by Lars Teeney
“Ah, Evan: I was wondering when you would show yourself. There comes a time in every life when we must surpass the master. You have proven the most slippery of queries. I was so very surprised when your band of Apostates defeated my Rangers at the Great Lake,” Inquisitor Rodrigo marveled, supporting himself against his cane.
“With all due respect: I believe that our success had less to do with our merits, as it did with your inept leadership. Maybe if you had overseen the operation personally you could have nailed us. But, what’s even more unbelievable is that it seems the Church of New Megiddo didn’t have faith in your organization either,” Hades mocked the Inquisitor, and tried to provoke him to do something brash.
“Why Evan: whatever do you mean the Church did not have faith in my organization?” the Inquisitor asked while he sized up Hades-Perdition.
“You don’t know? It’s the reason why your Rangers failed in their attack: the Church had sent their own agent; a Prelate. She took out a good majority of your Rangers herself, then attacked us. And, shit, let me tell you, she came closer to wiping us out than L.O.V.E ever did.” Hades had a smile on his face. The Inquisitor took a deep breath, suppressing an urge to curse.
“The Church sent the Prelate Inoguchi? Well, no wonder my Rangers had failed. It’s true: I have made grave errors in my leadership. But, it matters little, because after all is said and done we still find each other here, standing over the dead body of your informant.” The Inquisitor awaited Hades response with his evergreen smirk.
“You can’t be serious? You think Kate Schrubb was our informant? She would never betray her father. Now, Keir Schrubb would be a different story. But still, I’m confused: why did you torture Graham Wynham into a coma if you did not know who the informant was?” Hades was hoping his questions would insinuate the truth in Rodrigo’s mind. The smirk melted away from Inquisitor Rodrigo’s face.
“So, you mean to say—” Hades cut the Inquisitor off.
“Yes, that is exactly what I mean to say: you had the informant in your custody this entire time. All you had to have done was remove his implant sooner and you would have had the truth. Which, I saw you were in the process of doing before I raided your headquarters. I read in the L.O.V.E archives that you suspected Cardinal Zhukov as the mole—holy hell—were you way off. Graham Wynham was the catalyst. The Apostate movement was his vision: he financed it, he selected its members based on their abilities, and he devised our overall strategy. The one thing he miscalculated on was how easy it would be to sway Keir Schrubb to turn on the Regime.” Hades almost laughed when he saw the look on Rodrigo’s face.
“Yes, it appears that I have been duped, and the rivalries between the Regime and the Church hamstrung my efforts to stop your group. And yet: here we are.” The Inquisitor depressed the small trigger on his lion-head cane, forming his blade.
“Yes, indeed: Here we are.” Hades unsheathed his claymore and held it at the ready.
“The only thing left to do is kill you, so that I can redeem myself,” Rodrigo announced, as his smirk returned to his face.
“You’re welcome to try.” Hades brought his sword up to a guard position. The two men squared off to search for a line of attack.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
Because Arch-Deacon von Manstein had fled, the B.A.G. would have to be presided over by Vice-Deacon Paulus. There wasn’t really much to it: little more than going out onto the venue stage during the opening ceremonies, to lead initial prayers. This would be followed by reading off a list of those citizens who have been deemed Virtuous by the Church. This would be the last time any citizens would be able to join the ranks of the Saved. The Vice-Deacon would then oversee a bit of sport: the public execution of individuals branded Apostates by the Church. After this spectacle, his only other responsibility would be to introduce the Reverend Wilhelm, who would deliver a powerful sermon designed to whip the congregation into a religious fervor. Then while the mood was high the Reverend would usher in the Second Coming, and everyone would be carried to the Afterlife, where they would spend eternity basking in God’s light. At least that is how it was supposed to go. With all the chaos in the New Megiddo City and elsewhere in the country, he had no idea what would happen.
“Come on, Vice-Deacon, holiness! We are late getting to R.F.K. Stadium. The people are agitated having spent too much time in the camps!” A Ranger loaned to the Church, to provide security for its remaining leadership, urged the Vice-Deacon to hurry.
