Catwalk: Messiah

by Nick Kelly

  Famyne’s vibrations grew slower, more controlled. Either feeding had sated it or there was something Cat was missing. It spoke to him, offering up something he couldn’t decipher. “Kiiiiii….Miiiiii…”

  He realized he was holding his breath when he heard the sound of metal on stone. Famyne crawled atop the next sarcophagus. It extended its metal claws against and into the stone. The chant continued. Its head flailed from side-to-side on its neck. It repeated its vibrations, the breaks coming in the same cadence.

  “Kiiiiii….Miiiiii…”

  The clash of metal on stone repeated again, nearer this time. Famyne dragged its claws over the sarcophagus, leaving deep scars in the stone. Cat gritted his teeth. The hair on his neck rose as Famyne stepped onto the sarcophagus above him. The vibrations repeated, closer now. Cat craned his head. His gaze and the barrel of the shotgun were aimed directly upward.

  Famyne extended its inhuman gaze over the side of the stone tomb. Cat’s eyes met the holes of Famyne’s skull. The pressure built in his lungs. Clenching his teeth, Cat pulled the trigger.

  The ringing in his ears made concentration impossible. He felt as if he’d ignited nitrous oxide behind his eyes. He wanted to scream, cry, vomit, anything to relieve the searing pain in his skull. Sparks showered over him as the shotgun shell struck the being directly in its face. He dropped the gun and landed on his hands and knees in the wreckage.

  The jackhammer in his head began to subside slowly. He managed to get up on one knee. If that didn’t do the trick, he wasn’t sure what he had left. He recognized the skeleton’s vibrations mixed in odd harmony with the ringing in his head. They were slower, not more controlled, but more…desperate? He stood up, leaning hard against the sarcophagus. One of Famyne’s legs rested atop the opposite stone structure. The force from the shotgun blast had blown it backward. It lay still among the debris between two of the sarcophagi. Fighting the noise in his head, he found the shotgun. It laid massive in his hands.

  Cat rounded the tomb, shotgun leveled before him. The chrome being laid on the floor, arms extended outward, half of its face destroyed by the shotgun blast. Its right eye and cheek were mangled, and when it saw him, its left eye displayed recognition. It repeated the former vibration, only this time it was slower, almost slow enough to understand. “Kiiiiii….Miiiiii…”

  Cat stepped closer, cautiously. Famyne made no motion to defend itself or move at all. A puddle of liquid was forming quickly beneath it. The hitman cocked the shotgun.

  “Kiiiiiilllllll….Miiiiii…”

  Two steps closer. Suddenly, he understood.

  “Killllllllll…Meeee…”

  Cat recognized the liquid pooling beneath Famyne. It wasn’t the sustenance from its victims. It was brain matter and blood. He nearly gagged at the realization. The creation wasn’t a creation at all. It was a MetaHuman ripped from its own form and transplanted into this chrome skeleton. It was a human who could never again be human.

  “Kill…Me…”

  Tears welled in his eyes as he squeezed them shut. Raising his arm, he could feel and taste the suffering Famyne was feeling.

  He pulled the trigger.

  The suffering was over.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Cat arranged a small pyre for what was left of Delambre. He’d managed to ruin the closest thing to a burial the old man could have been given. Fire cleansed the soul or something like that. In truth, Cat didn’t want the insects and rodents chewing on the desiccated skin and organs that were once his friend. He burned Famyne’s skull, also. That was partially out of mercy. It was also finishing the job.

  Catwalk returned to the drainpipe. The familiar flickering ring of light was still visible at the ladder’s apex. He pushed his tired arms further up the metal ladder, rung after wet and rusty rung. He reached the top of the ladder, stopping at a wooden trap door. He weighed his options. The shotgun was an option, but shooting blind wasn’t the best option when dealing with a mad scientist. Save the shotgun for the scientist. He looped his cybernetic leg around the ladder, inhaled, and drove an elbow strike to the center of the door. It splintered like flotsam. Torchlight flickered in the area above. He shook his head, grabbed the next rung, and pulled himself upward.

