing. It too got seized and smashed into pieces; then the hands disappeared.
Without fear or hesitation, the three ran into the room- and Gish, sword in one hand and a spell of some power held in the other, stood ready.
“Regrettable indeed.” Gish said, “For all three of you would have made wonderful allies.”
No talk. They all attacked Gish at once, swords and knives in hand. Gish, being an adult in form and aware due to experience in such positions, held his own through the first press. With the free hand he summoned a translucent buckler into existence. Maximizing his movement, he kept the three away from his back as he maneuvered about the room. His moves seemed swifter, his blows harder and his flesh tougher than his thin and wiry frame would seem to indicate. His feet seemed to blur, as did his outline.
The three cast glances at each other, and at the right moment they each attacked with their swords and pressed him into a corner. As it seemed that he would, again, deflect their swords long enough to wriggle away he found himself off his line- the blades he expected clattered to the floor as he felt child-sized hands grasp his fine clothing. As he hit the floor, he realized that they had synergized their attacks and grappled him simultaneously. Yearling bound his arms and Zacharion his legs. As for Sihaya, she drew back her knife and struck home- burying it to the hilt.
Gish lost the will to live as soon as he felt cold steel sever forever the font of his pride and made a eunuch of him. The boys, sensing an opening, slashed Gish repeatedly as if butchering an animal. Gish expired immediately.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Legacy of the Hero: The Last Meets the First-12
The Pebbles Vote Before the Avalanche Hits
The Privy Council of the Solar Nation met behind closed doors in the royal palace of Solland. Their enemies, lead by Lord Acton, met clandestinely in the home of Lord Acton in the city below the palace, well-guarded and well-hidden. Both groups met because of the same incident, the same event, meant that the long-abated conflict over the Solar Nation’s direction will hold no longer. A civil war, one precipitated when Zebulon assumed the throne a generation ago, is now finally come- and many within the Solar Nation see it coming.
Within the Privy Council, Zebulon and Keela again meet with their council of advisers and key officials around a circular table in a room decorated with maps. Their enemies meet in a room just like it. Both tables are covered with written reports, lists of things and more lists of other things, covered by mugs of this or that stuff of choice. Junior members come into and out of this room with more reports coming in and more orders going out.
“Zacharion is now out of our sphere of influence.” Zebulon said to his fellows, “I am certain that, whatever else he is to do, he is not served by insisting—by word or deed—on his involvement anymore. This is a matter for our nation, not for the last living legacy of Holy Ilker.”
Down in the city, Lord Action said “The princess has returned from her excursion, and she is now notably changed. Though yet a child, she already has steel in her spine- steel of a higher grade now than formerly the case, due to this incredible boy that passed through our realm. The boy’s existence poses a long-term threat, as he certain intends to continue the direction that the Usurper began. We know it, so I say that we must assume that they do also- and will move to protect him.”
The junior members of these two factions slip away, talking to their families and friends, and under the influence of drink and fatigue they let the essence of that position come forth. Word spreads and becomes rampant rumor-mongering, and the many smaller factions and common people then act in accord with what they hear- for all by now know of Ilker’s death and the boy’s passing through court and out into the countryside. Stronger wills amongst them move faster and gather about them sympathetic minds of lesser quality, forming bands and gangs, and those groups decide that they—not the king nor the Acton faction—will make this happen as they would like.
In the cities and towns, within days and weeks, extant factions take up affiliations for one or the other of their own accord and use this to bring into the streets issues and disputes long confined behind closed doors and shrouded alleys. Brawls turned to riots, riots to street-fights and soon sections burned as one side escalated faster than the other could react.
In the countryside, villages quickly conformed to one banner or the other in the manner of their town-dwelling brethren and began raiding each others' farms and stealing or burning each other crops; within a month, a civil war that once could’ve been contained within formalized warfare and political maneuvering broke free into a general uprising and burgeoning chaos as men great and small took this opportunity to settle old accounts and advance ambitions long suppressed.
Neither the loyalists in the palace nor the rebels of Action’s salon took anything but revulsion over the catastrophe; once they learned how it got started both sides swiftly struck to make firm and full examples of their errant juniors. Acton’s erring agents became grisly dawn-hour discoveries, swinging from tree limbs and towers across the land by their own superiors. The king, citing ancient and justified law from before the Azure Flames, publicly executed them by his own hand.
