by Byrd, Daniel
"I hate the business bullshit. I prefer to be called the new big boss of these people," he answered as he waved his hand towards the gunmen behind the two.
Makoto's eyes furrowed in rage. “What happened to rehabilitation? Craven told us that your new plan in life was to help people.”
"That was a nice idea, wasn't it?" Lewis said with a chuckle. “To be fair, I did establish that center with the hopes of helping the former mercs of Tiamat Unbound like the fine people behind you. It helped with the sentencing and all that they would have had to put up with from the UN, but as I said, once we've tasted the heat of battle, we know nothing else. Tack that onto the great deal I struck with a wise man, and we've all been promised work as long as we live. We can be who we want.”
Makoto hoped that the bastard's ego would keep him talking, but it didn't seem like Lewis was ready to divulge everything yet. Instead, their captor stepped back and gave a signal to his men, who fanned out to form a pentagon formation around them. He then motioned for Makoto to step forward, but the samurai stood his ground.
"What is this?" Makoto demanded. Lewis smirked as he slowly drew one of the swords sheathed on his right hip.
"This," he said as he traced the ground with the tip of the blade in his stride towards Makoto, before stopping a yard from him, "is round four."
Makoto's eyes flashed to the surrounding soldiers, realizing they weren't going to intervene unless Lewis ordered so. It was the mountains of Russia all over again, only this time…
"Hawkins," he said calmly. Alexis didn't seem too concerned with the development as she eyed her partner.
"What?"
"Do not make any movements," he ordered. This was the first time he had someone friendly near what would surely be a clash of dancing death. He didn't want her to get hurt, but she couldn't retreat anywhere safe.
"Are you sure about this?”
"Trust me, Hawkins," Makoto said as he took a stance. He and Lewis shared the most intense standoff as everyone fell silent. There was no wind, and the helicopters had put quite a bit of distance between themselves and what was unfolding below. Makoto figured that Lewis wanted it this way. Their official rematch after a year would be one that no one was to intervene in. Both combatants seemed to enter a trance in Alexis' eyes. She looked from Makoto's side to Lewis' front. Both men were so relaxed, and she knew it was something she'd never understand; the mind of a samurai.
Makoto's arm was still tired from climbing the elevator shaft, but he needed his reserves now if ever. Lewis flashed a sneer as he began the duel, rushing forward and drawing another sword. Makoto didn't recognize either on a whim, and since they were cutting through the air at him at a blinding speed he wasn't keen on the idea of investigating at the moment as he parried the blow with his Masamune. The strike hurt, even though he stopped the blades. His wrist stung like he'd punched a concrete pillar. Makoto found himself taking a few steps back as Lewis stood his ground, swords at the ready as he grinned at his accomplishment.
"You're tired, Nagase," he jested.
Makoto refused to waste his breath speaking, and chose to take the second strike instead. With a quick flash of his arm, he swung horizontally at Lewis, aiming for the gap between the blades. Lewis caught it between his swords and mustered his strength as he attempted to rend the Masamune from Makoto's hand. Makoto grimaced as a sharp pain tore through his wrist from the sheer force of the struggle. Lewis had gotten stronger, and even though he himself had taken to favoring his only working hand, Lewis had two that were just as powerful. He wasn't about to have a repeat of the disarming he suffered at the hands of his brother a year ago, so Makoto pulled back and the blade scraped through metal with a terrible sound as he readied for his next attack, but Lewis was faster. The swords cleaved through the air from above as his downward slash missed Makoto by mere inches, unnerving the samurai. Even against his brother he had backup plans and proved resourceful, but Lewis was unrelenting in his onslaught of blows. One sword struck him on the left, and though Makoto was prepared for a painful slice through his armor, instead he felt a blunt strike. Lewis had struck him with the reverse end of the blade. He was mocking him.