  If he hadn’t spent his teen years in the religious orphanage known as St. Patrick’s, the setting would have been alien to him. Instead, he recognized most of the trappings right away. Cat rose to his feet, standing in the center of an expansive worship area. Long, wooden pews lined the room before him, facing an elevated stage. A pulpit stood on one side of the stage, opposite a large statue of Jesus Christ. Cat paused for a moment. Had he even laid eyes on the biblical icon since he left the orphanage? Between the pulpit and the statue, at the midpoint of the stage, stood a large stone altar draped in rich scarlet and purple velvet. The cloth was well-pressed, free from wear and stains. It certainly was a recent addition.

  The rear wall behind the altar was nearly ablaze with the light of an amazing amount of candles. Wax dripped down the wall, and the candleholders, an eerie mix of white, black and red. Someone had taken a long time to light those candles.

  Someone who was expecting him.

  Metallic objects on the altar shimmered in the candlelight. A polished goblet, bowl, and knife reflected the flickering glow of the flame. Cat remembered communion and wondered what spin the madman would put on the ceremony. The faint remains of incense clung to the air. The drapes on the altar were flawless. The same could not be said for the rest of the room. Dirt and grime covered the pews. The hymnals and copies of the religious text were water-worn or chewed on by rodents. A layer of black soot and dust covered the stained glass of the windows. Without lighting, the vaulted ceiling disappeared into darkness.

  A confession booth stood along the left wall, the enclosure wherein subjects bared their souls to the holy man, and were granted a task to achieve atonement for their sins. As a cop, Cat had plenty of run-ins with so-called holy men. Usually, these religious figures were devoted practitioners of faith. Other times they were the most deviant wolves in sheep’s clothing.

  The candles flickered, the result of movement, and Cat shifted, gripping the baton on his hip. A figure rose from behind the pulpit, its face shrouded in darkness, its silhouette backlit by the candles. When it spoke, its voice was clear, and human. “’And every creature which is in heaven, and on the earth, and under the earth, and such as are in the sea, and all that are in them, heard I saying. Blessing and honour, and glory, and power, be unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb forever and ever.’”

  Silence. This had to be the scientist responsible for the manic MetaHumans. There he stood. This was the one who had stolen Delambre’s work and offered a sick display of gratitude by creating an assassin in the image of his daughter. Cat knew not to approach. Something in the air was wrong, really wrong. Instead, he waited.

  The figure stepped to the side of the pulpit, physically and figuratively looking down at Cat. “I expect an ‘Amen’ from the congregation.”

  “How ‘bout a ‘choke on a corpse’s cock’, that close enough?”

  The scientist paused. “’Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb; For the great day of His wrath is come, and who shall be able to stand?’”

  Cat took solace in the feel of the baton’s grip in his hand as he ventured a few slow steps forward. “Which part are you playin’, big brain? Coz from what I remember, the role yer quotin’ gets squashed by the Jesus a little later on in that tall tale.”

  The scientist’s body language betrayed tension as Cat spoke, though his voice remained unchanged. “’Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne; and unto the Lamb.”

  Cat didn’t recognize the verses, simply that they were verses, and that they represented the end of the world. What was that chapter…Resurrections? Reservations? Repercussions? Something like that.

  “Wow, yer like a little plush
toy. Do I hafta pull yer string ta get you to throw out useless quotes at me, or is that all natural?”

  The scientist lost his composure then, smashing the wooden pulpit aside with both hands. “ENOUGH! You have claimed much of my dominion, but now, you shall taste failure. You shall taste enslavement. You will pray for death.”

  Cat took a few more paces forward. “I’ve been prayin’ fer the ol’ dirt nap fer ten years, pops. I’d lay odds that you ain’t gonna be the one ta deliver.”

  “Be cautious, defiler. My power is far greater than that which you will ever know…Catwalk.”

  The scientist’s acknowledgment of his identity was no surprise. He had a slab with his face on it down below. “Really? Well, seein’ as how you ain’t got much left a’ yer biblical vision, I’d beg to differ.” The man stood hardly fifteen meters away. There he was. The psychopath who had led to so many lost lives…to Delambre’s death. Beneath it all, he was a raging lunatic, caught up in his own dementia. He was going to be fun to torture.

