Sadness touched his eyes. "You can't possibly know how things will end, Ronnie."
"I know enough. You're not the only one shadowed by death, you know."
"I know. That's why I need you. And you need me too, Ronnie. If we walk away, then all we are is alone. I don't want to be alone, and I don't think you want to be either."
"I don't. But right now, I have to be. And so do you."
He was silent for a few moments, face betraying his inner struggle. She thought she might have reached him, but he finally took a deep breath and lifted his grief-stricken eyes. "So … this is it?"
She just managed to hold his searching stare, stifling the swell of emotions that threatened to choke her up. "This is it, Jett. If you change your mind, if you decide that enough is enough … look me up. But now, you have to go your way, and I have to go mine."
He nodded, lips compressing. "I understand."
She lightly touched his arm. "Watch your six out there, Jett."
"I'll try."
He kissed her on the forehead and quickly strode away, lowering his umbrella to let the rain pour down on him. After a few yards, he stopped, shoulders slumped.
"When they come for me, will you be with them?"
She shook her head. "No, Jett. I won't. But everyone else will."
Ⓥ
Mayor Harrington stood on the steps of City Hall under a wide umbrella, speaking into a group of microphones. An eager crowd of press crowded in front of him, braving the weather for an opportunity to be there live instead of the usual automated presence. Even Cam Danvers was there in person, forgoing her traditional holographic delivery. They hung onto his every word, eyes wide, lips parted with anticipation.
"What you've heard about the massacre under the city is true. A large group of our most recognizable citizens was slaughtered by a squad of vigilantes, presumably Vigil and a few of his Vigilant compatriots. It's also true that those horrifically burned to death were part of a secret society, a cult that worked with the city's criminal elements to build a corrupt infrastructure. They were fanatically dedicated to using psionic energy to create new aberrant fields to duplicate the Imperials' powers. Needless to say, their efforts have failed."
He paused, taking note of his audience. If anything, they were mesmerized, eating up every word. He exaggerated his gestures, captivating them further. "And where do we go from here? Do we thank these lawless vigilantes who took justice from your hands and decided for themselves to be judges and executioners? Do we breathe a sigh of relief knowing that a dangerous group of powerful people are no longer around to threaten us?"
He shook his head. "No, we do not. Because that would be the easy route. The coward's route. It is simple to let others make the decisions for us and surrender our power for the illusion of safety. The more we allow lawless people to protect us, the faster we become their prisoners. We have institutions in place to handle law and order and provide safety to our citizens. Our own heroes, people like Chief Moore and Captain Banks, have worked tirelessly to root out corruption and put an end to the syndicate empire. Whether on the streets, in corporate suites, or even in the halls of law enforcement, they have pursued justice through legal means. Because they know that to do otherwise would be to fail as a society. And I'm here to tell you that we cannot fail. We have to seize back our power, both from the syndicate thugs and the vigilantes who endanger lives by taking violence to the streets. My name is Mark Harrington, and I am a man of vision. And I need just one person to support that vision to make the city the best it can be."
He looked directly into the cameras. "I need you."
***
Later that evening, he watched the broadcast, noting the subtle cues in his stance, expressions, and gestures. He appeared sincere, in command. From the nonstop replay and online blasts, it seemed to be a success. In the midst of one of the city's most desperate times, Mark Harrington was there to lead the way.
It couldn't have gone better.
He smiled, turning off the wall picjector. The room darkened, illuminated by a flash of lightning that revealed he wasn't alone.
His heart rate quickened, but not enough to panic. As the silhouetted figure approached, Harrington's hand slid into the drawer of his desk, where his P1 Special was secured.
When his hand slid over the empty interior, he panicked.
Lightning flashed again, reflecting off the man's skull-faced mask. He held up Harrington's pistol. "Looking for this?"
Mortis always made Harrington uneasy. He previously worked for Richard Kent but considered himself a free agent, not an agent of Diabolis. He was a mercenary, someone who offered his services to Harrington at exactly the right time. Harrington didn't question the coincidence because he had planned to eliminate Mortis at the first convenient possibility. It wasn't until that moment that Harrington realized he might have made a fatal mistake by ever accepting Mortis' services in the first place.