"Tagged you," Lewis said with a laugh as he hopped a few feet back, readying himself once more. Makoto felt his face flush red with rage as he ran in to retaliate. His next strategy was to rush into the swipes to try and catch Lewis off guard, but he hadn't counted on Lewis' knee coming up into his face. He was stopped in his tracks and shoved backward in a spray of blood as his eyes teared up. Makoto could taste the iron in his mouth as blood flowed freely from his broken nose. He was being dominated by the man he'd bested three times before. The last time he felt pain like this was when he'd had his final duel with his own brother. Right now Lewis was making that fight seem like a friendly sparring match.
"You've gotten sloppy, Nagase," Lewis cackled. "Maybe I should let you catch your breath first before we continue?"
"Bastard," Makoto hissed. The soldiers were enjoying the show as their boss delivered a humiliating beat down on his opponent. Makoto spat out a glob of blood and got to his feet, ready to carve out the fucker's mouth into a grotesque shape that couldn't mock him ever again.
"I liked it better when you were bowing," Lewis said as he leaned down, awaiting Makoto's next move. His confidence radiated from him as he continued to establish his dominance.
"I was convinced you had gained some honor sometime after our second bout in that very tower," Makoto growled as he nodded towards the structure behind him, "but it appears I was mistaken. You never had any to begin with."
"You can talk shit all you want," Lewis shot back, "but you're the one getting his ass kicked right now."
"Didn't Doberman teach you anything?!" Makoto barked at the traitor. “Didn't I teach you anything?!”
Lewis laughed and tilted his body back and forth in anxious excitement. “Terry Shields may have made some good points, but in the end he died. His philosophy is gone with him. I don't need a ghost's words haunting me. I've seen what it does to you all. It's made you weak!"
"How can you say that?!" Alexis screamed at him. Lewis looked utterly shocked by the outburst. Makoto knew Shields was a tender spot for Alexis, but Lewis couldn't have forgotten that. He looked completely taken aback, but why?
"Shields was my mentor, and he's dead! My next one is before me, as weak as he was! What lessons am I supposed to take from these people if I'm surpassing them?! I'm still alive!"
"Not for long," Makoto uttered as he ran forward and stabbed at Lewis' face. Lewis struck the blade up, diverting the blow over his shoulder and through nothing as he sidestepped and began a flurry of strikes that all met Makoto's back and chest. All were the reverse ends of both swords as they hit harder and harder. Makoto could feel the blows through his armor and was stunned as one caught him in the back of the head, knocking him to the ground where he was forced to release the Masamune to catch himself. He went to stand up as he felt something pierce into his skin.
"You know," Lewis began, "a wise swordsman once said that a swordsman's shame is having scars lining his back."
Makoto roared and rolled over as the tip of the blade sliced across his back. When his back was safely on the ground, he raised his right boot and kicked at Lewis, who caught his leg between both blades. The edges cut through the material and were finding their way into his skin, shaving the top layer off on both sides. Makoto's eyes widened as he realized he was about to lose his right leg.
"Let's not be too hasty to die, Nagase," Lewis said jokingly as he surprisingly released the leg in his grasp. Makoto quickly retracted it and scurried to his feet, dashing to the left to snatch his sword from the ground.
"How about a show, fellas?!" Lewis shouted as he tossed one sword into the air while the five soldiers began to cheer and holler. Makoto readied for whatever was about to come next as Lewis unsheathed his third sword. There was no telling what else Lewis had practiced in the past year since his departure, but he sh
ocked Makoto by tossing the new sword into the air and catching the previous. He was juggling.
"Not really a style, but it's good for entertainment!" Lewis shouted as he maintained his focus and kept up his routine. Makoto couldn't believe the nerve of the bastard. He was showing off in the middle of a fight. It would be the fool's downfall.
"You know, it's not easy since they're all of different weights!" Lewis yelled, catching one and juggling two with one hand, grabbing the handles each time like a professional. "It took a lot of practice to get this right!"
Makoto let out a spine-melting roar as he covered the distance and swiped at the clown, and was left shocked when Lewis caught one sword to block the attack. Not letting the mishap deter him, Makoto corrected himself and went to swipe at the right arm that was keeping the blades adrift in the air, only to be stopped again as Lewis caught one in time to swing down and smack the Masamune's blade to the ground. The heavy striking blade was one of the two that had hurt his wrist earlier, and in that second he realized that the sword wasn't a katana. It was something reminiscent of a tekkan, the heavy, dull swords meant to fight against armor. In the heat of the moment Lewis tossed the sword back up in time to catch the next before going back to juggling all three again. Makoto was enraged.
