Catwalk: Messiah

by Nick Kelly

  “Oh, chit,” he screamed. His enemy shifted to her right, and the two of them brushed the side of an armored Hovertank in a shower of sparks. With his weight and the near miss, the angel lost control, and the pair spiraled downward.

  They banged hard off of a parked rescue vehicle, and Catwalk nearly lost his grip. Instinctively, he gripped harder with his arm around her throat. The duo tumbled and rolled, tearing up pieces of pavement. The black-framed, dead eyes of the angel met with the defiant gaze of the hitman. For an instant, the world disappeared, swallowed by the absolute hatred they shared.

  Consumed with one another, they never saw it coming. They smashed through the plate glass windows of Good Samaritan Hospital. Shards of glass embedded into the flesh of the angel and the cleaner as the pair crashed into the Emergency Ward. Cat lost his grip. He bounced several times across the tile floor before he slammed into the nurses’ station, his back forced into a bridge. The air left his lungs. White lights flashed in his skull. If he’d been human, his vertebrae would have cracked under the strain. Fortunately, his spine was anything but human.

  His head swam. He could make out figures, all moving in slow motion. Some moved toward him. Others moved away. It was a dream, a slow, terrible dream. He coughed and recognized the taste of blood on his tongue. Somewhere in the distance, the sounds of Angelyka’s impact indicated that she’d been just as unlucky. Her metallic shriek resonated in his head again. He pushed himself upward from the crash cart, too focused to catch the irony.

  And then it began.

  It started with one scream. Then panic spread its icy fingers through the room. The personnel and patients reacted in sheer terror. Fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. Scared beings stepped over and around him. They flooded to the shattered glass of the exit. Cat struggled to find his balance. He was pushed side to side in the sea of fleeing bodies. Looking up, he realized he had a moment of opportunity to get the jump on his enemy.

  Angelyka hardly raised her eyes from the cold hospital floor when Cat’s boot struck the side of her head. She rolled several times, her neck craned hard to the right. Cat sprinted after her. He stomped on the tile floor where she lay. She folded her arms and wings against her body. His boot crushed the tile. He repeated the movement, but her momentum carried her body just out of his range. Cat moved faster, but the Angel was slipping further away. Safely out of range, she rose to her feet.

  The Angel spread her wings to gain balance. She reached for anything nearby and threw it in his direction as a diversion. Cat blocked or shrugged off her desperate interference. He kicked aside an empty wheelchair. An empty bedpan sailed past his head. The pattern had worked. Cat lifted his right hand and fired the pistol three times, rupturing the Angel’s left wing. Angelyka let forth a howl. The glass of the patient rooms shattered, raining glass down on the hitman.

  The angel’s fractured wing drew inward. Cat approached, gun raised. Angelyka struck with her opposite wing. He fired the pistol, punching holes in the ceiling. Her blow knocked him backward. Cat landed on one knee, focusing on his injured prey as she retreated down a side hall. He raised the pistol. With a snarl, Angelyka spun to her right, and the outermost point of her right wing fired forward at him. He barely had time to move before the metallic projectile sliced through an IV bag. The blade embedded in the wall next to his head. Saline doused his armor as he stole a quick glance at the sharp spike embedded in the tiled wall. Cat recuperated and digested the new development. She broke the pattern.

  That was bad news.

  Angelyka had more attacks than he’d guessed. He was lucky to have evaded this round. Had she been on the offensive, he may not have had the split-second he needed. He looked at the metallic spike. It took both hands to pull it out of the wall. It was sharpened to a razor-fine point, but contained no contact poison or other inhibitors. It was designed solely to shred the flesh of victims.

  So, there it was. Risk being a dartboard for a deadly, fast MetaHuman, or fall back and figure out his options. Cat looked at the hospital signs.