“Yes, yes! I know what is at stake!” the Vice-Deacon complained. He was escorted into the parking garage level of the Church of New Megiddo Central Authority building. An A.P.C. sat waiting for his arrival. The Rangers urged him on, faster than his fragile legs would carry him without joint pain. The group of three Rangers, which surrounded the Vice-Deacon corralled him into the A.P.C. The vehicle then sped up the ramps leading to street level, and then out a security door, that slowly retracted to close. It was at that moment when a blanket-clad, filth-covered, Ravine-Gulch rushed through the door before it closed.
Ravine-Gulch wandered around the parking garage level, staggering from the after-effects of the ‘Database’ use. He had no idea what he was looking for. He struggled through the garage, and found nothing but empty spaces and the sound of ventilation fans humming. At long last he came to an elevator, and the door opened for him. Within the chrome-plated elevator, by the door, was a keypad for denoting level input. Underneath the keypad was hand scanner and a small friction pad, which scrapped off a small portion of skin for D.N.A. analysis. Ravine-Gulch put that much together: he figured out how the system worked, and gave his hand scan, and skin sample. He proceeded to press “level one”: nothing happened. He tried other number combinations and the elevator remained stationary. He became frustrated and pounded wild combinations with no results. At that point when he was about to give up, he noticed the “B” key on the pad. Ravine tried different combinations of basement levels. Finally, he inputted “B7”. This selection yielded a result. He sighed with relief when the elevator began to descend.
Further the elevator dropped into the bowels of the Central Authority building. Finally, the elevator doors opened. When he stepped out a near-blinding light, and the sound of a church choir belting out a tune, met him. He put his hand up to block the light from his eyes. When his eyes did adjust he could make out high-vaulted ceilings, and walls constructed of roughly-cut stone, with stained-glass windows at regular intervals, which projected artificial light through them, due to being situated so far underground. Large, wooden pews flanked a central isle. At the front of the space he could barely make out a massive digital display, the size of a cinema screen, projecting fourth the blinding light. Ravine could distinguish a vague figure, silhouetted against the images on the screen. The feed on the screen came into focus: it displayed a live feed from the Born Again Gathering.
“Welcome home, Marco! Please come and join me,” a familiar voice was heard calling from near of the screen. He had heard that voice before. He squinted to get a better look. He could see the figure better now: the Man was standing in front of some sort of a massive computing device, with cables emanating from its core. He wore an expensive designer suit; pinstriped. The Man was tall and slender, but something wasn’t right about him: he looked unnaturally old. The Man was shriveled and thin-skinned, with visible veins that crisscrossed his skin. Ravine-Gulch recognized the man to be President John W. Schrubb.
“Come now. I have been waiting for you to show for quite a while. We can’t keep the people waiting.” The President beckoned him with a welcoming hand.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
Pride-Swarm’s militia had left Route Seventy-six and had split off to the old Four Hundred Forty; eastbound. His advance was so rapid that he reached the shores of the Arthur Kill overlooking Staten Island in just a few hours, even with such a massive force. There had been no traffic: due to the war and the potential extinction-level event that could occur, and the fact that many of the citi
zens who were not deemed Virtuous stayed in hiding for fear of being executed. These factors contributed to the lack of traffic on the highways. Pride-Swarm had read somewhere historical accounts of the pre-war commutes that workers had faced in this region. To him, it had sounded like hell-on-earth. The current situation was in stark contrast to those bygone days.
He arrayed his militia atop a ridge overlooking the bridge into Staten Island. They occupied an old park, which featured a tight canopy of trees. The park gave them a commanding view of the beat-up the toll crossing bridge. Pride was waiting, and gathered intelligence before he attempted to cross the bridge, as he did not want to repeat the situation at Harrisburg. The militia sat in silence. That’s when Pride heard a strange hum in the distance: it sounded like traffic. It seemed to be a motorcade of some sort, and it was coming from the south. Pride had spotters with field-glasses and rifles scopes observing the scene.
