“Goodbye David…and thank you, I never got a chance to say that.”
If you could take it back, take it ALL back, every mistake… well you can’t, live with them and die with them… and die with them… and die with them…
The muffled hurried tactical chatter of an elite task force tickled the hairs of his perked ears, the distraught yet oddly idling intellectual wandered over to the dingy apartment’s pressure cooker, sliding his crackly hands into his right sided jean pocket and retrieving a rusted stanley knife with a faded ‘ocean blue’ plastic handle, wrapping his fingers around a series of connecting wires he tugs them out of obscurity and deftly creates an almost surgical incision in each. The brewing storm of the special ops unit’s footsteps grew louder as the reached the poorly maintained stairs, every creek and crack the tick of a clock counting down to the inevitable.
The activity rapidly intensifies as the scientist walks slowly to the centre of the living room, directly opposite the flimsy front door with a flaky white paint job, mud stains the shag carpet as he drags his feet on floor and a drops down to his knees, he places his hands behind him, his wrists nudging against the end of his ever so slightly protruding spine, reaching into that same pocket, the footsteps come to a sudden halt, complete uninterrupted deafening silence, a click, a shuffle, a grunt, a breath, a heartbeat, a crash.
The sable swarm stormed the creekey old studio apartment, pointing their guns in every direction and screaming through their reinforced helmets, the words cloudy and distorted, whatever they were they didn’t matter. By the time they approached and reached for his shoulders he’d already nearly hit the ground, the face wrinkled beyond it’s years by pain and guilt now echoed relief, the burden was no longer his, though he still had a hand in building the bomb, he took solace in the fact that it wouldn’t be his finger on that big red button, his fingers wrapped around the minute hand of the doomsday clock.
The crowd of faceless mercenaries uniformly carried out they’re protocol, each checking a different facet of the puzzling apartment, all except one. This particular hired gun seemed slight aloof, almost as if something about this particular bid for oblivion didn’t add up, crouching down to the deceased level he slid his hand under the corpse, feeling the strained, bloated stomach, sliding on his graceful feet he made his way over to the built in oven, without much more than a passing glance he noticed that the hole in the wall that house the oven showed unusually signs of wear and tear, almost as if they were filed down. This is what always sets him apart from the ‘yahoos’ and ‘trigger happy boneheads’ he’s ever so briefly paired with… he always researches his target.
No more than thirty seconds later
*BOOM!*
Flames engulf the complex, incinerating the deceased scientist and the mercenary squad sent to fetch him, all at least one that is. Now clad in cheap sunglasses, a long brown trench coat and a grey skull cap the ‘superior assassin’ casually saunters away from the hellish wreckage unscathed, keeping a necessarily low profile as the fire draws mass attention. Continuing forward purposefully he zips through a catacomb of dark alleyways and dirty streets, eventually finding an old red cadillac, chipped chrome adorning the rims and trim, without hesitation he opens the driver side door and takes his seat.
“Well” A decrepit voice seeps from the poorly lit back seats.
“It was a trap, those jarheads were too stupid to realise…”
“AND what of the door?”
“Nothing”
“Then we must find HIM…”
The assassin breathes deeply, air trembling out of his lungs as he contemplates what will happen if he fails to complete this job, what he would lose, what did he even have to begin with, his mind felt so clouded.
“He’s spent so long hiding”
“No man can truly outrun they’re pasts Christopher, we’ll find him, I’m not done, I never will be.”
October 31st 2014
The usually level headed ex-scientist had never been much of a drinker, several bad experiences in his formative years turned him off to the ol ‘Judgement juice’ as he called it when lecturing his only daughter about what a vice like that can do to someone. David hadn’t sipped a single drop since the night of the crash and here he was now, softly sliding into his old habits, the greatest mind of the century, the man who discovered his own destruction and the downfall of all those who surrounded him.
