Crimson Rain

by Tex Leiko

  He hadn’t been given any trouble as of yet, but who knew? This could be his lucky day. He proceeded down the alleyway as usual. Passed by the junkies reminiscing by a garbage can that still stunk of the fire that had been glowing in it last night to keep them warm.

  They asked for spare credits as he walked by, typical. He told them no, as he always did. He knew they would only spend it on boosts or stimulants. It might bring them some happiness, but it wouldn’t fix their problems. Plus, he was on a mission in life. He needed money to accomplish it, and though he had saved enough for his first series of bots, he would need four more, and a week wasn’t sufficient time for him to save. He didn’t know what he would tell Max when he returned.

  For now, though, he didn’t worry about his finances. He figured he would come up with something. Max seemed like a good man, and he had taken a creed to do no harm. He couldn’t sit idle and let Zarfa die or go deaf, could he?

  As Zarfa arrived at his apartment door, he got out his keycard and reached out his hand to swipe it. He was about to hear the buzz followed by the click when, instead, he heard a ringing in his ear. These damn side effects, he thought to himself. It took a second for him to realize he had been hit in the side of the head and that the bums in the alley were screaming and fleeing.

  Zarfa fell sideways and his head made contact with the pavement that had been only seconds ago under his feet, not under his head. He felt the asphalt dig into his cheek. Who’d hit him? He hadn’t seen anyone unusual.

  He jumped to his feet, spinning to face the side that the blow had come. There was already a leg coming at him for a strong kick. The opponent had no doubt launched it at him while he was on the ground. It was a good thing Zarfa’s reflexes were quick and fluid like a waterfall or else this kick could have caused some pain.

  Zarfa jumped. The kick was aimed low and he cleared this behemoth of a man’s leg with his evasive maneuver. As the man began to retract his attack, Zarfa launched a counter with his own heel aimed at the man’s knee.

  It landed; Zarfa could hear it, and feel it too. It made a snap as his counter attack broke this beastly figure’s tibial plateau. Despite the utter pain his enemy must have been in, he stood there in a guarded position, preparing to fight.

  Zarfa stood at about six-foot, one inch in height; his unnamed enemy was at least a foot taller. Zarfa, however, had comparable reach with both his arms and legs. It was the reason he had been Sarah’s bodyguard. It was the reason he had taken a job as an entertainment fighter in this God forsaken, dank hell of a city.

  “I don’t want trouble and I will kill you,” Zarfa stated, giving the most searing expression he could muster.

  “What makes you think you can?”

  “The fact that I just broke one of your legs. Impressive you are still standing on it, but it is broken. You are still in pain, and I am faster. Walk away.”

  “I can’t, leg’s broken, remember?”

  This monster was huge. Not only did he tower over Zarfa, he had to have had at least a hundred pounds more muscle than he did. Zarfa was shocked that he hadn’t been rendered unconscious with the sneak blow the man had launched on the side of his head. How had he snuck up on him? Where had this beast been hiding?

  “Your ear’s bleeding, kid. That was a good counter attack. I underestimated you, but I won’t again,” he said as he hit a button on a device that was worn around his wrist.

  Immediately, he disappeared. Zarfa’s heart began to race so fast and so hard he believed it would burst forth from his rib cage. He had seen nothing like it before. How did he disappear into thin air like that? Nobody has tech like that in Ilyeion.

  Zarfa drew a breath and began to concentrate on relaxing. He needed to not be tense. He needed to flow. Like a waterfall, he needed to be fluid to come crashing down. An early martial arts master had taught that principle centuries before and it worked equally as well today as it had then… When you could see your enemy, that is.

  He listened for movement, for breath that wasn’t his. He didn’t hear a thing. Had his enemy moved? Was he still standing there sizing him up? Why was he being attacked? At these thoughts, he heard a high frequency screech, not in his ear but in his brain.

  Had the sneak attack damaged his eardrum? Was he developing a hematoma under the dura of his brain, causing him severe discomfort and eventual death if he didn’t get away? Was it the Psyker treatment? Why now?

