The Broken Ones (Book 3): The Broken City

by Jobe, David

  A few minutes later, the door eased open revealing a tall man in a slick looking business suit. He walked in, shutting the door behind him. Kneeling down he smiled at Drew with a salesmen’s grin. In his eyes Drew could see a white fuzz that reminded him of the old televisions when they weren’t picking up any signals. “White noise,” Drew muttered. Something in his mind made him think of how on one of his websites he had read that ghosts talk through white noise. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly thought of that. “I need help,” Drew told the man.

  The man smiled and nodded, though he said nothing. Instead, he reached under Drew and lifted him up. Even though the man’s arms were thin, he had no issues lifting Drew’s limp body.

  “Are you taking me to a hospital?” Drew asked.

  The White Noise man shook his head, a frown coming across his pale features. He gestured toward the door, and it opened without being touched. Outside a black hearse sat at the curb, idling. Night had fallen, though that Drew found that confusing. Had he passed out at some time? The night smelled of burning wood and freshly mowed grass. Scents that reminded Drew of his father.

  Drew looked at the hearse, brow furrowing. “I don’t want to die.”

  The White Noise Man said nothing, his freakish eyes staring straight ahead as if he hadn’t heard Drew.

  “This feels like a final cutscene.” The last thing Drew remembered was the back of the hearse opening on its own.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Jesuit’s Monster

  Mac landed on the roof with a bit of flair. His impact shook the whole building. He created a large round dent in the concrete roof where he had landed. As he did, two brilliant white wings flared up behind him in a spectacular display. They faded away after a moment, the warped space only meant for a second’s worth of show.

  Jesuit stood in his bespoke three-piece suit, blue with grey pinstripes like the old-time mobsters were rumored to wear. No hat, as his father never wore a hat. He turned to regard Mac with a stern expression. “That’s what you have been doing with your time? Creating cheap parlor tricks to wow the masses?” He crossed his arms, the black edge of his gauntlet peeking out of the cuff. He shook his head. “I had higher hopes for you.” Like the soldier’s downstairs, he too wore ear protection.

  Mac crossed his arms as well, revealing he had no smartwatch on, or really any electronics. “Sorry to disappoint you,” Mac lied. He stepped up and out of the small crater that his landing had made. “I used to try so hard for your love and affection, but I understand you are incapable of either.”

  “Not incapable. Risen above.”

  Mac shook his head. “Not surprised by your answer. Heaven forbid someone think you incapable of anything, even that which you despise. Your ego is truly your favorite son. I didn’t come here to talk about you. I need to know; did you kill my mother?”

  “You’ve been talking to Miss Lindell, I see. Let her fill your head with her twisted lies. I supposed she said I tortured her little girl.”

  “You’re little girl.” Mac stared hard at his father. “And just like you to avoid answering by deflecting. Only I’m not eight anymore in awe of your charms and clever words.”

  Jesuit gave a bored sigh. “Fine. Yes, the child is of my DNA. Mine appears to be the only one capable of the rigors I need for suitable experimentations. And let’s be honest, you were a failure from the start. A poor mating with inferior genes.”

  “My mother.” Mac would not be swayed.

  Jesuit laughed and waved him off with a callous gesture. “She killed herself. She killed herself by not sticking to the plan. When I met your mother, she was a bright and brilliant mind with a perfect body. What’s more, she was driven. She saw the potential in my experiments and even signed up to be the second half of the genetic code we would need to make this dream a reality. Nine months later, a chubby boy was born. It was then that your mother lost her nerve. She strayed from the path. It was no longer about finding the genetic markers that proved we had the potential for such powers, but instead finding the right ones for immortality and invulnerability. No, she had her precious baby boy, and she spent all her time cooing to you in an annoying infant’s voice, handing you anything and everything you wanted. No wonder you became such a fat slob. She never made you work for anything, and by the time I resolved to end her, your wiring was already beyond repair. Though I couldn’t accept that at the time. No, like a fool I kept toying with the idea I could fix you. Undo the damage your emotional mother had done. Your mother lacked the right mind to do what needed to be done. It was her own weakness that killed her. I was merely the instrument. I should have known she was not up to the higher standards I would need to create a singular entity of power.”

  Tears fell down Mac’s face, but he found himself nodding. Something inside him seemed to click into place. A quiet cold that had been dissected somewhere inside him found the other pieces and became whole.

  In his ear, Mac heard Douglas say, “frequency matched.” Mac had delayed long enough, though it had only been a partial delaying tactic. “It all ends tonight, Father,” he hoped his tone held the finality he felt.

  Jesuit laughed. “You’ve come to kill me, have you? You? You would have had a better chance if you had just had the girl shoot at me. And I believe I told you what would happen if she took my weapon again.” He raised the arm with the gauntlet and made a slashing gesture at Mac.

  Sparks flew off of an invisible shield a foot in front of Mac.

  “How is that possible?” Jesuit slashed the other way and more sparks erupted in the same spot but at a different direction.