Zebulon, sensing Acton’s mind, cornered him in court and—at sword-point—ordered him to cooperate to put down the general chaos. When Acton, spitefully, did not immediately comply the king declared Acton a traitor and revealed his knowledge—all accurate—regarding Acton’s past and present treachery. Acton’s house and allies also became outlaws on the spot, and those present in court that day joined their leader in a most ignoble death. The rest fled to redoubts believed unknown and far from prying eyes, gathering to them those very petty partisans affiliating themselves with Acton and in a short time the many gangs became an irregular—but organized—army, one that Zebulon could handle.
“Order out of Chaos.” Keela said as her husband ordered the muster for war, “A scheme that’s as old as Man, and reliable as the dawn.”
“Indeed.” Zebulon said, “Now, before this disorder gets again out of hand, let’s end this one and see to it that it does not spread. For the sake of the future."
The Privy Council of the Solar Nation met behind closed doors in the royal palace of Solland. Their enemies, lead by Lord Acton, met clandestinely in the home of Lord Acton in the city below the palace, well-guarded and well-hidden. Both groups met because of the same incident, the same event, meant that the long-abated conflict over the Solar Nation’s direction will hold no longer. A civil war, one precipitated when Zebulon assumed the throne a generation ago, is now finally come- and many within the Solar Nation see it coming.
Within the Privy Council, Zebulon and Keela again meet with their council of advisers and key officials around a circular table in a room decorated with maps. Their enemies meet in a room just like it. Both tables are covered with written reports, lists of things and more lists of other things, covered by mugs of this or that stuff of choice. Junior members come into and out of this room with more reports coming in and more orders going out.
“Zacharion is now out of our sphere of influence.” Zebulon said to his fellows, “I am certain that, whatever else he is to do, he is not served by insisting—by word or deed—on his involvement anymore. This is a matter for our nation, not for the last living legacy of Holy Ilker.”
Down in the city, Lord Action said “The princess has returned from her excursion, and she is now notably changed. Though yet a child, she already has steel in her spine- steel of a higher grade now than formerly the case, due to this incredible boy that passed through our realm. The boy’s existence poses a long-term threat, as he certain intends to continue the direction that the Usurper began. We know it, so I say that we must assume that they do also- and will move to protect him.”
The junior members of these two factions slip away, talking to their families and friends, and under the influence of drink and fatigue they let the essence of that position come forth. Word spreads and becomes rampant rumor-mongering, and the many smaller factions and common people then act in accord with what they hear- for all by now know of Ilker’s death and the boy’s passing through court and out into the countryside. Stronger wills amongst them move faster and gather about them sympathetic minds of lesser quality, forming bands and gangs, and those groups decide that they—not the king nor the Acton faction—will make this happen as they would like.
In the cities and towns, within days and weeks, extant factions take up affiliations for one or the other of their own accord and use this to bring into the streets issues and disputes long confined behind closed doors and shrouded alleys. Brawls turned to riots, riots to street-fights and soon sections burned as one side escalated faster than the other could react.
In the countryside, villages quickly conformed to one banner or the other in the manner of their town-dwelling brethren and began raiding each others' farms and stealing or burning each other crops; within a month, a civil war that once could’ve been contained within formalized warfare and political maneuvering broke free into a general uprising and burgeoning chaos as men great and small took this opportunity to settle old accounts and advance ambitions long suppressed.
Neither the loyalists in the palace nor the rebels of Action’s salon took anything but revulsion over the catastrophe; once they learned how it got started both sides swiftly struck to make firm and full examples of their errant juniors. Acton’s erring agents became grisly dawn-hour discoveries, swinging from tree limbs and towers across the land by their own superiors. The king, citing ancient and justified law from before the Azure Flames, publicly executed them by his own hand.
Zebulon, sensing Acton’s mind, cornered him in court and—at sword-point—ordered him to cooperate to put down the general chaos. When Acton, spitefully, did not immediately comply the king declared Acton a traitor and revealed his knowledge—all accurate—regarding Acton’s past and present treachery. Acton’s house and allies also became outlaws on the spot, and those present in court that day joined their leader in a most ignoble death. The rest fled to redoubts believed unknown and far from prying eyes, gathering to them those very petty partisans affiliating themselves with Acton and in a short time the many gangs became an irregular—but organized—army, one that Zebulon could handle.
“Order out of Chaos.” Keela said as her husband ordered the muster for war, “A scheme that’s as old as Man, and reliable as the dawn.”
“Indeed.” Zebulon said, “Now, before this disorder gets again out of hand, let’s end this one and see to it that it does not spread. For the sake of the future."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)