  “Shockit,” he spat, the taste of blood still on his tongue. He loaded a fresh clip into his pistol and followed the Angel’s trail.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Catwalk poked his head around the corner, expecting immediate counter-action. Instead, he found only the damaged remnants of another hospital hallway. A lighting fixture swung loosely from one end, showering sparks along the sterile tile floor. This hallway had been abandoned. He stepped forward with a degree of caution, Delambre’s words suddenly resonating within him. “’Even to the utterly lost…there were matters of which no jest can be made.’” Hell, he’d carried a death wish for years. Could that artificial reflection of another woman be any different?

  He turned left to find more of the same. Hospital beds bent and overturned. He ran video, if only to recognize those too weak or too slow to get out of the way. Scars cut into the walls. Glass and concrete fragments littered the hallway, still no sign of the destructor. This time however, he picked up a few more screams evident in the distance. He increased his pace.

  Another left. A right. Another right. More of the same. Each revealed more damage, more victims, and more signs that he was closing the gap. Cat increased his pace, and his heart rate, with each new pathway.

  He turned to his right. The familiar sulfur scent of new flame caught his nose. On instinct, he lifted his forearm skyward. The metal spike clanged off of his armored glove. The blade bounced harmlessly down the hall behind him. With a sneer, he cursed himself for not having read the signs. Angelyka stood at the far end of a long hall. Her left wing hung limp at her side, her lips curled in hatred. Her right arm was hidden behind her, her right wing partially open. Cat stopped. She was hiding something.

  Cat snuck a quick glance to the left and right. The sides of the hallway were made up of paned glass. The sound that hit his ears made him stop cold. He could hardly make out the silhouettes of equipment, and the increased octave of the crying voices. The angel had led the fight to the children’s ward.

  Cat stopped. A bead of icy sweat trickled down his neck. He froze. Why? Why now? He’d killed before. He’d killed children before, for a fee. Now, something was different. Those voices weren’t just hospital cases. They were children. They were innocent children. Something clicked within him, and Shockit, it was exactly what the Angel had been banking on.

  She shook her head, shards of glass showering the floor. “Let’s see how you handle this particular challenge, Cat.” The tone of his name dug into his skin. Her voice was an intrusion. No, not her. Its voice.

  She shifted her weight and turned, opening her wing. Her right arm held a bandaged boy no more than two years old. She grunted and threw the child along the floor of the hallway. The crying boy rolled along the tile. The construct shifted her right arm backward to strike.

  Cat sprinted and leapt. Angelyka launched a series of blades from the tips of her right wing. Cat dove. He wrapped his arms around the child. The blades strike his back. One clanged needlessly off of his armor. The other two found their way beneath the mesh, tearing through his skin. Blue flame filled his veins. He screamed against his will.

  He clutched the child against his chest. He tried to find his feet, but his body wouldn’t listen. He fought the desire to inspect the damage. Instead, he pushed the child into the nearest doorway, out of the angel’s line of sight. The blades could remain in his back as long as the innocent kid was safe. With a grunt, he made it to his feet, holding his left arm flush against the doorframe while his adversary watched his movements.

  The Angel grinned and tilted her head to the side, seeming less human than any other time he’d ever seen her. “How…interesting.”

  As he staggered, she reached into the room closest to her, pulling forth three children. Through his haze, Cat saw two girls and a boy, probably a family. Cat regained strength, the blood flowing freely down his back under his uniform. “C’mon Angel, this is between you an’ me, not these bag
s a’ flesh.”

  Her response was a grin and a slight bending of the light across her inhuman eyes. “If they are so inhuman, let’s see how you handle this.” Angelyka pressed two bandage-laden children in his direction, clear targets for her next attack.

  Catwalk darted forward as she fired the line of blades. With a leap, he blocked several blades and let the others contact the mesh of his armor. Rolling to a knee, he assessed the additional damage he’d suffered. The two children behind him stood, wide-eyed and unhurt.

  As the cleaner rose to one knee, merely five meters from his enemy, he saw the final attack he couldn’t stop. Angelyka drove the razor edge of her right wing deep into the chest of the third child. Her inhuman eyes stared directly into Catwalk’s as her blade drove through the dark-haired girl’s chest. Her insult to the cleaner was clear as she spoke. “You are fragile.”