  The alleyway was empty. The moment this goliath had appeared to slay the proverbial David, the junkies and bums had scattered like cockroaches in the light. The pimp who had taken up station in the alleyway always offering his goods was nowhere to be seen. Zarfa was alone, not that those shady characters would have offered him much refuge anyway.

  He ran toward the entrance of the alleyway as fast as he could. He didn’t need to be here; there was no shame running in order to fight another day. Especially since he was fighting a phantom, an apparition that sought his blood.

  His footsteps clattered loud, heavy, and fast as he ran toward the street. He was almost there. Once he made it, he would take a sharp right and hightail it back toward Max’s office. They weren’t exactly friends, but neither was he and his employer who was much farther away, and other than those two, he didn’t know anyone here.

  He felt security that came with the relief he had gotten away, then he felt a heavy blow to his throat. His trachea was going into spasms; he couldn’t breathe. His body screamed it was his end while his mind told him to relax; he wasn’t done yet. He was fortunate the blow hadn’t crushed his trachea entirely, but it had knocked him to the ground again.

  His enemy was still here, and the ringing in his head was growing ever louder. Worse yet, he couldn’t scream for help, and he couldn’t see who was inflicting this pain any longer. He shouldn’t have hesitated; life should have taught him that by now, but he was stupid.

  His stupidity would be his demise this day. He was sure to be dead in a matter of minutes. He should have struck fast as lightning and broken the man’s neck the way he’d broken his leg. He’d had his chance and he passed it by, why? Because he wasn’t a killer? He had killed many.

  Coughing and gasping for air, he stood again, recovering as quickly as he could. Looking around, Zarfa thought to himself, Look for something, movement, anything that tells you where he is. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a can of spray paint by the burned up garbage can. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could think of.

  In one swift move, Zarfa rolled toward the can of paint, hoping and wishing that it wouldn’t be empty. As he came out of his roll, he snatched the can in his hand and felt a wind above his head. Any lower and he would have caught another strong, swift blow, one that might have done him in.

  His throat had stopped convulsing and he could breathe again. He was still in a crouched position from the rolling maneuver he had quickly completed. He hoped his ears would help him in this wicked battle, but they were still failing. His eyes were fine, but he could hear nothing but a loud screech drowning out all noise.

  As he felt the blow glance over his head, missing him, he performed a back flip. The best he could tell, his opponent’s blow had come from in front of him. How could he be moving so quickly? He was sure he had broken his leg with his counter.

  Standing, he sprayed the paint from the can in a wide angle in front of him. The yellow paint misted the air and he could see an outline of a person, much smaller than he had remembered. This outline stood at merely five-foot, five inches. It was directly ahead of him.

  Without hesitation, Zarfa launched forward a blow with his left hand, hitting approximately where he assumed this enemy’s eye would be. It landed. There was a scream followed by blood squirting on his hand. Zarfa pulled back from his attack and took a defensive stance. How many are here?

  Before, his ears failed him; he hadn’t heard the big one move because he hadn’t. He was being tag teamed by these specters of death. He still didn’t know why. He had only been in the c
ity a few weeks, surely not long enough to make enemies.

  The little one was no longer invisible to him. Between the yellow paint and the blood trickling from his face, he could make out the small one. The time for questions and games was over. It was time to end this.

  Zarfa sprayed around himself again. This time, he pivoted on his heel and in one swift motion, had sprayed a cloud of detection three hundred and sixty degrees around his body. This move had revealed that the large one was sneaking up behind him, no doubt to try to hold him or perform another sucker punch.

  “I’ll start with you,” Zarfa said aloud.

  Zarfa heaved the can at the small enemy’s head while simultaneously throwing a powerful haymaker and leaping toward this cloaked figure. They both connected. First the can hit and echoed a loud pinging noise. Second, his haymaker landed square in the ear of the little one, surely blowing out his ear drum.

  This enemy that had been besting him hit the ground so hard he took an additional blow to the head when it connected to the pavement. Without letup, like a furious tempest, Zarfa threw a low kick where he expected the little enemy’s neck to be.