He tried to keep his voice composed. "Oh, it's you. I thought it might have been—"
"Vigil? Don't make me laugh." Mortis sat across from Harrington and slid the pistol across the desk. "I took the liberty of removing it. That's quite a powerful weapon. I didn't want you to do anything stupid."
Harrington itched to snatch up the handgun, but he resisted the urge. "How did you get in? My security is supposed to be—"
"Useless," Mortis said. "To me, anyway. I came here to settle up."
"Now? You're putting everything at risk by showing up here. I expected you to be in the Underbelly where—"
"Where you planned to kill me? Was Joe Blow supposed to do it? Or did you plan to lure me into the gallows room? Or wait—was Vigil your planned assassin?" Mortis laughed, an electronic rasp devoid of humor. "It's still too early for us to meet. I have more suffering planned for him."
It wasn't hot in the room, but a bead of sweat slid down Harrington's forehead. "I never had plans to—"
"Don't insult my intelligence, Mr. Mayor. You fashion yourself a mastermind, always two steps ahead of everyone else. Your enhanced mind is always plotting. I'm not even offended. Hell, I'm slightly impressed. Your plan to rid yourself of all opposition was a stroke of genius. And the rehabilitation of Neo York? Remarkable. Given enough time, it could even work. It's too bad you didn't account for a single variable in your grand equation. You didn't account for me."
Harrington trembled, filled with dread. "Look, maybe we can cut a deal. You want Vigil, don’t you? I know who he is. I'll give that info to you, plus anything else you—"
Lightning flashed. The metal skull grinned. Thunder boomed loudly, rattling the—
No.
Not thunder. Smoke wafted from his midsection, where his ruptured organs were exposed, torn apart from the pulse round. The scent of scorched flesh was surprisingly strong. Harrington gasped, nearly passing out from the shock. The pain was still distant, approaching like a tsunami wave. It was fear that gripped him, the terror of his impending death. The end of everything he just accomplished, the end of everything yet to achieve. A sickening gurgle escaped from his throat.
The pain crashed down on him.
Mortis closed his fingers, shutting down the blaster in his palm. "I already know who Vigil is. I know everything about Jett Wolfe. And I can't have you getting in the way of my plans for him. Vengeance is a succulent dish, you see. It takes various ingredients mixed just so before you let it simmer, stew in its own juices. It has to be perfect before you serve it."
He rose from the chair and stood over Harrington like a black-armored Angel of Death. "There's one last thing you can do for me, Harrington. Scream. Give me everything you have, all that's left of you. Don't hold anything back. After all, it's the last sound you're ever going to hear."
Harrington screamed. He screamed until his voice shattered, clutching his dreadful wound while his bladder erupted and tears streamed down his face from the agony, from pain he didn't know could exist. But most of all, he screamed out of pure terror as the h
ideous skull grinned down at him, delighting in his torment.
Ⓥ
Arthur watched when the Stingray glided into the hanger, lift jets pulsing as it dropped to a landing. The cockpit slid back with a hiss. Much to Arthur's surprise, Spitfire was in the pilot's seat. She clambered out and leaped down, staring at the hangar with open amazement on her face.
Vigil awkwardly pried himself from the rear section and followed, removing his helmet. The expression on his face when he looked at Spitfire was pure fondness. Arthur felt a dull ache at the recollection of when he was Spitfire's age, and Wayne looked at him in the same way—like a proud parent at their child.
Jett placed a hand on her shoulder. "Eyes up, soldier. There's someone special I want you to meet. Arthur, this is Mira. Mira, meet Arthur, otherwise known as Incognito."
Arthur guided his hoverchair over and offered his hand. "Pleased to finally meet, Mira. I've heard great things about you."
"Same," she said, enthusiastically shaking hands as she continued to scan the base, taking in the rows of encased uniforms, multiple vehicles, weapons racks, sleeping quarters, and the Accelerated Healing Process Pod built into the wall. "Wow, is all this yours? You must be mad rich, yo."
Jett groaned. "Mira…"
Arthur waved him off with a laugh. "No, it's okay. And in answer: yes, I happen to be mad rich. My investments in security tech paid off handsomely, so I can afford to invest in more interesting things."
"Like Vigil tech?"
"Exactly. Don't be shy—take a look around. Afterward, we'll go upstairs, and you can see the rest of the place."
Her eyes widened. "The rest? You mean there's more? Jett, you been holding out on me big-time."
