I started to put my hands up to placate him. “Listen man⸺”
He lunged forward, covering the ten feet in the blink of an eye. His fist slammed into my chest, sending me back into the wrecked shelves. Metal screamed as it was torn from its anchors, wrapping around my torso loosely. I groaned, having felt the massive blow on my sternum. I shook loose from the metal confines, apparently surprising him.
“So you're at least as tough as you look. This is gonna be fun.”
He leaped in again, trying to slam his fist into my face with a very fast right hook. I put my hand out and caught his fist. It slammed to a stop with a meaty thud, and I wrapped my hand around his to keep him from pulling away. The impact caused my arm to shudder. He didn't even pause, using the leverage of my hand as an anchor and immediately throwing a left jab into my stomach.
“Wooph!” I gasped. All of my air was expelled by the blow, causing my diaphragm to spasm. I grabbed his shirt in my right hand and yanked down. He fell to one knee, causing the concrete to crater. His shirt tore off, leaving his chest bare.
“Now you can understand. I'm better than you. Castillo was better than you. Whatever you did, whatever you caused, that's why he died! It's your fault!”
Black swirls of ink danced across his chest. Crude whorls, moving like infected worms in his skin. It was a sickening sight. I recognized some of the characters as they appeared in the mess, but even as I would glimpse one it would fade back into the sea of writhing infection.
“What... what happened to you? When did this happen?”
He smirked, then threw a fast punch into my jaw. I reflexively let go of his fist as I fell backwards. He shook his hand out.
“I have been transformed. I have been marked, chosen for a role. A higher calling. I alone am humanity's salvation. I was tested and found worthy of taking the tattoos of change!”
He punctuated each sentence with another punch into my torso or face. I fell to my knees, unable to withstand the incredible force.
“Humanity had magic, long ago. We forgot it, in our arrogance. We trusted science. All but a select few.”
“Why?” I coughed out. My chest ached, and there was a sharp pain in my side. I was worried he had broken one or more of my ribs.
“Why?” He laughed at me mockingly. “Why what? Why am I telling you? Why am I beating you to death? Why am I better?” He sneered again. “Because I was chosen. Not you. Castillo was chosen. We were brothers! How someone as weak as you managed to defeat one as powerful as him I cannot even fathom.”
“Do you know... what DeWisr... means?” I asked between wheezing breaths.
He paused in his beating.
“No. Why, does it matter?”
“It's Welsh.”
“So fucking what? My name is Brazilian. What does that have to do with anything?”
I surged to my feet, driving my fist into his chin as hard as I could in a massive uppercut. His body rocketed upward, smashing into the ceiling forty feet above. Blood and dust started to rain down, as he was embedded in the ceiling. He stayed up there for a long moment. I flexed, feeling the broken bones knit themselves back together. He finally came loose a few seconds later, tumbling through the air and smashing into the ground, causing it to crater all around him.
“It means 'Chosen'. That's the fate of my family. Always has been.”
I raised one foot, and watched as his eyes finally focused. He opened his mouth to say something, but I stomped so hard his head vaporized. His body shook violently from the impact. Blood sprayed in all directions. His corpse spasmed for a moment, then fell still.
“Well fuck, now what?”
I looked down at the corpse. The tattoos had already fallen still, looking almost innocuous. A quick glance would only show terribly done tribal markings, instead of the insane, otherworldly madness inducing writing. I studied the markings, trying to commit them to memory. I couldn't, each time I felt certain I had one memorized it had changed.
“Who sent you? Why attack me? Who 'remembered' magic?” I asked the still form these questions, but gathered no reply. I stood and tried to dust myself off, only realizing a moment later that I was just smearing brains and blood around on my uniform.
“Oh, fucking gross.”
I looked around. The evidence of a major altercation was present. The shelves were destroyed on this shelf, dust floated around everywhere, and there were cracks in the concrete all over a ten foot radius from the various impacts. Even worse was the blood. It had sprayed up to twenty feet from his head. It was still pooling under his body.
