If someone shut off his power, there would be hell to pay.
Not knowing what to expect out in the city, he also showed her how to get out the main exit going up the stairs to the home above his personal quarters. There was a group of people living in the upstairs house, it had been modified to be an elite living space in the past, but had seen hard times. However, if she had to exit that way ... she could.
He needed more information, and she needed personal time with her lamb.
Jacqueline thought his black coat was too bland, so she bought some fabric and had him wear it as a red sash. She explained the red would capture people’s attention, and maybe they wouldn’t notice any discerning features.
Like, she remarked, his bald head.
That didn’t help, but he did wear the red sash, it fit his mood.
He Mysted back out of the living quarters and half-way to lower Manhattan before rematerializing. It had started to sprinkle, and he could see lightning playing amongst the clouds in the distance. As he drew closer to the center of town, the buildings used more and more lights externally. It looked like an old time circus had come to town.
Except, this time, they stayed.
There were no cars on the streets, so he chose to walk right up the middle. As he got close, he saw an elevated walkway running between buildings. It looked like maybe public transportation might run along them, as well. He couldn’t be sure. There were cop cars, their red and blue lights flashing down the side of the vehicle, the big letters spelling POLICE easy to see.
The largest, tallest buildings were in front of him. He wondered about the engineering that allowed them to be built so high. Further, how did these cars fly? Was this TQB technology or something else? If it was TQB technology and not the old Nazi technology, then he suspected they had stolen it somehow. He doubted Bethany Anne would have provided the technology herself.
Too little information, and too little to be seen down here. He turned left and walked into the darkness of an alley and turned to Myst. He floated to the top of a three-story building and solidified. Walking to the edge, he stood there and observed. Listening to the random thoughts of people below him.
Twenty minutes later, he disappeared from that rooftop and moved seven blocks closer to the largest building and found a spot to reappear. The building one over was two stories shorter, but it also had an Enforcer on the roof, rifle in hand.
Michael crossed his arms, studying the man who was walking back and forth, his eyes focused on those in the street.
It seemed it was never the Police which held the guns on the rooftops. He was tasting the different minds, watching the Enforcer when he encountered one that was screaming in fear and pain.
One that was running this way in the darkness, down an alley two blocks behind him. Michael turned and started walking across the rooftop while he searched for the reason the person was running. His eyes narrowed, the person was a vampire, a nanocyte infected human. He could feel three…no, four minds that were working to corral the man. Michael switched to Myst, glided over to the next building and reappeared in a corner. Walking to the edge, he looked down the four floors to the streets below.
A large black man was waiting in the middle of the alley exit.
—
Mark was sprinting for all he was worth! He knew that if he was caught, he was a goner. Enough rumors about the Enforcers had floated around that even he, as little as he went out, had heard enough to believe that they either killed vampires or did something worse.
Right now, he was running for his life. How the bastards had found him at his sister’s home, or even knew about him, he could only guess.
He had been taking care of her. She had contracted the flu and was sick, barely able to make it back and forth to the bathroom. So, he promised that he would come take care of her after he got off work at night.
In the dark.
She had asked him one day, while he fed her soup, “Where do you work?”
Mark smiled, “Sis, can’t tell you that, super-secret hush-hush. I’ll get in trouble if I do.” He fed her another spoonful of the chicken soup to try and keep her questions at bay. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. Over the next four nights, more and more questions occurred. He had been starving himself around her, and at one point, his canines had come out at the sight of her sleeping, her neck right there, waiting for just a small bite, enough for him to satiate the hunger and craving within.
The next night was when the banging on the door occurred. He was almost to the front when the front door exploded open, two men in Enforcer uniforms rushing through the doorway together.
“Shit!” he yelled.
Mark didn’t wait to figure out what they wanted. He turned, ran up the stairs and dodged left as he heard two shots fired at his rapidly disappearing figure.
He ran into a bedroom door, shoulder first, slamming it open and then continued right out of the room, crashing through the second story window, falling to the front lawn below. Rolling, he got up and sprinted away,
He had taken three turns and now was stuck in this alley, running but not seeing any good way to get out. He saw the large man at the end of the alley, a block away. His lips compressed and he hoped he didn’t hurt this man too much, but…
That was when the dark figure turned on the arcing rods on each end of his staff, and Mark quickly came to a stop jerking his head to look behind him. Three other men were there, and all of them had pulled out Arc Rods as well. Mark looked both ways and felt despair.