Arthur shared a laugh with Jett as she bounded off to explore. "Hard to believe I was once as young and energetic as she is."
Jett stared after her. "Yeah, I know."
"You okay, Jett? You seem a little down."
"Ronnie says I'm going to get her killed."
"Is that what you think?"
"I don't know, Arthur. I never meant for her to be in this life, but here she is. Do you think Ronnie's right?"
Arthur was quiet for a moment. "I think she'd already be dead if it wasn’t for you, Jett. She was walking a dangerous path when you met her. It was you that changed things for her. You gave her a family with you and Qhawa. Hopefully, I can be a part of that too. That can't be a bad thing, can it?"
"I hope not, Arthur. Because if something happens to her…"
"You can't control everything, Jett. No one can. And you'll drive yourself mad trying. So focus on what you can control and be satisfied with that."
Jett glanced down. "Thanks, Arthur."
"For what?"
"For being a good friend. I know it's not easy, being here while I'm out in the field. But I appreciate having someone like you watching my back."
"That's what I'm here for."
Jett grinned and turned, cupping a hand to his mouth. "Mira. Don't touch those!"
She paused in the act of hoisting a plasma rifle. "What—I don't get my own blaster?"
"Not until you're trained, you don't."
"Been trained, yo."
"I'm talking real training, not that VR crap. When I was in the ACU—"
"Aw man, not that again…"
Arthur watched them exchange banter with a small smile on his face. Then he frowned, looking at an emergency bulletin that flashed on the hoverchair's control panel.
"Looks like we have to put that tour on hold, Jett. I'm getting reports of a mob at City Hall."
"For what?"
"Someone murdered the Mayor."
"What?" He dashed to the media center, pulling up the breaking news. "This is bad."
"I'll say. Looks like they're blaming Harrington's death on a vigilante, though the description is sketchy."
"Harrington had a ton of enemies after what he pulled. Could be anyone."
"That's not the worse. I'm picking up blacknet chatter from the Grim Reaper Posse. Looks like they want to make a statement by showing up at the protest and sparking a riot."
"I'm on it." Jett turned to Mira. "Hey, if you want to sit this out—"
She shook her head firmly. "No chance. I'm coming with."
"Fine. Let's go. We'll take the lift topside for some quick recon."
Arthur watched as they jogged away. Sighing, he glanced at his hands, surprised to see them trembling.
Ⓥ
Buoyant movement. The sensation of rising. Emerging from the depths.
Tried by fire.
The elevator opened, and they stepped out onto the rooftop. He looked at Spitfire, who scanned the cityscape, batons in hand. She moved like a natural, as if she was born into the role. He couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. Despite his fears, despite his misgivings, she never faltered, never gave up. Being Spitfire was her choice, something she owned. And he knew she would do it her way. He could only guide her and try to make sure she was protected.
She pointed. "Got fire near City Hall. Looks like someone's already setting things off."
He checked the load on his rifle, making sure to tune the calibration to STUN. It was riot control, not war. Not unless the GRPs forced his hand. Not unless they put Spitfire in danger.
"Okay, Spitfire. The plan is to monitor the crowds. Targets are syndicate soldiers, not people expressing themselves. RCE takes point, but if things get out of hand, it's our play. Got it?"
"Loud and clear, Vigil."
Incognito buzzed over. "Okay, I have the Stingray on standby if you need it. I'm jacked into surveillance with eyes street level and in the sky."
Spitfire grinned. "So cool."
"I'm sending coordinates of hotspots where the GRPs might show up," Incognito said. "Happy hunting to you both; I’m here if you need me."
Vigil glanced at Spitfire. "You ready?"
"Ready."
They leaped into the depths of the city.
Ⓥ
Vigil will return in Vol 3: Fall of Knight
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Thanks for checking out Vigil: Inferno Season. I truly hope you enjoyed your time in New Haven. I'd love to keep writing these novels, but I need just a little help from you. Reviews help a great deal in spreading the word, which in turn helps sell more books. Which, in turn, allows me to keep writing. It doesn't have to a long process: a simple 3-4 sentence review works wonders. Thanks again for reading. I hope you stick around for the next installment.
All the best,
~BC
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Bard Constantine is a self-described neo-pulp author. In his own words:
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Vigil: Inferno Season (The Cyber Knight Chronicles Book 2) Page 30