  Mac smirked. “Meet Douglas.” Over his left shoulder, a drone shifted into view. It hovered there silent, modeled to look like a slowly rotating biohazard symbol with the black ball camera in the center. “This one is a prototype for me alone. Like you, Father, I’ve kept the best tech for myself. It was Allison’s idea. She pointed out how you tend to weaponize everything you work with. From using analogies about superheroes to tell me how much of a failure I was, to your shield blade. Brian saw what was left of the guard you killed. It didn’t take much to piece two and two together that you would have found a way to weaponize your shield. Turn it into a blade you could cut people down with.” Mac stepped forward. “It was then that I had the epiphany of why I could never figure out your gun. All that time I thought it was railgun tech when it was just you weaponizing your shield. Again. That’s why it never left bullets, or why it could cut through anything. Like, say, someone else’s shield.”

  Jesuit staggered back, a bloody hole appearing in his shoulder on the arm that held the gauntlet. A cloud of mist spread out behind him.

  “I created a modulating frequency, upgrading your tech. Allows me to shield against a force field blade. Also allows me to punch through anyone else’s with your old gun. Upgraded, of course. I promised Allison she could have that one shot. Seems she has some pent-up issues with how you’ve treated me.”

  Jesuit smiled. “Since these are your last words, I’ll take pleasure in the folly of your gloating.” He began to punch something into the screen on his gauntlet, his fingers flying over the symbols with ease, though the arm holding the gauntlet sagged.

  “Kill order,” Douglas said aloud. Then it added, “sequence code recovered.”

  Mac shook his head again. “You weren’t listening. I know your gifts always come with hooks. You plant barbs, so you can manipulate people later. Your graciousness becomes a tool for leverage. Of course, the nanites you put in me would have something extra. I even cracked it. A DNA resequencer, allowing you to make me a normal person again. And a kill order. Problem was, none of the code told me how your gadgets would contact mine. I did, however, figure out how to tell them to ignore you, and to allow Douglas to discover the connection and use it.” Mac stepped forward, Douglas maintaining the distance with him. “You see, I’ve come to understand that you truly do have a black heart.”

  “Black Heart protocol initiated,�
� Douglas announced.

  Jesuit’s hand went to his chest, his mouth moving as he tried to choke out words.

  “That’s me using your own nanites against you. I’ve stopped your heart.”

  Jesuit stared at him, blinking for a few moments before he spoke. “You are really going to kill me?”

  Mac looked over his shoulder at Douglas. “Douglas, what power is my father employing right now?”

  “Code Name Tarot. Synopsis, immortality. Three day down period.” Douglas answered.

  Mac laughed. “Brian told me about him. Smart power to have in play when setting out to kill a bunch of people. Douglas, read me off some of the other codes in my father’s collection.”

  Jesuit crumbled to his knees, staring with wide eyes at Mac.

  “Code Name: Bullet Proof. Synopsis, strength and impervious to projectile weapons. Weakness sharp objects. Immortality questionable. Code Name: Flabasham. Synopsis, shapeshifting. Code Name: Soothsayer. Synopsis, ability to pull memories from others, even the deceased. Advisory, will feel targets emotions as your own.”

  “Stop, Douglas. Give him that last one.”

  Jesuit’s eyes got even wider. He still gasped for air that he couldn’t seem to bring in.

  Mac knelt down to be level with his father. “That’s right, father. I’m not going to let you come back. But what I’ll do is allow you to feel what you have made me feel all these years. Douglas, disable father’s shield.” He took Jesuit’s hand and placed it on his face, holding it there with his own. “Go ahead, father, see the fruits of your labor. Look upon your Frankenstein’s monster and know what my life was like.”

  Jesuit’s body shook, his eyes bulging as he was likely flooded with painful memories. Memories of shame and ridicule felt on all sides, the majority of them coming from his father. How school was torture and the one place Mac wanted to be his safe haven was just another version of hell. How every passion he discovered, his father twisted or destroyed. Jesuit managed to yank his hand back after a few seconds of what must have been a lifetime of hurt.

  Mac felt and saw every memory that his father had been subjected to. Hurts that he had stored away from his memory, pushed down into the darkest corner of his scared and scarred psyche. Giving them to his father felt like purging them from him. Though he could still remember them in vivid detail, they now had lost their sting. He stared his father in the eye. “That was just the tip of the iceberg.”

  Jesuit managed a hoarse whisper, “you got too close.” The man’s hand shot out and grasped Mac around the throat. His vice-like grip making it impossible for Mac to pull away. “Douglas. Deactivate Black Heart protocol, or your master dies.”

  Mac tried to shake his head or tell the drone that he would die either way, but he couldn’t move his head or speak.

  Douglas didn’t say anything, but Jesuit’s shoulders rose, and he seemed to come back to life. He stood, raising his son up in the air, Mac’s feet dangling a foot above the roof’s surface.

  Jesuit looked Mac in the eye. “I don’t care about your pain, your suffering, or your fragile ego. This world is pain, and you should’ve picked up on that. You will die here with the rest of your fools.”

  “Sir, Allison requests permission to take the shot.” Douglas hovered nearby.