“Put your hands up you fucking freak.”
I sighed, turning to the door. Bazua stood there, his rifle leveled at my head.
“Hey Bazua. How much did you see?”
“Nothing. I keep my distance when following you.”
“Aha! So you have been following me! Well what did you hear?”
He paused, unsettled by my apparent nonchalance at the weapon he was threatening me with.
“Uh, nothing really. I saw Velasquez come in behind you, then the door closed. I opened the door when the whole hallway shook. I thought it was an earthquake. By the time I had the door open, you were complaining about the blood. Guess what, dumbass. That's what happens when you MURDER people!”
“Easy there, hoss. He attacked me. See all this damage? It was mostly him.”
“Bullshit!”
I slowly started to turn toward him, but he tensed.
“Don't fuckin' move.”
“What are you gonna do, shoot me? You already did that once.”
“I did hit you! I fucking knew it! What the fuck are you?” he half shouted.
“I'm still me. Still a human.”
“Bullshit!”
“You're sounding like a broken record, Bazua.”
“You're infected.”
“We've been over this. Seriously dude, go check my medical records. I'll bet you I'm no more infected than Velasquez was.”
'He wasn't infected!”
“Exactly. So tell me how he was able to punch me over twenty feet.”
“What?”
I quickly told him what had happened in the fight. He shook his head, especially during the parts where Velasquez showed superhuman ability and resilience.
“I don't believe you.”
I sighed, mostly out of frustration.
“Fine. Shoot me. Seriously. Just not in the face.”
Without a second thought, he shot me with a three round burst through the heart. I staggered, unprepared for the pain or the sudden violence.
Everything went black, and I toppled to my knees, then my face. The last thing I remembered before everything went black was Bazua approaching me with his rifle pointed at my torso.
A moment later, I gasped for breath.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” Shouted Bazua. His left hand was still on the rifle, but his right quickly pulled away from my neck. He stood and rapidly backed away.
“That fucking hurt,” I coughed out. I sat up, feeling the hole in my chest. It was a neat little group, barely a half inch across. I couldn't even fit my pinky in the hole.
He raised his rifle, pointing it at my head.
“What the actual fuck are you?”
“I'm human. Mostly. Just.... extra. You definitely shot me through the heart. That hurt like a motherfucker though. Please don't do it again.”
He lowered his rifle. Perhaps he was seeing the futility of the weapon against me.
“How are you alive? I felt for it, you had no pulse. Nothing at all.”
“I think it's more fair to say that I died, but the condition didn't stick. Look.” I waved at my chest. He goggled. I looked down as well. The hole was completely gone, even in my uniform.
“Well, I guess if you wanted to kill me you could. Are you evil? Are you one of... them?”
“No, Bazua. I've been trying to tell you. But I am starting to get an idea of who I am. I wish you had heard what Velazquez was saying. C'mon, I need a b
eer. I'll fill you in while we go have one. Or six.”
“Hang on. We can't leave... that.” He waved at the corpse.
“Have anything we can do about that?”
“Yeah... yeah I do. Hang on.”
He stepped back in to the hall, then walked about fifty feet away. He touched a bit of plain wall, and once again a panel slid out of the way to reveal a phone. I stayed by the warehouse, not wanting to eavesdrop. I could barely hear him, but was too tired to care what he said. He talked for a moment, then hung up. He rejoined me a moment later.
“Hazmat will take care of this. I've given instructions for a full autopsy. I think One-Delta will be interested in this too. Now, let's grab that beer. I want to know everything.”
I nodded, and led the way back through the maze of hallways to the main elevator cavern. He stopped at the elevators, but I continued into the stairs. He caught up a moment later.
“Stairs?”
“I'm too fat for the elevator.”