  “You have NO idea at all, do you, Catwalk? Yes, I killed your noble partner. That was simply, as the Good Book says, ‘an eye for an eye’. You did, after all, ignite the right-hand man of one of my partners. Though, if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here today, would we?”

  Cat gritted his teeth. Comparing Delambre to Hitch was an insult. “Gonna find a victim fer every one a’ yer nightmarish creations I managed ta put in the ground, doc? That low-grade work you called Pestylynce? The marionette you called Famyne? That mosquito you called Angel? Face the facts, doc. Yer cancelled…out of biz…retired.”

  “It’s true you managed to best my Horsemen. I had such visions of them, running throughout the city, instilling fear, the contagious chaos so welcome amongst the inhabitants of this neon-clad Babylon we’ve come to know.” The figure bowed his head, nodding slightly as he digested the facts. “That has nothing to do with my reason for calling you here, Catwalk. You are here because I chose to draw you to me.”

  Cat didn’t answer, relying instead on a silent survey of the area.

  “Don’t you see? You live because I choose to allow it. You stand, attached to those inhuman legs of yours, because I decide so. Every aspect of your existence is merely a thread that I command as I fancy. I control you. I own you.” His last words echoed with the chords reserved for poets and madmen.

  “I am Messiah!”

  “Tell yer story at the pearly gates, chitbag. I ain’t got the shockin’ time.” Cat strode forward, focused on ending any further actions by the scientist or whatever other beasts he’d dreamt up.

  The confession booth exploded in a shower of wood and glass. Cat’s body slammed into the front pew. Messiah’s laughter echoed in his ears…

  …until a metallic roar filled the room.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  With half-instinct, half-panic, Catwalk launched into the air. The results were less than stellar. The giant enemy missed taking his head off. It caught him in the midsection instead. The blow knocked him through the air like a rag doll. Cat toppled over the pews, landing in a heap against the far wall.

  Consciousness moved from best friend to vague acquaintance. His head wavered between bright stars and pitch black. Breathing was a chore. Crushing pain filled his ribs. His left arm was completely numb. Cat tried to find oxygen and to digest exactly what the hell hit him.

  The giant form barreled in his direction. Titan. Cat shifted, layering his body against the floor as if he was part of the tile. Shards of glass rained down on him as the Titan shattered the exterior wall of the Church. The reds, blues, and greens depicting the Stations of the Cross showered down. Without thinking, Cat rolled to his right and leapt over the wrecked pews. The beast brought its fists downward, crushing the stones where Cat had been.

  Stars danced in his eyes. He was thankful for the mesh of the armor preventing a thousand cuts in his skin from the glass. The heat of the sun erupted in his chest as air returned to his lungs. He inhaled fire. It spread through his veins. It extended into his limbs, wrapping along his spine, and coursed along his artificial legs. He coughed loudly, his lungs bruised and burning from the beast’s attack. Cat slid to as much of a fighting stance as he could muster. His attacker rose to its full height in a display of fury.

  The figure was immense, with shoulders flaring out nearly three meters. It flexed its enormous arms, either bicep as massive as Cat’s waist. Twisted spikes lined its shoulders and forearms, down to its burly fists. Centered between its broad shoulders, the beast had a head more reminiscent of a Minotaur than a human. Two large, chrome horns curved forward from its skeletal face. Its bottom jaw projected forward, setting its face deeply into its skull. As if in a haze of pure anger, the beast’s two red eyes glowed down on him. The Titan brought its hands back to the ground with a crash, pausing a moment before its next attack.

  A familiar image was forged in its breastplate. Cat recognized the bizarre translation he’d first seen in the morgue. This was the improvement, the production model of the failed prototype.

  Cat breathed its name, “Wahrr.”

  Somewhere in the distance, the voice of Messiah prodded Catwalk with the annoyance of a fencer’s foil. “I heard the second living creature say, ‘Come!’ Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other.”

