by Ammar Habib
“Okay. Keep your ear open and let me know if you hear anything.”
“Maybe I’d try a little harder if you ever tell me who you are. Or preferably who your partner is.”
“You know better than that. You ever try and find out who I am; you ever try and track this phone, you’ll be back in jail finishing up the twenty years my partner got you out of.”
“And why the hell did your partner even get me out?”
“Because there are worse crimes out there than stealing cars. And because we can keep you on a tight leash.” Without another word, William hung up the phone and slowly slipped it back into his pocket.
It was worse than he imagined. The murderers were not just killers, they were two sadistic beasts. None of it made sense; none of the clues were adding up. He had contacted everybody he knew who would know something, anything. He’d dug up all the old contacts he could find. But they knew nothing.
William shook his head as he finally rose to his feet. Maybe Ethan would have better luck finding these beasts. He always was a much more effective hunter.
And whoever was responsible for the bombing would learn this soon enough.
***
The place reeked of death.
How many died at this very hospital? How many times did the angel of death come here each and every day? How many people took their last breath looking at this building’s white ceiling? And how long would it be before death came for Katrina’s grandfather?
The door was shut. Katrina was locked away from the outside world. The only sound in the hospital room was the rhythmic beeping of her grandfather’s heart monitor. It was the constant reassurance that death had not yet come for him.
Katrina sat on the chair next to him, while he lay soundly sleeping. The curtains were pulled back, allowing the little sunlight that there was to enter the room. Ivan stood by the doorway. He had hardly spoken over the past couple of days, but even his stoic eyes showed fear for what might happen to his longtime friend.
Katrina’s only bright news since arriving came from the nurse hours earlier: her grandfather was getting better. It was a gradually slow improvement, but a recovery nonetheless and an answer to her countless prayers. They were keeping him sedated, but only for a little while longer.
She looked at the newspaper sitting on the table. To her relief, there was no mention of her grandfather’s hospitalization. The media continued to keep it under wraps. The doctor was a good friend of Boris’s and had promised to keep his hospitalization a secret. The last thing her grandfather needed was the nation’s media hovering outside his room, trying to take pictures of one of Bafra’s wealthiest men.
Katrina looked back at her grandfather. He seemed so peaceful, at ease almost. With her left hand, she gently stroked his forehead. Without thinking, she leaned closer to his ear and softly spoke.
“Grandpa…please come back to me. I need you…and I love you.”
Ivan had asked her hours earlier if she wanted him to contact Ethan. Deep in her heart Katrina wanted nothing else than for him to be here. She needed him to be here…with her. But her soul knew Ethan’s mission needed to be put before anything else.
Ethan not only shouldered the fate of a nation, but also the world. Every day he put his life on the line, doing what he needed to do. People counted on him. The last thing he needed was a distraction. She had almost been the death of him once, and she would not allow herself to make the same mistake twice.
Katrina looked down at the diamond ring she wore. Her gaze then drifted out of the window and towards the dark skies as she wondered if he was facing the same darkness that she was.
***
William zoomed through the city’s highway on his sleek sports bike. Wearing his black full-faced helmet, he looked through his darkened visors and at the view of downtown Crown City. The roar of the engine and the sound of the wheels rolling across the road filled his ears, helping to drown out his thoughts and the noise that consumed his mind.
He wore a pair of jeans and a tight, black leather jacket that protected him from the cold temperatures out. Slung across his back was a brown backpack. In it was an assortment of firearms and other gadgets, ranging from knives to pistols, rifles and surveillance equipment—everything and anything he might need.
Hearing a humming sound come from his Bluetooth, he pressed the button on his watch without bothering to look down. “I’m on my way, Ethan.”
“Did the contact know anything?”
“There are two killers: the red-headed woman and a man. Man’s name is Danior. Name ring a bell?”
“No.”
“An eyewitness says that he’s lean, young, and covered in tattoos from waist to neck.”
“That last part should make it easy to identify him.”
“Hopefully. I also got a body count. It’s twenty victims at least.”
“And I doubt they’ll stop there. What about the girl?”
“I got nothing other than a description. Green eyes, long hair, my age, and fair skinned.”
“Not the most specific description.”
“It’s all I got. Did the hair bring up a match?”
“No. I ran it against our database that has everyone in the world with an official criminal record and got nothing.”
“So what now?”
“I’ll run it through another database. This one has all the citizens of Tripton and the neighboring countries. I'll use the descriptions you gave me as well. I’ll see if we can get any matches on either of them.”
“Something tells me not to get our hopes up.” William switched lanes to avoid the car he was coming up on. “And how was your day?” He maneuvered between two cars, causing both of them to blare their horns. “Hopefully a lot better than mine.”
“I found out who was responsible for the boys’ home bombing: Gregory McCoy.”
“McCoy? He was responsible?” William asked, astonished.
“Yes.”
“He’s one of the members of the revolution and known as an upstanding citizen.”
“I know.”