He laughed, but said nothing in response. We sat at a table in the mess hall away from everybody else. My size already guaranteed an empty table, but Bazua's surly attitude ensured that kept people several tables away. We each had a dark beer centered up, and I took a sip before I began.
“My family name is really old. Like, centuries old. It was given to one of my ancestors for a feat of valor. At least, that's what the family histories say. If you look into the handwritten accounts over the centuries, you'll find my family usually in the middle of something. We never claimed power, we never had riches, but we were always instrumental in change. Sometimes it would skip a generation or two.”
Bazua quietly sat, drinking his beer. His attention never wavered.
“My great grandfather was a bomber on the Enola Gay⸺ yes, the same one. My father was a firefighter in New York City in September of 2001. He pulled the future president out of the rubble. After my lackluster military career, and especially since I'm the last surviving member of my bloodline, I thought I had lucked out, and I wouldn't end up dead at a young age thanks to fate.”
He nodded, waving me on. I slugged down half of my beer before continuing.
“That seemed to be true until last month. Then the whole sun disappearing thing.”
“Fucking get on with it.”
Chapter 20
Darkness +35, 2033
Greater Seattle Area, Washington, USA
Location Undisclosed, Base 13, Project Osiris
-65°F
1400 Hours
“When I was taking lunch to Castillo on my first day of work in One-Delta, I was bitten by him. He must have infected me, except that the virus isn't present in my blood. Still isn't. Except, I started to change. You noticed it. A few people have, though less people have overtly said anything than I thought would. I suppose I get mixed up with Larry now, since he's roughly the same size.”
“Mason is a big dude.” Bazua followed his comment with a single dry laugh. I felt an eyebrow raise, but suppressed the reaction.
“Yeah. Anyway, after I started changing, I put on a ton of weight, started working out to figure out my limits. I'm not sure I have any- I rarely struggle with anything anymore. I'm fast and strong. I also heal extremely fast. Velasquez definitely broke more than a few bones of mine in that fight.”
“What was going on with him? He was on our other team.”
“Sierra foxtrot team? What, team two?”
“Actually, Omega, but I guess that would be called one. I'm on two.”
“Well, was Castillo on Omega as well?”
“Yeah, before he was infected.” Bazua stared down at his empty glass while he spoke.
“Hang on.” I stood and gathered our glasses, swapping them at the counter for fresh beer. I hardly got any push back on food or drink I requested now. On top of that, the rules seemed to have been relaxed, possibly due to someone finally realizing that nobody else was ever going to show up. I sat the new beer in front of Bazua, and he continued to have a faraway look on his face.
“Bazua, you okay man?”
“Yeah, I guess. Castillo and Velasquez were like brothers to me.”
“Did you know about their tattoos?”
“What tattoos?” He said with sudden interest.
“Across their chest, back, and shoulders. Like a wrap. Didn't go down the arms or onto their stomachs. All black, almost like tribal waves.”
“No, never saw anything like that. They didn't have tattoos like that when I was transferred here.”
I nodded, deep in thought.
“Why,” asked Bazua.
“Because I think the tattoos are related to both of their deaths.”
“How?”
“Castillo changed, almost like I am, but really rapidly. You saw him. That was after he was infected though. As for Velasquez, he could hit harder than a Mack truck. His first punch threw me twenty feet.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Hurt like a motherfucker too. Like I said, I'm pretty sure he broke most of my ribs and definitely broke one of my cheek bones. I mean, you shot me and I got back up. He hit harder than your rifle.”
We both fell silent for a moment. Eventually, the silence became comfortable, and we just sat, mulling over the day's events. I grabbed more beer when we ran out. At some point, we started discussing theories. I filled him in on the only working theory I had.
“Magic?” He said incredulously.
“Does anything else make any sense at all?”
He grumbled, and we drank. It was usually frowned on by everybody to drink before dinner, but nobody approached closely enough to judge us. Eventually I saw Linda enter the mess hall. She spotted me and quickly made her way over.