They caught sight of an armored column approaching from the south, and they traveled along Route Thirty-five, which wound its way behind their current position. Worse still: Pride’s militia had parked their armored vehicles along Route Thirty-five: they would be found out in minutes. Pride ordered the retreat back to their A.P.C.s to make an escape if time allowed or make a defensive stand if needed. The militia abandoned their positions and rushed back toward their armored vehicles, lugging their gear in tow. Pride-Swarm hoofed it as fast as his feet could carry him back to the vehicles. The armored column that approached from the south drew closer. The militia men and women reached their own armored vehicles and began to load up. Militia raced to man the turrets atop the A.P.C.s, rotating their weaponry to engage the unidentified column.
By this time the armored column had noticed the parked vehicles, and the mad scramble to occupy them once more. The armored convoy increased its speed and then maneuvered so that the lead vehicles passed Pride’s parked A.P.C.s. The lead vehicles veered across the highway and boxed in Pride’s own column, while the rear vehicles mirrored the movement lead vehicles, creating a “bowed” formation that blocked Pride-Swarm’s parked. The mystery convoy had L.O.V.E. markings, and Pride despaired because they were surrounded and if the fighting started his militia would pay dearly. He considered surrendering in that moment. His turret gunners waited impatiently for the order to fire.
“Convoy: please identify yourself, immediately. Failure to comply will result in hostile action,” a female voice demanded over loudspeakers mounted on an A.P.C.
Pride-Swarm’s interest was piqued: he surmised that had it been Rangers in the armored column they wouldn‘t have bothered to request identification because they had identity transponders that broadcast to other Rangers. Pride-Swarm walked out from among the cover of the armored vehicles. He was unarmed. Pride-Swarm attempted to address the lead vehicle.
“My call sign is Pride-Swarm: I command this force. We are an Apostate militia dedicated to combating the Church and Regime of New Megiddo. I have been tasked with liberating the New York B.A.G. venue. I was instructed that there would be a second Apostate force that I would rendezvous with.” Pride-Swarm awaited the convoy’s response. He started to sweat because he was vulnerable at that moment, and the inhabitants of the convoy took their time to respond.
“Pride-Swarm you say? Who was the chief architect of the Apostate movement?” the voice behind the loudspeakers questioned him. This question verified for him that these were members of the Apostate movement.
“That’s an easy one: I was tasked by Graham Wynham to liberate as many B.A.G. venues as possible and then instructed to link-up with another Apostate force in New York. I am assuming that you are it.” Pride-Swarm smirked under his armored helmet. Another moment of silence crept by.
“So, you claim this force is Apostate and that you were in communiqué with Graham Wynham?” The voice on the loudspeaker questioned further.
“Well, yes: I am his son. Now that we got that out of the way—would you mind telling me who you all are?” Pride-Swarm was annoyed and expected some reciprocity. After a moment of deliberation, the A.P.C. that had questioned him opened its rear ramp. A woman exited the vehicle, and she strolled over to Pride-Swarm. Pride removed his helmet. He shot the woman a smirk.
“You’re Graham Wynham’s son? I guess the guy really was committed to this cause,” Gale exclaimed.
“Yes, it had sorta become a family enterprise. But, he realized that if it were just his family operating against the Church and Regime that we would be found out quickly and exterminated. He knew the Apostate movement needed a broad base,” Pride-Swarm confessed.
“He definitely knew how to use unorthodox recruiting methods to achieve his “broad base”. Sorry, I’m Gale-Whirlwind. This is Angel-Seraphim.” Angel approached the scene from Gale’s rear, to get a sense of what transpired.
“Ladies: pleased to meet you. Yeah, my father needed to find people who had nothing more to lose for his movement. What better way to recruit than from the ranks of the “deceased”?” Pride asked rhetorically.
“Yeah well, its quite a rude awakening when you are “born again” and found out that you failed in taking your own life.” Gale was still bitter about that.
“Think of the difference you are about to make in the world: a clean slate, free from the taint of New Megiddo,” Pride countered.
“Well, that still remains to be seen: how this all ends,” Gale retorted.
“Fair enough. So, now we know we are all on the same side, how about we combine our columns and hurry on to New York? Graham had informed me that representatives of the Neo Railroad would be waiting there,” Pride suggested.