The news had been sparse on the disappearance of his longtime colleague, the last man still standing against this force they all still failed to understand, the last hand he dragged from that burning wreckage in Laos. The once heroic professor drunkenly reminisced about that night, thinking maybe he should’ve just cut and run, David remembered sitting on a dusty hill surrounded by exotic trees baring colourful fruit, the cascading darkness failed to impeach his hawk-like gaze of that fated factory and then he remembered walking miles on a blistering road looking for any kind of civilisation, dragging a rucksack of ransacked lab equipment and untested prototypes. The barely past middle aged Markum’s memories were interrupted by series of muted resonances, a tick, a clack, a creek, a crunch, a cough?
More than ten years ago David was compelled to make a choice, sitting in an abandoned garage he’d discovered roughly seven or eight hours into his trek, the stolen goods strewn haphazardly across the fuel stained stone slabs. The time had come for a ‘metamorphosis’, for a change, for years David had lived his life as a coward, denying that in this world not far from fantasy he was ‘normal’… in truth he was, just not normal enough to stay ‘normal’, not anymore.
The familiar muffled hurried chatter almost like he’d been connected to it’s last victim, feeling what he felt, hearing what he heard, living his fate? That same chill that’d caressed his brittle being almost ten years ago seeped it’s way into David’s home, The accomplished scientist had never been a superstitious man and he promised himself he’d never be one again, today was the day he finally broke that promise.
TICK
CLACK
CREEK
CRUNCH
COUGH
CRACK
CRACK!!!
CRACK!!!!!
CRACK!!!!!!!
The sudden crash of the military grade task force disturbed the decade long peace of the Markum residence, that same sable swarm of specialist soldiers all with the sole purpose of collecting one mans ‘bright idea’. They’d broken through the quadruple bolted loft door and began trudging they’re way down the rickety staircase, each foot carrying the weight of secret too deadly to ever see the light of day, the air is filled with a sudden mechanical click, the sound of an underestimated opponent, a well prepared genius who rediscovered his destiny just in time to save it. The sudden sickening strobing of paralysing lights placed within the wooden panelling of the Markum residence’s walls, this counter offensive measure whittled the twenty something strong task force down to a more manageable twelve lucky enough to be wearing they’re specialised headwear at the correct frequency or with sharp enough reflexes to block the blinding rays with they’re arms.
The first wave of the task force tumbled down the stairwell as two of the larger now temporarily paralysed mercenaries collapsed knocking the remaining five off balance, the five attempting to enter through the kitchen had all been handily subdued for now by the compressed knockout gas he had managed to build in to his garden sprinklers, while the remaining eight to ten soldiers of fortune attempt to crack they’re way through David’s now steel reinforced riot windows, high explosives wont be able to break they’re way through on the first try but a repeated concentrated barrage of consistent combustion will gain them eventual entry, either that or they’d just give up and try to break in through the for reasons of general unpreparedness much weaker walls.
“Not bad for an hour and a half of prep time” David slyly remarked to himself as the military grade task force continued to stumble over each other like dogs in the back seat of a car, his celebratory moment was brief in it’s entirety as David began to ponder his escape plan, the lusty din slowly destroying his fortified basement door told him the force had parted the seas to his primary laboratory and he would have to improvise with the remaining backup equipment scattered throughout the colder areas of his estate. The multiple view attachment of his goggles, his light based tranquilliser discs, his grid interference tablet, a basic coating of carbon fibre under-armor both heat and shock resistant, a compressed air grapple gun, a simple gas mask, David’s multipurpose mechanical lock pick for more archaic establishments, a shock stick for melee combat and a couple of ‘wigs’. Their would be more of the heavy duty ‘toys’ at the underground safe house a few miles up, theres no way in hell they’d have been able to find it buried that far beneath the soil.