“He’s also a respected businessman and philanthropist. A lot of people idolize him and look up to him.”
“Looks like they are poor judges of character.”
“Exactly how sure are you?”
“Sure enough.”
“Did Marcos tell you this?”
“An hour ago. It’s also what my own investigation found.”
“It’s your call. And when are you planning to pay McCoy a visit? After or before our previous engagement?”
“After.”
***
The Guardian leapt onto the rooftop of the Indigo Warehouse. Landing on top of the building, he rose to his feet and began to walk across the open space. The stars were numerous and hung in the night sky like lamps. For the first time in what seemed like forever, the sky was nearly cloudless.
It had been a tiring day, but it was all worth it. Again, not a single citizen had perished today because of his failure. That knowledge was worth anything he went through.
The long days helped him keep his mind off of Katrina. Or rather, they helped him keep his mind off of the fact that he was not with her.
He came to an abrupt halt. For a moment, he stood completely motionless. He closed his eyes and let his instincts take over. Feeling a presence around him, he reached under his cloak and felt the tips of his knives.
The Guardian leapt to the side in a sudden move, just in time to dodge numerous bullets coming from the rooftop’s shadows. The bullets flew all around him as thunderous gunfire lit up the night. Some buried themselves into the rooftop while others loudly ricocheted off of it, but none touched him as he darted with amazing speed towards the nearest piece of cover.
From the shadows, six men armed with automatic rifles emerged with their weapons raised and fingers pressing down on their triggers. Covered in black military gear and body armor, their faces were concealed by black ski masks. From a nearby roo
ftop, two snipers fired at him. A few of their deadly rounds whizzed only inches away from him before loudly striking against the ground as the shooters laid cover for their six comrades on the rooftop.
The roar of gunfire was deafening and could be heard for miles. It continued on for several long seconds while The Guardian ran for cover as the bullets rained down all around him. But it suddenly ended when he ducked behind a large A/C vent that kept him protected and hidden from his attackers.
The soldiers’ quick footsteps were inaudible, their rifles aimed in The Guardian’s direction. A couple of them quickly reloaded. They slowly inched forward, waiting for The Guardian to make a move, waiting for an excuse to kill. The men formed a perfect semicircle around his cover, leaving no opportunity for him to escape. The snipers kept their eyes peeled as they waited for any sign of him to show.
Sergeant Jones spoke while keeping his gun raised and aimed at the A/C vent. “There are six highly trained snipers aiming for you right now. Even if you get past us, they’ll put you down.”
But rather than the voice of a scared fugitive like Jones expected, he heard a voice that was not rattled in the slightest. The Guardian’s cynical words filled the air as he called the sergeant’s bluff. “Six? I only counted two snipers, Sergeant Jones.”
Jones was taken aback by The Guardian’s words, although his demeanor did not show it.
The Guardian continued to speak with his back against his cover. His words were overflowing with mockery. “I saw them when I came here. I wondered when they would start shooting. I would have thought they taught you how to be invisible when you were in commando school.”
The semicircle got smaller as the men moved closer. Sergeant Jones motioned for two of his men to swing around and flank their target. They wordlessly responded by starting to perform the maneuver.
“I was hoping our beloved president would send his best team after me. I heard what you all did in Nigeria. What you all did to that village when they could not give you the answers you sought.”
Jones’s eyes widened under his mask and goggles. How did he know about the mission? There were no witnesses to tell anybody. He was sure of that.
“You all saved me the trip of finding you scumbags.”
There was a brief silence.
“Look down, Sergeant Jones.”
Without moving his head, the sergeant took a split-second to glance at the ground. But there was nothing and he quickly looked back up.
“Look down…you’re standing on your grave, along with the rest of your team. As for your snipers…” The Guardian smiled as he unsheathed his daggers. “Well, let’s just say that my sniper already put them in their graves.”
With swiftness, The Guardian leapt out from behind his cover and towards the first soldier. The man never had a chance to shoot. Within two swift and fluid moves Guardian took him down, slicing his neck open. Before his body hit the ground, The Guardian was upon the second commando.
The gunfire reignited. Bullets started flying through the air. The remaining soldiers’ roared as they aimed and fired vigorously at The Guardian. They kept their distance, knowing that letting their target come too close would be the last mistake they made. But neither their training, their bullets, nor their strategy could save them.
One by one, they went down—some with snapped necks and broken bones, others with long and deep gashes covering their body. As the hooded Guardian came upon his foes, some tried to beat him back. Others tried to fight him off by shooting him down from point blank range or cutting him with a dagger of their own. But it was all for nothing.
With inhuman speed and unworldly reflexes, The Guardian countered every blow and dodged every bullet. Within moments he would beat them dead or cut them down. Even their trained eyes could hardly stay up with him. Under the bright moonlight, he seemed to become invisible. With each dying scream, fewer bullets were shot off as fewer soldiers remained. With each fallen comrade, the soldiers knew more and more that there was no escape.