  It was there; he felt it connect with all of his fury and force. This vindictive blow proved fatal. He couldn’t hear it, but he felt as his shin connected with the neck of his foe. He felt as cervical vertebrae separated and shattered from one another and the enemy went limp on his leg.

  Quickly, he switched stances and turned to see the behemoth. He knew the jig was up when he had been sprayed with paint. By now, he’d dropped his cloak and Zarfa could see him clear as day. No more games, no more tricks.

  “Who are you?” screamed Zarfa, spit coming from his mouth.

  The ringing was beginning to fade. These damn bots are more trouble than I thought, he said inside. He may not be able to hear clearly yet, but he planned to extract answers one way or another.

  “I am Faraza,” the giant said, pulling out a pistol and aiming it at Zarfa. “And on that note, you are dead.” He squeezed the trigger and fired three shots.

  Zarfa ducked the moment he saw the gauss pistol drawn. The projectiles missed and he could hear them clear as day make contact with the alleyway behind him. His hearing was back; he was happy about that turn in luck. Now all he had to do was avoid being shot.

  He was in a crouched position like a sprinter ready to come off the line. The first barrage of bullets he had been quick enough to avoid; he only hoped to be as lucky with the next. In a split second, the man had changed his aim and was firing upon him again. Bullets were fast, but Zarfa could see their paths; his eyes were quicker.

  He took off from his crouch and was closing the ten-foot gap quickly toward this beast. Faraza—what are they doing here? How did they know where to find me? Rage welled deep inside of him as he remembered, once again, the day Sarah had been snatched from his life.

  In the two seconds it took to close the gap, he relived the battle in his mind. It then trailed to the woman who had asked him directions only an hour ago. Seven more shots had been fired in haste. One went under his armpit and glanced his ribs, fracturing two of them on the right and causing blood to spit from his wound.

  He tried to dodge them all; he was fortunate that this was a mere flesh wound barely deeper than the surface, not fatal by any means. He grabbed the Faraza agent by the wrist that was holding the pistol. With his right arm, he pulled the man’s arm down and forward. With his left, he sunk his elbow into the wrist of the assassin.

  Like a tree branch under the foot of a large man, he heard it snap. The bone protruded from the skin and blood flowed forth. He dropped the pistol and it hit the ground; it was on a hair trigger. The impact caused it to bounce backward with the barrel facing his enemy. It fired again. The bullet missed Zarfa and struck the calf of the assassin’s unbroken leg.

  His enemy and would-be killer fell to his knees. Switching his grip to the man’s left arm, he pulled it forward and kicked his shoulder, dislocating it. This man on his knees was still at about abdomen height compared to Zarfa. Zarfa jumped into the air with great agility and planted both of his feet on the Faraza, launching off from his chest in another great back flip.

  Zarfa landed on his feet as the Faraza sprawled on his back, nearly dead but still conscious.

  “Faraza? I thought I left you all back in Ilyeion!” exclaimed Zarfa. His rage was wearing off, but he wasn’t going to make this easy. He needed answers. He demanded answers.

  “I’ll bet you did. Looks like you really got the best of us. What is the body count now? Into the hundreds, I imagine. You left quite the wake of destruction before your exodus.”

  “What’s it to you? You’re all evil. You nearly killed me, kidnapped my sister, and pursued me with a vengeance for killing one of your men in a raid. You expect me to show you mercy or concern? I want answers and I will torture you if I have to in order to get them!”

  The Faraza was laughing maliciously. “I know you will, boy. Are you stupid? Do you know why we pursue you? If you did, perhaps you would have allowed us to capture you today… Then again…maybe not.”

  “Enlighten me; why do you keep chasing?”

  “Sarah.”

  The world grew black. It made sense that he would know, but what was she to them? To them, she should be just another captive. To them, she should be another one of their mindless minions. She had her name intact?

  “What of her, swine? It didn’t seem like you were trying to capture me. It seemed as if you were trying to murder me.”