  With the oxygen fresh in his veins, Cat bounded aside, avoiding the Horseman’s next attack. Pews splintered and hymnal pages fluttered into the air. Cat digested the scientist’s words. There was supposed to be an order, a specific procession to the horsemen. Cat smiled that he’d at least caused such a detour to his enemy’s plans. The giant swung a massive hand backward, cracking through the remnants of the confession booth. Could this thing be another MetaHuman, another half-breed?

  Cat thought of Famyne, the being scarcely more than a skeleton, nothing human remaining, but a brain trapped in a living, moving scalpel. If that polished skeleton could have once been human…

  His sympathy cost him as Wahrr caught him with a backhand. A human spine would have snapped in half. Cat crashed along the ground, taking a mental inventory of the damage as he struck the floor and rolled. The enormous beast rose again, throwing the wooden benches aside. Pages from the hymnals, musical professions of faith, flittered about in the air. Cat retreated, struggling to find a strategy.

  His thoughts were stuck on the skeleton called Famyne. It died, graciously, as a result of the shotgun. Cat drew the sawed-off, searching for his target as he felt the inviting wood of its grip. He evaluated the position of the trigger, its weight when it was fully loaded with shells. The familiarity was comforting.

  Cat reached to lift the barrel. His left arm failed. It was all the Titan needed. It struck him full in the chest. The shotgun disappeared near the back of the room. Cat bounded off of the floor. His body struck one of the support columns. He dropped to the ground. The iron taste of blood filled his nose and throat.

  He heard the roar of the attacker, mingling with the nasal words of its director. “Then the Lord will be revealed from heaven with His mighty angels in flaming fire, dealing out retribution to those who do not know the Messiah and to those who do not obey His gospel.”

  Catwalk weighed his options. Could Messiah see in the dark? Could Wahrr? If they were able to activate low-light vision, then destroying the candles would be a worthless endeavor. The shotgun was now a lost treasure amidst the rubble. So far, he’d simply been helpless prey in the targets of the charging bull. It was exactly the perspective portrayed in Messiah’s words, in Wahrr’s actions.

  Time to change the game.

  The oversized MH wasted motion after motion to display its power. It shattered another window with the back of its metallic arm. It then brought its fist downward, destroying two pews. Gripping the baton, Cat leapt forward. Wahrr rose to its full height, crossing its spiked arms as a guard. Catwalk’s leap was nothing more than a feigned attack as he landed
two full meters short of a frontal assault. The Titan uncrossed its arms. Too late. Cat rolled beneath its form, jamming the baton upward like a spear.

  The baton struck home in the left thigh of the beast. Cat twisted his thumb, activating the EMP tip. Blue waves of lightning engulfed Wahrr, extending downward along the length of the baton. Catwalk dropped it, rolling to his feet and sprinting behind the giant. With its systems eliminated, it would be easy pickings. He adjusted his balance as the giant fell backwards, its left leg extended, rendered useless by the Electro-magnetic shock.

  Cat reached the raised stage. Wahrr fell onto its back. The impact drove papers, dust, soot, and dirt into the air. He chanced a sideways glance to where he’d last seen Messiah, only to find the scientist gone. Near the pulpit, there was nothing but darkness. The baton was buried somewhere under the giant’s form. The shotgun was lost in the black near the room’s exit. The candles still clearly burned on the stage despite the new wind from the broken windows.

  The air carried new words to his ears. “We eagerly wait for the Savior who will transform our lowly body that it may be conformed to His glorious body, according to the working by which He is able even to subdue all things to Himself."

  The words ended, and Cat shifted at the sound of metal on metal. “…transform our lowly body…” He was able to digest the changes to the MetaHuman near him before he realized they’d even happened. Wahrr’s armored forearms shifted open, two large auto-cannons replaced the spikes.

  Wahrr rose on its one functional leg. Cat stared in disbelief. It had gone from brawler to arsenal at the command of its creator.

  “Oh, you mother…” The audible click of loaded guns broke his blue streak.

  He sprinted, not looking back. The artificial legs provided him with inhuman acceleration. His surgery provided greater speed, leaping distance and control than any purely natural human. Thanks be to whatever god was in his corner.