"Welcome to defeat, sensei," Lewis muttered as he began a barrage of blow after blow with the juggling swords, striking before tossing one and catching the next to make another downward strike over and over again. The hits all varied, but Makoto was straining to keep up at this point. Lewis began to let off of the pattern and waited a few juggles between strikes, thus throwing out any predictability. This stupid show was actually messing up Makoto’s strategy, and it only served to further piss him off. The last thing he needed was a mind filled with pure rage, but it was getting too late for that, as each failed attempt to hit Lewis made him angrier and angrier, until finally, Lewis was tired of toying with the samurai.
The tide of the battle didn't shift, but rather surged as Lewis exerted his dominance by picking up the pace once more, slamming each sword into the Masamune that Makoto was helplessly parrying with. Finally, the game switched up as Lewis swung the next sword into Makoto's left shoulder, the blunt force throwing off Makoto's defense. Lewis held onto that katana as he brought the tekkan into the same shoulder with a hit that brought the giant to a knee. Quickly grabbing the tekkan with his left hand, Lewis grabbed the light katana and made his final blow on Makoto's skull, almost knocking the samurai out cold. Makoto saw stars.
“You're just as weak as your brother was after all," Lewis chided as he sheathed two of the swords and kept the third in hand as he circled his downed foe, "and that fool, Shields."
Alexis couldn't take it anymore, running forward with a fist raised, but stopping as Lewis flashed the edge of his blade to her throat. She felt a tinge of pain as the blade stopped just at the skin, drawing a small trickle of blood.
"I wouldn't do that, Hawkins," Lewis warned her, "unless you want to meet Shields sooner than later?"
Alexis swore as Lewis looked back in time to see Makoto rise up once more. He would've liked to have dealt a surprise attack to his adversary, but the back of the sword that Lewis held caught his wrist and forced Makoto to drop the Masamune. The next hit was delivered to his abdomen, and the one after to his spine, then the sternum. The pain just multiplied in intensity as each strike seemed to immediately follow the last, and it wasn’t until Lewis had stopped that Makoto realized he was somehow still standing on his own two feet, heaving in pain as every part of his body ached. Finally, it weighed down on him, and he dropped to a knee, his right hand clenched into a fist and on the ground as he bowed his head, for the giant samurai was now at the mercy of the blade held by Jackson Lewis.
"I won't kill you yet, Nagase," Lewis told the dishonored man at his feet. “Instead, I have a better idea for you. You may wish I would've killed you come later, but for now…"
Makoto thought frantically, eyes scouring for any opening. There had to be a way out of this. His sight fell upon Alexis, who was standing with her arms crossed, her face contorted into an ugly frown as she stared at Lewis. It was odd, but she appeared more angry than worried. Makoto went to demand answers from Lewis as his neck was met with the back end of one of the mercenary’s blades. His head hit the ground as his vision faded, but he could hear a voice growing distant before his consciousness gave out.
"I should have dealt with this idiot and his friends sooner. Maybe that witch doctor freak can find some use for him," Lewis' echoing voice said. “I need to make sure that everyone in Oranienburg is ready. It looks like they'll have their own company while I'm away, and I'm not about to let my own plans go to hell just because these interlopers figured me out."
Chapter Twelve - No Idea
Hamilton was zoned out in his chair across the table from Private First Class Zachary Jackson. Ever since he had seen Julia next to him on the shore of the bay back in Washington, he was constantly struggling to come to copes with the fact that his sanity might just be deteriorating beyond what everyone had always assumed. He hadn't seen her since, but he knew he didn't dream it. Imagine it, sure, but not dream.
You really haven't slept a lot.
Hamilton opted to ignore the voice since Jackson and Max had been left in the room with him while Houseman went to sort out some other details of the operation. He told them to use the time to become acquainted. Hamilton found that hard to do when the other two did nothing but sit in silence and focus their attention on him as he pondered.