He couldn’t even tell them he was a lover, not a fighter because he didn’t have a girlfriend. He studied their faces. No pithy quips were going to get him out of this shit.
—
“What’s it going to be?” Billy yelled out, “You going to try your odds against three,” he beat his chest with one hand, “or just one?”
This wasn’t even going to be a challenge, Billy thought. It’s obvious this skinny little runt vampire wasn’t in shape. Which was a shame, really. Billy hadn’t had a good fight in over a month.
—
Dodds chuckled, “We got the little pecker this time,” he whispered, clutching his Arc Rod, “the question is whether he takes on Billy, or us.”
Fitzsimmons, about six foot one and the second biggest guy on the team spat off to the side, “I’m voting Billy,” he commented. “My big ass and you two scrawny sidekicks make us seem too harsh. I told Billy we should make it two and two…”
“And how,” Walarand interject, “are we supposed to do that? Have one of us walk up there and ask him politely to step aside, ‘I need to join the other guy’?”
“Fuck that,” Dodds replied, “and you too, Fitzsimmons. I’m like ten pounds lighter than you and bench twenty more. My weight to strength ratio kicks your ass, you puss. Second, Wally, we don’t ask a little twatwaffle anything. It either obeys, or it dies.”
Fitzsimmons chuckled, “Oh, it’s going to die soon enough. Either on the other side with Billy…”
“You think he’s got that feeling tonight?” interrupted Walarand.
“Yeah, it’s been a year tonight since his partner bought it. He’s probably still pissed. If this joker goes to Billy, he’s dead.” Dodd’s confirmed.
“Well, shit. That means if he comes our way,” Fitzsimmons turned on his Arc Rod, followed quickly by the two others, “we have to go easy on him.”
The vampire turned his head in their direction.
Fitzsimmons smirked, whispering, “Come to Poppa, you little shit.”
—
Mark felt hopelessness, he wasn’t going to survive, and as he looked back towards the three, he had to consider if his sister had set him up. He heard the middle man behind him talk about how the single guy ahead of him would kill him.
For what? What had he done to anyone? He was trying his damndest to take as little blood as necessary. He enjoyed technology for fuck’s sake. HE WAS A VIRGIN he screamed in his mind.
Stay where you
are, a comforting voice filled his mind, deliverance is at hand.
His eyes opened in wonder and looked around in the night, Mark quickly stepped to the side of the alley, putting the wall at his back. He noticed the three men had stopped looking at him, and turned to face something coming from the other direction.
That was when the screaming started.
—
The blue electricity arced up and down their rods, their clubs. Fitzsimmons’ smile grew at the thought of the violence to come.
I’ve not come to bring peace ... said a voice in their minds. The three of them turned to each other.
“Did you hear that?” Dodd’s asked.
“Hell yeah,” Walarand answered, licking his lips, his eyes searching.
“Pull your panties up, Wally,” Fitzsimmons smirked, “You are always the scared one.”
“Try careful, Fitz,” Walarand said, “Your ass wasn’t attacked two months ago.”
… But to bring Judgment, the voice concluded in their minds.
—
Jacqueline cleaned up the kitchen and the memories as she washed the plate brought back ugly feelings, feelings of despair.
“I’m not that woman anymore,” she murmured as she put away the last plate. She was full, her stomach hadn’t had this much food in it for years, she thought, and she wanted to sleep.
“Sleeping,” she spoke aloud as she walked out of the kitchen to the stairs, “never helped people get ahead.” She continued down the stairs to the bottom level and walked out into the large room. Heading left, she stopped before the bamboo floor, slipped off her new shoes and pulled off her socks, setting them to the side.
Michael had taught her a new kata before he had left, and she was going have her muscles learn it.
Even if she fell asleep on her feet.
—
Wally turned around, and his jaw dropped open. Not twenty feet behind them stood a man, a black trench coat hanging down, the faint light from their Arcs and the surrounding alley reflecting off of his skin.
And his eyes were glowing red.
Someone in his group was screaming, and Wally thought that was very appropriate. Screw being a man. Wait, it was him!
He shut his mouth.
Fitzsimmons and Dodd got the message already, “I’ve got a package of little girl pink panties for you, wuss boy,” Fitzsimmons ground out as he turned around and looked at the new player. “Oh, boy. We got us a live one, boys!”