  “That first hit was intended to knock you out. Sarah wants to see you. That’s why you’re here, right? So you can find a way in? We would have let you in, idiot.”

  “What do you mean she wants to see me? Stop being cryptic and be straight with me, lest I start removing precious appendages.”

  “I’m not trying to be cryptic,” he let out, writhing. The adrenaline had worn off and his body was wracked with pain.

  “So what then? You expect me to believe that my sister, one of your drones, wants to see me?”

  “Drone? Ha! Far from it. Are you daft, boy? A talent like that would be a shame to erase and turn into a drone. She holds an esteemed position. I assure you.” His tone was smug; he knew more than Zarfa and he knew it irked him. He enjoyed taunting him. He was already in agony. He already knew he was going to meet his demise; he had accepted it. He was drawing his last breaths. The last bit of joy he would derive would be in taunting Zarfa.

  Zarfa couldn’t help but feel sick. His composure was calm. He had won the battle; there was nothing left to do but extract information. However, with each sentence, he heard his heartbeat grow rapid and more tense. He hadn’t seen his sister since she had been taken three years ago. To think, is she still alive? Intact? Couldn’t be. This was some sick game. Everyone who had ever been seen alive after the Faraza had kidnapped them was always a twisted drone that had no resemblance of their former self.

  “Shut up about my sister. I know she isn’t dead. I know she is with the Faraza, but she is nothing more than a minion, one of the drones now. Last I saw her, her eyes were dead, lifeless. She was nothing but a shell. She isn’t asking for me by name, giving commands anywhere. You’re just angry I’ve been killing you off left and right.”

  “I can’t help it if you choose to believe that. Don’t worry, you will see for yourself.”

  “Damn right I will. As soon as my business is done here, I’m returning home and I will kill every last one of you if that is what it takes.”

  The Faraza assassin was laughing as blood trickled down from his every injury. The pain he was in must have been unbearable. Zarfa stood there sizing him up as he held his side that had been grazed. Blood flowed from between his fingers and his body ached from the shattered ribs.

  Zarfa knelt down and picked up the gauss pistol that had been used against him. He looked in the magazine and there was one bullet left. Methodically, he loaded it back into the gun and aimed it at the Faraza. “Any last words?
” he asked dryly.

  “Would you believe them?”

  “Probably not.”

  The shot rang in Zarfa’s ears. The bullet went clean through this fiend’s head. He no longer laughed at the frustration he caused Zarfa. He no longer writhed in pain. He just lay dead, rapidly cooling on the sidewalk near the entrance to the alleyway. Where are the police? Zarfa asked in his mind.

  He holstered the newly acquired gun into a pocket sewn into the inner seam of his pants. It wasn’t comfortable, but it would do and it was less visible than a side holster. He then took off the cloaking device he had seen his would-be killers use from off both their wrists. He had no idea how to use such a device, but he was sure it would come in handy if he had them.

  After looking around for a few minutes, assessing the world around him, he realized that this type of battle wasn’t uncommon to these people. The moment the violence had ended, the cockroaches had made their way back to their assigned spots in the alley, not like Ilyeion at all.

  The world in general was a harsh and cold place to live, but this was hell. There appeared to be no law; it was practically anarchy. He could have died in the streets this day. Justice would never be found for him and the human carrion birds that surrounded him would probably rustle his every pocket to make sure everything of value was stripped from his cold, dead corpse.

  But he hadn’t died. He was the one walking away. He wasn’t sure how he would fight in the pit tomorrow, wasn’t sure if he should go back to the doctor to have his bullet wound tended to. He remembered he had an antiseptic spray in the apartment, and he was only steps away from it, so he decided to continue as if he hadn’t been attacked.

  He stepped inside his apartment and closed the door behind himself, locking it. He walked across his cool hardwood floor and peeked his head into the bathroom, inspecting it to be sure there weren’t any more battles waiting for him. He found nothing, but that didn’t reassure him. His enemies could apparently do the impossible and become invisible.