David strafed his way to the stairwell as the remaining assassins collected them selfs, tapping each other of the shoulders as a sign of wellbeing and function, the brilliant scientist shy of close quarters combat decided to employ his newly invented ‘wigs’ on the four remaining targets, even though seven remained conscious the members of the task force without specialised headgear could do little but listen as they remained unable to unclasp they’re hands from they’re eyes. The ‘wigs’ rush under the closed living room door, climbing the muddy boots of the remaining specialists, one set of ‘wigs’ targeted the light neglecting goggles, exposing him to the temporary paralysis experienced by his comrades, the second set of wigs began disabling the weapons possessed by the remaining soldiers, the two remaining privateers rapidly realised the what tools Markum was using to deactivated their specialised equipment.
SMACK!
David slams the living room door into the assassins side, knocking him to the floor, the other points his gun toward the scientist turned tactician and is greeted with the dooming click of fully loaded machine gun tricked into believing it’s out of ammunition. Markum’s shockstick extends to the target, electrocuting him to temporary incapacitation while he would attempted to make his escape, quickly zapping the soldier he abased with the living room door for good measure. Within his short recess in the hallway he’d formulated his escape plan, immediate use of his light discs followed by his grapple gun… or maybe his grid tablet.
Before David was not afforded anymore time to hesitate on his rashly thought out plan, with a soft shuffle of dust and debris his front door swung open, there stood a spectral figure, draped in a think blanket of malevolent murkiness. The accomplished scientist was not one to fall prey to the mystique and theatrics, a rational head sitting atop a more than capable body but something felt off, this man held an aura about him, the black clad assassin presented a atmosphere of intimidation but it was almost as he’d brought some semblance of an almost spiritual supernatural being along with him to the Markum residence. David overcome by the basic human instinct to withdraw himself from an unwinable scenario scurried back to his connecting kitchen door, tripping over the paralysed bodies of the other more incapacitated mercenaries on the way, he falls shoulder first into the now immovable door, swiftly realising his failsafe home protection mechanisms may have imprisoned him within this coffin of a corridor, the black clad assassin moves past the broken living room door, his walking speed is commendable for a man his size but every second he clears more of the never-ending corridor becomes a lifetime for David.
“AAAARRGGGHH!” With a roar of fragile desperation the scientist throws his entire form into one wild strike, lunging at the assassin’s midsection, his left hand frantically searching his utility belt for anything to aid him in this mismatched confrontation. The strike lands with what force David was able to muster, a mildly irritated grunt leaves the concealed mouth of the ebony mercenary as he shrugs off the attack, the soldier clenches the untrained civilian’s wrist in his hands, his fingers wrapping around the bones, cracking them with a vice like grip as he wrenches the arm in an unnatural direction. Accelerating past the point of physical pain Markum clutches his shock baton and drives it into the mercenary’s bulky neck, the sudden surge of electricity jerks his head to an upright position as the considerably weaker man drives the stick further into the throat of the lumbering behemoth, still failing to break the skin. The fearsome fiend continued to convulse as wave after wave of concentrated currents flowed through ever molecule of matter… until
With speed comparable to a gunshot the brute’s colossal mitt curled around the mechanical device as his face deliberately descended until he was eye level with the David, he snaps the shockstick in half with the use of no more than three fingers.
“You’re lucky Markum” The Ebony Assassin utters, raising his knee to his chest.
“Lucky I need you alive” A powerful thrust kick drives the scientist into the dust expelling wall, then another breaking his nose and bloodying his aged face, the plucky one time vigilante feebly reaches to collect a handful of ‘wigs’ from his tattered tactical vest. “but that doesn’t mean I can’t have my” The assassin raises his stout steel boot as David drags a slight smattering of ‘wigs’ out of his pocket, “FUN!!” The sickening crunch of the entire bone structure of David’s right hand being rearranged echoed through the claustrophobic corridor, the sharp unforgiving metal and circuitry of the ‘wigs’ smushed into his skin.