  Awash in hatred, Cat leapt in her direction. As he did so, she threw the dead girl at him, causing him to grab her and roll in response. He continued to roll past her as Angelyka moved to evade him. She re-grouped and prepared to attack his prone form.

  Cat hugged the dead child against his chest, indignant and venomous. He reached backward, and felt the cold steel of the closed elevator doors. Instinctively, he reached up and slammed the closest button on the wall. Shifting his gaze, he saw Angelyka rise to her feet. She began to stride towards him with a self-indulgent smile.

  As she neared, the doors opened behind him. Clutching the dead girl tightly, he darted into the open elevator. The angel sprinted forward to catch him. He made out every feature of her disgusting form, just before the doors closed.

  The seconds of delay felt like eternity to the construct. She had the Cat at her mercy, and the pause in his assassination caused by an elevator button was inexcusable. Her hatred rose at having missed her chance to slaughter him. When the elevator opened, she grinned. He would no doubt be grieving the child he couldn’t save. His humanity made him weak. He was hers to destroy.

  The elevator doors opened, revealing a solitary figure. The dead girl stained the floor of the elevator. The hitman was nowhere in sight. Angelyka listened, and when she heard the slightest sound, she reacted. With a shriek, she drove the razor blades of her wing time and time again through the roof of the elevator car. Sparks showered down on her as her metal wing pierced the elevator car. After several strikes, she paused, the holes in the roof offering no return in the form of blood or evidence of human reaction.

  Angelyka sneered. She’d expected the Cat to perch above the car, ready for her willingness to bite on the bait of the slaughtered child. Perhaps he had fled her attack, betraying the children in an exercise of self-preservation. She grinned with an infusion to her self-esteem. She enjoyed the taste of his cowardice. Perhaps she’d kill the other children just to give him something to think about. With a smile, she raised her gaze skyward, seeking confirmation that the human had retreated from their encounter.

  The elevator roof erupted inward. Angelyka turned her head away from the debris on instinct. Cat dropped from his grip on the cable, slamming his fist into the side of the angel’s skull. He landed in the elevator and kicked the back of her leg, forcing her to the floor. Seeking refuge from any other civilians, he slammed the button for the top floor. Angelyka attempted to stand, but Catwalk’s combination of kicks and strikes kept her pinned to the elevator floor as the doors shut.

  The whining sound above indicated that the elevator was ascending. Reaching downward, he grabbed Angelyka by her neck, pulling her to face him. As they moved upward, he slammed her stunned form against every available wall, his eyes focused on the damage he could inflict on this harbinger of death.

  Without any cognitive guidance, he simply swung his fists and steered her form from left to right, again and again finding the flesh-like weaknesses of her constructed body. His blows struck her jaw, the sides of her face, her eyes, over and again as the elevator car rose floor by floor. With every strike, he lost touch with any humanity that existed within him. All he wanted was vengeance on the Angel for the children she had just slain.

  Her protests decreased in volume and frequency as he struck her again and again. Slowly, recognition of his physical state found him once again. The acute pain of his shoulders and arms crawled into his awareness. Blood soaked his armor and stole from his arms. His breathing was forced, and every ounce of his inner venom was taxed. He opened his eyes and caught himself by surprise.

  Beneath his fists, the tear-filled eyes of Delambre’s daughter looked up at him.

  “Please…Cat…Please…” she gurgled on her own blood.

  Catwalk rose upward in surprise, creating a distance between them. Had he been hallucinating so badly that he’d assaulted Eva? What complications in his makeup could have forced him to such a resolution?

  The eyes of the angel at his mercy shifted once again to those of an inhuman construct. The claws rose, narrowly missing his face. Falling backward, he landed flatly as Angelyka fired a series of blades into the ceiling above. As the light and cold of the night air found them, she raised her claws and tore aside a section of the ceiling. Casting one last glance at him, she pushed upward on her damaged wings and pressed into the night sky.