The gunfire was nearly dead when Jones and one soldier remained. Sergeant Jones quickly reloaded his weapon as he backed up and watched Guardian battle his last man.
The soldier tried to smash his semi-automatic rifle into The Guardian’s face, but the attack was easily dodged. Coming back up, The Guardian powerfully struck the soldier in the stomach with his gloved fist and slammed his forearm into the soldier’s head. As the soldier staggered to the side, The Guardian was upon him again, dagger in hand. In the next second, the soldier joined his already fallen comrades.
Sergeant Jones reloaded his weapon just as The Guardian turned and looked at him. As Jones took aim, The Guardian menacingly walked toward him.
Before Jones pulled the trigger, his foe spoke. “Time to pay for your sins.”
As the trigger was pulled, The Guardian charged with a roar.
Chapter 12
Legends of Heroes
In a place of fire surrounded by complete darkness, two lone figures stood. One was a beast. His eyes were dark red. His large, intimidating figure was covered in black scales. And his face was cruel. The other was a dark-skinned man with a shaven head. The beast stood while the man kneeled before him, keeping his eyes on the ground in front of him. The beast was clothed in a black robe with the hood thrown over its head, while the man wore nothing but a simple brown cloak.
They could not feel the scorching heat of the fire. Fire was a part of their souls. One controlled it, while the other had once been killed by it—only to live again.
The master looked down at his slave. He stared at him with blood-red eyes, but the soldier dared not to look up at his master’s beastly face. He could not move a muscle as he heard his master’s dark, cruel voice echo above the flames. “Our glorious destiny will soon be upon us.”
“Just as you have always foretold.”
“The time is almost here.”
“And what of Ethan? What will be his fate?”
“Do you worry about your lost brother?”
“I only wish to know the fate of those who betray our destiny.”
“Ethan’s punishment will come. All in due time.”
The servant’s eyes flashed red as he spoke. “Why wait, master? You could send any one of us to finish him. We have eyes on him at all times. From the places where he least expects, he is being watched. Why not tell them to strike?”
“When the time is right, I will.”
“I ask that you send me to kill the girl. I will make her suffer and call out his name. I will let my lost brother know that there is a penalty for disobeying the father. I will stab him where he will bleed the most: his heart.”
“Do not doubt my wisdom. Do not doubt my authority. I have seen worlds you will never know of. Never forget it is I who brought you to life through the fire. It is I who created an army that will be my viceroys when our destiny is upon us.”
“I would never dream of questioning you, master.”
“Ethan is having his time in the sun. He’s having his time playing hero. He is doing everything he can to try and bring light to an irreversibly darkened world.”
“And is he succeeding?”
“He thinks he is. But the moment he thinks the war is over and the darkness has passed, we will destroy his world and everything in it. Then we will do what we were destined to do…and the world will burn.”
***
Everything was going to hell for Gonzalez.
In the office with only his chief-of-staff, President Gonzalez horrifically watched the morning news from his chair. Last night, he watched the entire mission go terribly wrong firsthand through the camera wired to Sergeant Jones’s helmet. He witnessed firsthand how unbeatable The Guardian really was. He helplessly saw how his men did not stand a chance no matter how well trained or equipped they were. But now seeing what the masked vigilante did to the bodies after the death was something entirely different.
The camera from a news helicopter zoomed in at one of the old war
ehouses. From the rooftop, eight bodies hung by their necks. Eight rotting corpses that once belonged to highly skilled soldiers, hung as if they were rag dolls. They dangled like chandeliers as they slowly swayed with the wind.
In the backdrop, the news reporter’s voice was heard. He tried to keep his voice calm, but it was overflowing with utter awe. “Witnesses report to have heard numerous gunshots around late last night. The gunfire went on for several minutes according to most accounts. When they came here, this was the scene. The first eyewitnesses to get here claim to have seen The Guardian fleeing the scene. The bodies have been identified as soldiers of Tripton’s military. The military came by and collected the bodies just a few minutes ago. This morning, an audio was received by our station. We believe it to be the voice of The Guardian. This is what it said…”
The recording of another voice spoke out from the television. It sounded cold, unmerciful, and was one that most recognized. An ominous feeling came over the president as he listened intently. It was the same voice from last night.
“People of Tripton, you have nothing to fear. The ones who should be afraid are the oppressors. The ones who should be afraid are the ones who have corrupted and destroyed not only this nation, but the world. I always keep my promises. Every week that the government does not surrender, I will continue to attack the corrupt and wicked officials who misuse their power. Nobody I come for will be safe.” There was a pause. “And the next person I am coming for is Gonzalez himself.”
The message ended.
Before the reporter came on, Gonzalez switched off the television. There was a long, awkward moment of silence. The Guardian’s last words rang in the president’s mind over and over again. They filled every fiber of his heart with fear.
In a sudden fit of rage, Gonzalez slammed his fist against the table, knocking over one of his picture frames, and startling his chief-of-staff, Bill. The president rose to his feet as his voice spiked. “He butchered our best team like a bunch of stray dogs!”