*CRASH* The ebony assassin drags his opponents almost lifeless body to the living room, proceeding to effortlessly hurl him into the central coffee table, smashing glasses and further breaking bones. The living corpse glides over the freshly varnished wood as it succumbs to his weight and the momentum of the powerful toss, a desperate gasp of bounces off the stone walls as the bloodied and beaten scientist pulls himself to his feet, tossing a handful of the remaining light emitting orbs at the hulking behemoth, they blink and flash for a mere moment before the skilled swordsmen slides a cumbersome ornate dagger from it’s designated holster and halves each orbs within a matter of milliseconds.
A few fevered moments of silence passed as neither man moved a molecule, each staring into each others eyes, trying to figure the outcome of each scenario that could possibly take place. David wobbles as he slides his hands into the last slot on his utility belt, trembling as he retrieves his father’s old Magnum and begins to drag it further her his body, pointing it at the assassin.
“I know what’s going on here, I know what you what and I know why… but you’re not gonna get it.” The stumbling scientist feebly utters. “It’s been ten years and I still remember, I never forgot, what I saw, what you tried so hard to hide, what you made me think I did!” David lunges forward as wild as a man possessed, dropping the loaded gun and swinging haphazardly at the mercenary as he expertly dodges every unskilled strike. The Assassin catches the last attempted punch, proceeding to deliver a series of underhand shots to Markum’s already damaged ribs, the desperate scientist raises his other hand to strike but the soldier is too quick, eradicating the remains of already broken face with a rapid serious of headbutts to the nose.
“You’re still not out are you Markum?” David rolls his head around on it’s hinges until he’s at eye level with the dangerous brute, blood sputtering from his nose and sweat dribbling from his cheek, eyes puffy and skin purple, the assassin withdraws a syringe from a compartment on his tactical suit. David struggles to open his busted lips, spraying crimson over his opponent’s vest as he spoke “my wife, My Wife… I”
THUD
The Mercenaries head swung around with the swiftness of a shotgun blast, eyes trained on the source of the first in what would become a series of growing audible attacks, each growing louder. “AAARGH” David in a brief moment of reprieve from the savage beating grabs the syringe from the assassin’s hands and with one swift movement of the arm buries it in the brute’s neck, the one exposed region he could make out in his dazed state. Dropped to the floor he scurries through the living room as the mercenary attempts to collect himself.
THUD
THUD!
THUD!!
CRASH!!!
Maybe it was the space in between conscious and unconscious that made these next few hazy happenings feel unearthly and altogether altogether dream like, A sickly slightly skeletal faced drifter in a long black duster coat, David could almost cling to the words they were speaking to each other. “… like you’ve seen a ghost…” “… still not alive I…” The behemoth he’d been battling with for the last twenty minutes ripped the syringe from his neck and challenged the pale stranger, the soldier swung his ceremonial dagger as the stranger expertly swayed away from every shot… David’s vision began to blur again.
A few more punches flew
The stranger’s shape shifting staff struck the soldier’s skull
Bodies flying across the room, crushing chairs and trashing tables along the way
He could make out the muzzle flash of a gun and a more unearthly light from another
Could hear the grunting and shouting of heated combat, at one point a scream of pain as the knife makes contact with the stranger’s midsection
A sudden decisive crack fills David’s ears as his eyes give out, one of the two men had won the encounter but he had no way of knowing which. The room fell silent save for the gasping of the victorious stranger “… You tell Daddy Warbucks to stay in his hole, because if he doesn’t, I’ll just have to kick his ass back into it…” He hears sound of a large dagger clanging against the wooden floor. “… Now take your goons and run on home you shadowy son of a bitch… and you tell him I’m back…”.
“David I need you to stay awake, I can’t help you if you die on me!” It was the pale stranger in the duster coat, the scientist could feel the chill in the air as he approached, kneeling keeping the wounded man’s head from dropping to the floor as he proceeded to fade from this mortal realm. “This better work, or I think we’re all f*cked.” The drifter slides his charred black gloves from his two thin boney hands, moving his long vampire-like fingers as he frees them from confinement, Markum shivered as he felt the seemingly bloodless palm clasp his sweaty burning forehead, the other grasping his broken right hand in a tight grip.