  This time, Mac managed to shake his head just enough for Douglas to pick up.

  Jesuit laughed in his face. “Always needing someone to come bail you out. Every time you are about to fail, one of your insipid friends jumps in to save you. Not this time.” He moved back from the edge of the building so that there wouldn’t be a shot for Allison. “This time you die alone. You die because you are alone.”

  “Goodbye father,” Mac managed through choking grasps. He placed his hands on his father’s chest and focused.

  Jesuit let go of Mac as he flew backward across the roof. He slammed into a small structure that likely housed the stairwell leading up to the roof. There he slumped down into a pile at its base, a large indent in the concrete side where Jesuit hit.

  “Douglas. Restart Black Heart.”

  “There is no need. Life signs have ceased,” Douglas announced.

  Mac nodded and peered at the chaos down below. Lanton disappeared and reappeared at another side of the parking lot, laying on the ground with a blade stuck in his torso. Before Mac could stop his attacker, Brian tackled the massive man. Julian appeared and disappeared again. A few seconds later he appeared next to Mac.

  Julian looked back at the dead man behind Mac but said nothing. “I need one of your father’s serums.”

  Mac handed him two full vials without saying anything.

  Julian vanished with a thankful nod.

  Mac stepped off the ledge and floated out into the open air. People were running everywhere, and after a second’s disorientation, the guards were getting ready to open fire on the crowd. Mac pointed at one, gesturing for the man to come to him. The soldier lifted off the ground and into the air, floating about ten feet from Mac, flailing in the air like a cat about to be tossed into water. Mac twisted his hand in a circular motion, and the soldier’s head jerked to the side. The flailing stopped.

  Mac looked down at the other soldiers. “Put your weapons down, or I’ll kill you all. Your master is dead, and he’ll not be coming back. I don’t know what he promised you, but I assure you that you won’t get any second passes from death today. Put your weapons down!”

  It took them a few seconds, but they all laid down their weapons.

  In the distance, sirens wailed getting closer by the second.

  After a long moment of eerie silence, a small explosion rocked the parking lot. Mac looked in the direction to see the Knight had moved off to a distance, most likely to get out of the people’s way now that the danger had passed. A hole had appeared in its chest, leaving very little of the torso intact. The head rolled forward and broke away from the body, shattering as it hit the pavement. The rest of the figure crumpled as well.

  “Oops, my bad!” Grimm shouted from the hilltop. He waved his hands to pull everyone’s attention to him. “Sorry, my bad! Don’t be afraid. You’re all safe now!” Mac couldn’t be sure, but he suspected the man was smiling.

  One Year Later

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The Debt

  Natasha Serafima closed the door behind herself, dropping the day’s mail on the chair next to her sofa. She marched straight into the kitchen, picking up a bottle of strawberry vodka and a box of Twinkies. Collecting a tall glass, she carried them all back to the front room, laying them down on the coffee table in a neat row. That done, she moved into the bedroom, pulling off her wet clothes from a morning of cleaning hotel toilets and changing soiled linens. She tossed the crumpled blue uniform of Hotel Castiano into the waiting pile of laundry at the foot of her closet. She scooped up a pair of dirty jogging pants that she no longer used for jogging. She picked up a wrinkled t-shirt, sniffed it, and decided on a different shirt that didn’t smell like chips and sweat.

  As she moved to return to the living room, she stopped by the full-length mirror. “One year, Foxy,” she told her reflection. The woman looking back at her had gone from the thin and beautiful woman that had said goodbye to Bulletproof to the now obese woman that stood before her. “One year and you are back to square one.” She sighed, picking up her massive breasts and then letting them flop down. “You’re a hot mess. When you kept dividing, you never had to be this you for more than a few days. Now look at you. Can’t seem to work any of this off. You’ve been fat for a good three months now.”

  A smile spread across her face. “But you don’t have to be. You could split, and no one would know. You could be back to your thin and beautiful self.” She turned to regard her rather large ass in the mirror. “And with two of you, you could start making ends meet. You could stop being behind on your mortgage or be able to afford a car. No more sweaty stinky bus rides for you.”

  She nodded and moved to the front room, flopping down on
the couch. Setting the Twinkie box beside her, she opened it up and unwrapped the first of what she decided would be all of them. She would still need a few more pounds to split and not be unhealthily thin. She poured herself a tall glass of flavored Vodka and popped on the television.

  Reaching over, she scooped up the day's mail and began to sort through them. “Bill. Bill. Bill. Someone that wants me to owe them money. Fat chance that. Oh, what is this?” She held up an envelope that appeared to be a good old-fashioned handwritten address. There was no return address on it, and the writing of her name and address were in beautiful slanted cursive. Someone had taken their time writing this. She sighed. No one knew where she lived. This was probably one of those tricks that car salesmen use to get you to look at their ad. Still, the writing looked feminine, and Natasha doubted a woman would stoop to such a base tactic. She ripped open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of printer paper. Dead in the center was the same beautiful handwriting. It only had one sentence on it. Five words that sent shivers down her spine.