Fitzsimmons saw the new bastard and had to admit, he was a little concerned. This wasn’t going to be easy, and few of the previous sack of shits had massively glowing red eyes.
“You know what they say, guys,” he told them, “you turn up the Arcs to ten and they fall even harder.”
The thing started walking towards him, his hands behind his back, his eyes narrowing as Fitzsimmons set himself to deliver the Painmaker. An overhand swing to both club and electrify at the same time. He was proud of the Painmaker. He had coined the term and used the move as often as possible. Dodd had stepped up beside him on his right to make sure he started the attack, allowing Fitzsimmons the luxury of using his height and strength for a fast take-down.
Wally, Fitzsimmons noted, had finally stepped up. “Maybe I’ll give you the yellows for swallowing your balls and putting them back in their sack where they belong,” he snickered.
“Fuck you, Fitz.” Wally answered, “and your momma who I rode last night.”
Fitzsimmons chuckled, Wally was back in action.
—
Michael didn’t need to read the three men to see how they wanted to play this. The two on the edges would attack, the middle would deliver either a stab or a crushing blow from above. He voted for the attack from the top. The man looked like he preferred to produce physical pain although the quick jab would be smarter using the electric stun.
Either way, it wasn’t Michael’s responsibility to explain how to use the Arc Rods.
Michael had already read the youth’s mind and not only was he happy to save the young man, but he could also help Michael.
This young man understood technology.
Michael stepped into the circle of the three, and the attack started.
—
“What is he doing?” Mark murmured as he watched the red-eyed man walk straight towards the Enforcers, seeming to have no care in the world.
Didn’t he know the power of the clubs the Enforcers used?
Mark looked back at the single Enforcer, but he was looking down the alley, as well. Mark turned back. He wasn’t only closer, but his eyesight was much better than big-and-brainless over behind him.
And what he was watching was confusing as hell.
—
Don’t run away scared, Billy. A malevolent voice spoke in his head. Billy’s eyes narrowed, no one called him scared and lived.
The yells from the men down the alley reached his ears, and he gritted his teeth. The three lit up their Arc Rods and set up for an attack.
—
Dodd pushed off his back foot, stabbing forward with his stick. The man never blocked his attack. Dodd’s hissing blue tip nailed the bastard right in the ribs and delivered the top amount of power possible. With a feral grin, he started yelling, “Take this shit, you blood fucker!”
The man shot his right hand out and Wally’s head, just as close as Dodd’s to the vampire, exploded in gore. Wally’s rod fell.
Dodd watched in horror as the beast grabbed Fitzsimmons’ club, stopping it on the way down to strike him as if Fitzsimmons’ strength was like a baby's, not a grown-assed man. “The fuck?” Fitzsimmons got out as he watched the arcs at the tip of his rod get sucked into the man’s hand, the fangs reflecting the light in the night.
“The ‘fuck’ as you call it,” the man’s dark voice said, “is beyond your wildest horrors, Fitzsimmons.” He put out his left hand just a foot from Dodd’s face and blue arcs of electricity reached out to Dodd, who screamed in pain as the little blue monsters ate at his eyes and reached around through his ears to electrify Dodd’s brain.
His body, smoking, fell to the ground.
“Now, it’s just you, and me.” The malevolent eyes regarded him, “And soon, it will just be me.”
“The hell it will!” Fitzsimmons reached for his gun, but couldn’t finish. The beast was suddenly right in front of him, Red eyes just a foot from his.
“Hell is for children, Fitzsimmons,” he whispered, “but Justice is here.” Fitzsimmons looked down to see a hand, with nails grown to knives, had stabbed his chest. He felt blood disgorge from his mouth.
“Fuck…fuck you…demon…” Fitzsimmons tried to spit at the man whose face wasn’t angry but composed, watching him die.
“Not a demon, Fitzsimmons, a man… one who knows what honor truly is, and compassion. Although compassion ...” he shrugged his shoulders as he clenched his hand, those nails piercing Fitzsimmons’ heart, cutting it apart “... was taught a bit more recently, and I have trouble backsliding to my old habits from time to time.”
Michael pulled the Arc Rod out of Fitzsimmon’s hand and turned it around and pressed it to Fitzsimmons' chest, blowing the man back off his arm, leaving his nails dripping blood. Michael made the sign of the cross with the Arc, “Go with God.”
The Dark Messiah Page 22