Then suddenly his vision began to clear, ears block by ruptured blood vessels began regain their clarity, he became able to breath a comfortable breath. Closing his newly repaired hand he realised the strange pale drifter in a long black coat had released him from his firm cold grasp, “Are you still there?” He quietly enquires utilising his now undamaged vocal cords, he hears nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat and sees nothing except his own broken home and the lifeless body of the mysterious drifter who saved his life. The scientist crawls over to the stranger, his draping duster coat enveloping a good three quarters of the living room floor, David doesn’t exert much energy in flipping him over, even with the heavy coat this mystery man couldn’t be any more than one hundred and fifty pounds, “Jesus” Markum quietly remarks as he witnesses the physical condition of the pale stranger, his teeth retreating back into his dry gums, his skin stretched like a drum and his eyes glowing white. No heartbeat, breath or hint of a movement can be found on the already corpselike body.
“Thank You” David solemnly sighs, as he begins to drag himself to his feet, contemplating any way he could resuscitate what looked to be a man who died long before he ever set foot in his home.
“The gun” A weakened whisper emerges from the crackly lips of the ‘corpse’, “David… pass me the gun” Markum hurriedly crawls over to the dishevelled deposit of debris that seemed to be housing the pale stranger’s discoloured pistol, as he clears the clumps of broken dry wall and snapped table legs he notices the absence of any soldiers belonging to the intruding task force. The scientist retrieves the firearm from a blanket of broken glass, brushing away any excess shards, Considering to himself if said glass would even effect whatever extraordinary being that lay possibly dying on his living room floor. “DAVID NOW!”The entity barked towards him as he attempted to process this strange situation, obviously time was not a luxury this unkempt stranger could afford to lose right now, The mysterious man swiftly snags the sidearm as it slides across the hardwood floor, taking in a deep and laboured breath as he presses the muzzle against the middle of his chest.
“AAAAHHHH” The drifter roars as he fires his own seemingly supernatural firearm into his chest, strobing flashes of light filling the entire stately home, glaring garishly out of the newly unblocked windows, David struggles to shield his eyes from the incredible illumination. The stranger plunges the gun deeper into his midsection, focusing the blast and dampening the sobering morn to a gutted glow, his white eyes wildly whip open as a sudden ray of light protrudes from his within his head, opening his mouth as it emits an identical fiery flare.
The intense audiovisual frenzy eventually recedes into a more muted monotony, a few pregnant pauses pass as the scientist feebly attempts to calm himself with any crumb of conscious comprehension of the events that has just transpired, gazing listlessly at the shining stranger. “How long was I out” The drifter quietly queries to distraught David, he agitatedly analyses his functionless wristwatch, attempting to assertion any clue of the hour or even day any this has occurred, that last coarse encounter must’ve ‘rung his bell’ more than he’d previously realised. “If I had to guess I’d say, half an hour.” Markum replies.
“Huh?” The mysterious man muses, “Since they haven’t gift wrapped us another motley crew of jack asses to beat on till we both get bored I can only assume… they’ve got something planned for once, they were half expecting me to show up here.”. Suddenly the stranger shoots up to his feet, dusting himself off with his almost comically sized black hat.
“Which means we definitely should have been on our way ’If I had to guess I’d say, half an hour’ ago.” David startled and shocked stares at the mildly rejuvenated stranger in a long black duster coat.
“Who… who are you?” He asks
“What I am, David, really doesn’t matter. This is not about me, a lot of other things have been but this isn’t one of them, not anymore. This is about you, this is about the door you opened ten years ago and the door you will now close. All I’m here to do is make sure you get there, before I stepped foot in your home I did not exist to you and when all of this is said and done, I’ll cease to exist again. There will be no questions about where we’re going or what we’re doing and at this point you owe me that, I owe the trust to tell you that I have done this before and spare no details on what we’ll be facing, I owe the trust to tell you how to do it again if by then I’m no longer here… and I owe you the trust to tell you my name, in the hope that that’ll be enough…”
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