“Hey babe. I thought you didn't eat in here anymore.”
“I don't. I was catching up with Omar here. He had some questions that were tough to explain without beer.”
“Omar... Bazua? I've seen you all over the place.”
He waved a hand, but didn't say anything in reply. He seemed to be at least a little drunk. I was waiting to get my buzz. At least I enjoyed the flavor of the beer.
“He's been my invisible bodyguard since my first uh... incident, here.”
She looked at me, then nodded.
“Got it. Well, I'm going to grab dinner. Can I join you two?”
“Please do. I'm going to grab dinner for us as well. You good to sit here, Omar?”
He nodded, then put his head on his arm.
“Yeah, he needs food,” said Linda. We walked over to the serving area and loaded up. I had a massive tray of food as usual, and a regular plate for Bazua. We returned and coaxed him to eat his fill. I caught Linda up with the events of the day and we all took turns discussing theories.
“You realize that means that the Omega team is closely tied to whatever it is that changed Velasquez and Castillo, right?” Linda said to the table.
“Wait, does that mean that Chen and Johnson were Omega too?” I asked.
“Yeah, but they were really new to the team,” said Bazua. “That was their second mission. They were cool guys.”
“Eat your food, Omar. That must mean someone here understands what those tattoos are and how they changed Velasquez and Castillo,” I thought aloud.
“You're starting to sound like a paranoid conspiracy theorist,” said Linda dryly.
“Is it paranoia if it's true? Both of them tried to kill me, and Velasquez nearly managed to.”
We fell silent, a bubble of isolation seemingly around us. There was still empty tables around us, despite the fullness of the mess hall.
“Velasquez said that someone kept the memory of magic alive through the centuries. You know that makes me think of only one party.”
“Don't you dare say it,” said Linda sharply.
“What, you gonna say Nazis,” joked Bazua.
Neither of us replied. He appeared to instantly sober up.
“No. No fucking way. We killed them in world war tw
o. The shitheads from fifteen years ago were completely ineffective. There's no way they managed to keep something like magic secret for decades, let alone centuries.” Said Bazua with some force.
“They did have a lot of time and money invested in occult research,” I said thoughtfully.
“So did the 'Illuminati', which were probably never real, and the much more real Masons. There were boy's clubs all over the world. I don't think it was a secret so much as information that wasn't openly paraded because of common perceptions. But still, this is firmly in conspiracy territory.” Linda spoke quietly.
“Well, unless we can figure out who was the lead for Omega team, who gave the orders, all that... I think we're stuck. We really don't even have solid evidence. Just the word of a strangely strong man on a rampage.”
Bazua nodded, and Linda took my hand. Her hand was tiny in mine, but the touch was comforting.
“Let's just go home and have an early night. How much more can we talk about this without new information?”
“Agreed. But I'm going to ask around, discreetly. Maybe I can dig something up.” Said Bazua. He stood suddenly, and walked out of the mess hall.
“Kay, bye,” I said after him. He drew stares, but nobody questioned him. Shortly after he left, Linda and I did as well.
We watched another dumb action movie from the 80's that night, Eddie crashing out half way through like normal. We curled up in bed, and I found myself thankful for the comfort and safety of our home. Something nagged at the back of my mind. I lay in bed, trying to figure out what it was. Hours passed.
Eventually I closed my eyes, and the lights were already waiting. A pale orange to my side, greens and blues all over. There was brown in large clusters above me, in this strange sight. The lights seemed stronger, more real than ever before. They almost felt solid to my mind. Beyond the comforting colors, I saw a violent storm. It was small, severely localized. Purple lightning arced through the cloud. I felt like I could cover the miniature storm with one thumb if I could see it with my eyes open.
The clock in my head clicked over to midnight, and a red light started to glow eerily in the cloud. I felt every hair on my body go stiff with tension. Something was suddenly building. The air itself felt charged.
Darkness Trilogy (Book 2): Death In Darkness Page 13