Try small talk. It's not that hard, right? Comment on their looks, or maybe ask what made them join the military? Ask the small one what kind of sports he played before the world was overrun with the undead. Hell, he's too small to have played. Probably a reclusive nerd, like you!
Hamilton decided appeasing the irritating voice in his head was the top priority. “So, how long have-"
"Zip it, doc," Jackson said, shutting him down. “I'm not here to make friends. I just want to know what I'm supposed to do to make your life easier, so it'll make my life easier."
Hamilton dipped his head. Well, if things go to hell and we need a bullet or tooth sponge, I vote for him.
"Quiet," Hamilton muttered, placing a hand on his head.
"What?"
"Nothing," Hamilton said dismissively, waving the same hand.
"No," Jackson argued, "I'm pretty sure I heard something. Listen doc, I don't know who the hell you are, but you're obviously not in a position of power. I'm not a very patient man, so if you know something about my assignment, I'd like you to tell me. It'll make dealing with you a lot easier, and I’m sure General Houseman has his secrets to keep.”
Hamilton pushed his glasses up on his nose. He wasn't sure what he should say without Houseman there. The General of the Army was already in a bad mood, much like every other time Hamilton ever saw him. “I'm afraid I don't even know all of the details. Houseman will-"
"You're lying, and that's pissing me off," Jackson spat.
"Guys, let's just wait," Max said, ever the peacekeeper.
"Stop being neutral, Max,” Jackson argued. “We don't know what the fuck they have planned for us. For all we know they could be planning on having you and me babysit this guy while he dissects those things in a tent!”
Hamilton sneered. “For all you know, I could have requested that you be the new specimen for my next experiment with the undead.”
Jackson and Max were taken aback by the doctor’s change in tone. Jackson's mouth was hanging open. “What the fuck are you talking about?"
Hamilton put on a false smile and straightened up in his chair. Calm down. I don't like the guy either, but this isn't how you make friends.
"I bet you never got picked on in high school, huh?" Jackson pestered. “You seem like the kind of guy people worried would bring a gun in or something.”
Hamilton fought not to smile at that one. Of course. A stereotypical jab at the nerd. I wonder how surpr
ised he'd be at how you handle a firearm? At least you kept the gunplay at the range during high school. Don't let him get to you.
“How'd you lose the finger?” Jackson persisted. Hamilton looked to the stub on his hand and flexed the remaining appendages.
“Frostbite.”
“Better than a zombie bite,” Jackson commented. “Speaking of which, why does the military have you researching-”
The doorknob began to turn, and all eyes were on the door as it opened. General Houseman gave everyone his usual stare that seemed to say he was agitated that he had to deal with them in the first place. Following right behind him was his usual tag-along, who appeared to be pale. Jackson gave Major Hampton a cold eying as he and the General sat down at the head of the rectangular table. Hampton was breathing heavily, and hunched over the tabletop. Tensions were high, but Houseman didn't look like he wasn't going to put up with bullshit in his meeting.
"Gentlemen, I hope you took the time alone to become familiar with one another,” Houseman said, his gaze shifting between the three.
Max rubbed the back of his neck and remained silent, but Jackson didn't know how to stay quiet. “I'm not entirely sure, but I believe he just threatened us a few moments ago, sir.”
Hamilton actually tried to appear innocent as he met the General’s frigid eyes. Tattletale.
Houseman cracked a smile. “Good. I'd like to get straight to business, if I may?"
"Go right ahead," Hamilton answered, observing the timid young man named Max. This kid is supposed to be one of the escorts? We're doomed. The whole world is doomed.
"On Christmas Day at roughly 17:00, we received a message from the World to Come. They have invited our doctor here to join their ranks."
Jackson and Max looked to Hamilton, who gave a little wave. Jackson squinted his eyes in scrutiny as Houseman continued.
"After some deliberation, we decided to accept the offer. Dr. Hamilton will be taken to the specified meeting place at the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, in Berlin. We have been asked to keep all military personnel away from the site. There is to be no interference of any kind. We do, however, need a way to get this man to the meeting. That's where you two come in."