  Cat caught her form moving away against the skyline. Extending his baton, he fired the tip in her direction. With a one-in-a-who-shockin-knows chance, the tracer landed squarely against her right wing. He’d be able to track her to her creator’s lair after all.

  Exhausted, he collapsed to the floor of the elevator, wishing against all he’d known that he could simply replace one…just one…of his actions tonight. He rolled to his right. He brushed the dark hair from the face of the dead girl, his hand feeling infinitely warmer than her flesh. The words caught in his throat, far before they ever found their way to his lips.

  “I’m…I’m so sorry.”

  The pale form of the murdered child was unresponsive and unforgiving as he pulled her close to him, trying with every breath and every tear to reignite any spark of life within her. Unable to justify the death of innocence on any level, Catwalk collapsed on his side in the elevator, pulling the murdered girl’s form against his and rocked her in an effort to help her sleep fitfully in the afterlife she’d experienced far too soon.

  The tears were unexpected and undeniable. Something inside of him was human after all. In this moment, that something was all that mattered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  10 July 2029

  The bizarre man dubbed Saint Taki laughs loudly, setting the tone for their first face-to-face meeting. A veteran of the East Coast scene who fled to Nitro City as the Corporate Militia began wiping out entire blocks in an effort to censor people, Taki established safety out west. He’s chosen a handle from those among the original graffiti artists and carries a reputation heavier than an armored hover car.

  Tonight, Cat finds himself in Saint Taki’s chair, a virtual throne amongst the celebrities of Nitro City. The drugs are far above average, and the connections just happen to come through. Framed with unnaturally high cheekbones, Taki always seems to be laughing, mostly at his subjects, rather than with them. His blonde hair is spiked high, with glowing blue tips. He faces Catwalk, meeting the unaffected glowing yellow gaze of the hitman. As Cat removes his shirt, Taki’s response is instantaneous.

  The tattoo artist of nearly two decades’ fame takes less than six seconds to draw his own verdict. “Chit, man, I can’t help you.”

  Cat raises an eyebrow and challenges him. “Why’s that?”

  “Man, you got more scars than skin…inkin’ you would be like paintin’ on top a’ someone else’s Mona Lisa.” Taki powers off his equipment, slapping Catwalk on his shoulder. “You better find a clean slate, man. Your chit is way shocked up.”

  The glimmer of light and rough outlines appeared within his vision. Waves of time ebbed and flowed before he could register the shapes as human. It was a gunshot to his skull when his eyes began to process details t
o his brain. Cat nearly vomited at the sudden motion sickness. The dull pressure of a hand registered on his chest, and he dared to focus on the form.

  At first, all he saw was the damaged Angel, staring down at him. He tried to rise, meeting the firm grip of restraints across his chest and legs. The pain of a hundred needles stabbed into his back, and he howled in pain. “Cat, please, calm down.”

  The voice was unmistakably human, nothing like that of the vicious construct. He looked again, and Eva’s soft gaze met his. Her hair was slightly unkempt and lines of exhaustion framed her eyes. A weary sense of obligation emanated from her. As he slowed his breath, so did she.

  “Eva.”

  “You’ve gone through a lot of surgery, and several infusions, Catwalk. I need you to remain as still as possible. That’s why you’re restrained.”

  “You don’t lie very well.”

  She turned away. “I knew you’d react that way when you saw me. I wasn’t about to have fourteen hours of surgery undone by your gut reaction.”

  Cat took in his environment. This was the warehouse, the base of operations Delambre had established. “Fourteen hours?”

  Eva simply nodded, drawing a cup of steaming tea to her lips.

  “How’d you get me out of the hospital?”

  She looked out of the window, the orange sun reflecting in her brown eyes. Whether the sun was rising or setting, Cat had no idea. “We paid the doctor on call to pronounce you dead. The news feeds have a great number of pictures of your corpse.”

  Cat laughed but arching even slightly reacquainted him with the pain in his back. “Did you have to replace anything?” He tried to check for new cybernetics without being able to look at his body. Nothing felt different, but anesthesia had a weird way of invoking that symptom.