“This is what I have heard as well. Okay, let’s get the show on the road.” Gale and Angel hastened back to their A.P.C.s. Pride-Swarm found himself admiring the physical qualities of the one named Gale-Whirlwind, but, he put those thoughts out of his head to pay attention to the task at hand. He hurried back to his vehicle as well, and the engine roared to life. Soon both columns had mixed into one massive convoy that traveled over the toll bridge to enter Staten Island.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
Inquisitor Rodrigo narrowed his sword blade to the fine point of a rapier and executed a series of thrusts toward Hades-Perdition’s mid-section. The first couple of thrusts connected, then Hades side-stepped to safety. The Inquisitor did not expect Hades’s armor to hold up to the punishment: he was unhurt. The Inquisitor lunged for another thrust. Hades parried with the flat of his blade, knocking the rapier blade aside, then he returned a thrust with his claymore. This left the Inquisitor with no other option but to use his unprotected hand to deflect the strike, which cut his palm. The Inquisitor jumped back several paces to regain his composure and reassess the situation. Hades stood upright, with his sword held casually by his side; incredulously so.
The Inquisitor understood the heft of Hade’s sword. He decided to take on a broad-bladed configuration so that he could not be parried so easily. Hades stood en guard. He preferred for his opponents to come to him. So, the Inquisitor launched another attack: this time with a shallow overhand arc, which was countered by Hades, who nearly landed a push-cut to the Inquisitor’s neck, but he shifted at the last minute for Hades’s blade to scrape against the leather of his overcoat. The inquisitor delivered a punch straight to Hades’s forehead which stunned him for a moment, but then he turned his sword around to use the cross-guard to hook the Inquisitor behind the knee, which tripped him up and sent him down to land on the flat of his back. Hades drove his sword blade down, attempting to skewer the Inquisitor where he laid. The Inquisitor countered: blocking the strike horizontally with his own sword blade, and then delivered a kick to Hades’s genitals. This caused Hades’s to groan in pain and forced him to back-off into a defensive stance. The Inquisitor tumbled to the side and jumped back onto his feet. He stared at Hades while his left hand bled.
“It appears we are at an impasse. Perhaps there is a place for you in my new Regime, after the fall of New Megiddo. That is if we s
top this needless fight,” Inquisitor Rodrigo suggested.
“You and I: we share too much history. This only ends one way, Roddy,” Hades used that name; he knew it would get to the Inquisitor.
“Y-you called me—how dare you!” The Inquisitor was infuriated and renewed his attack. He feigned several thrusts: high then low, each mirrored by Hades. He prodded for an opening, trying with all his ability not to leave an opening of his own for Hades to exploit. Hades seemed to be a veritable wall: there was no penetrating his defense. The Inquisitor glanced at the ground to the right of him. He spied Kate’s side arm lying there. For a split second, he deliberated honor versus victory: he declined the dishonorable action.
Hades beat-off every attack that the Inquisitor made, but the Inquisitor had excellent blade-control, so he did not make wild attacks or left openings. As far as fencing ability was concerned they were evenly-matched. Both men knew that the only way for this match to end was to resort to grappling and dirty tactics. Hades’s stuck to his usual tactic, and would let the Inquisitor make his attack. This constant “turtling” tactic infuriated the Inquisitor because Hades refused to lash out. But, it also elicited the desired reaction Hades wanted from the Inquisitor; frustration. The Inquisitor knew that he played into Hades‘s hands and that further angered him. He began to think much less of honor and more about ending this engagement quickly. The Inquisitor subtly tracked the location of the handgun. He advanced with a lunge attack that forced Hades to side step and beat it off with a quick stroke. The Inquisitor dove for the handgun, then, he took aim and squeezed the trigger multiple times. There was only one bullet left in the chamber. The bullet screamed toward Hades. Striking his claymore, it was deflected up, and the bullet tumbled and grazed Hades’s forehead, which hit him like an uppercut. Hades stumbled backward and landed on his backside, dazed from the impact of the bullet. Through blurry vision, he found that his sword had been snapped in two from the bullet impact.
