Chapter I
"You are an incorrigible man Mr. Crenshaw, a very incorrigible man indeed."
"What can I say? It is a part of my charm." Alistair Crenshaw gave a sly smile to the Columbian woman sitting across from him. The summer breeze ruffled the flags looming above the two as they ate their food at an outdoor café. The date was July 6th, and the floating city of Columbia was buzzing with activity.
"Last night was… quite the night Mr. Crenshaw, if my father had any idea of the things I did with you, I suppose he would never let me out of the house again."
Crenshaw knew the woman's first name was Evelyn; the last name completely escaped him. He really had no interest in further pursuing the poor girl; he just was in the mood for a fling last night. She was with a group of friends and he managed to pick her out of the group. He did feel a sliver of shame for using her, but she could take it as a life lesson after all of this.
"Evelyn my dear, what we did last night was between you, the Lord, and I." Alistair gave a wink before taking a sip of his soda. This Columbians were religious fanatics, all of them. The fact these women even go out seems a little too loose for their standards, but Crenshaw sure wasn't complaining. He was raised Catholic, but the things these people did and said… ridiculous by any belief.
The two ate their food in silence, listening to the music playing in the streets. Children giggled and ran on the cobblestone roads playing games. Shopkeepers left their doors open, welcoming customers. The city was beautiful, having a monopoly on the sky market. Crenshaw checked his watch and turned to his companion. "Evelyn did you wish to go to the raffle? I know all of Columbia will be there,"
A look of excitement possessed the woman's face as she clapped her hands together. "Oh that would be wonderful! I really should freshen up though."
"Well how about this, you go back to your house and I'll meet you at the raffle, how does that sound?" Alistair replied. Evelyn agreed to the idea and got up, kissing Crenshaw on his cheek before walking off. Looking through his trouser pocket for currency, Crenshaw put several Silver Eagles on the table and left the outdoor café.
His hotel was just up the street; he had been staying there for what was going on three weeks. Crenshaw adjusted his fedora so the sun did not get in his eyes. Families passed him as they headed to the fair. July 6th was the date the floating city of Columbia succeeded from the United States of America, at least that is what Crenshaw read from the books he went through.
The doors to the hotel were already open. "The Founders' Lodge" was printed in bold lettering across the building. Crenshaw removed his hat promptly and gave the female receptionist a warm smile. "Good afternoon Mr. Crenshaw," She greeted him in a singsong voice.
"Good afternoon, sweetheart." He proceeded up the stairs to his room. After turning the key in the lock, Crenshaw opened the door and locked it behind him. He was in one of the largest rooms the hotel offered, had its own bathroom and everything.
He immediately removed his tie and threw it on the bed "Damn fashion, I don't know why everyone insists on full suits in the middle of July." Crenshaw walked over to the mirror in the bathroom and got a good look at himself. His short brown hair was slicked back with the part at the side; beard was kept clean and close to his face, brown eyes still as soul searing as ever. He took off his light grey suit jacket and exposed his shoulder holster.
"Can't get over this thing," Crenshaw removed the handgun from its holster and examined it, a M1911, brand new. He checked the magazine, ensuring it was full before putting it back in the holster. He carried two extra magazines on the opposite side of his body. He unbuttoned his vest and threw it at his bed. Crenshaw turned on the sink and splashed some water in his face. After drying off his face he looked again in the mirror. He ran his thumb down a scar on his face, coming down his left eye to his jawline.
Walking back to his bed he put his suit jacket back on and buttoned it up. His belongings were shoved in a duffel bag that was resting up against a dresser, never bothered to move in. Several wanted posters lay on top of the nightstand, none worth going through at the moment. Crenshaw checked himself one last time before leaving his room and locking the door behind him.
The sun was right above the city, bathing the area in its warmth. The fedora did a good job of blocking out the sun, he never did like having his senses dulled by external sources. The city was bustling as people waited for a passing float to finish its broadcast.
"I swear I've heard this all to much." Crenshaw thought to himself. The floats that were passing by were recounting the life of the 'glorious' Father Comstock, the Prophet of Columbia. "Worked on a farm, had a kid, founded the city, yes yes we know."
"Isn't it inspiring to hear what the Prophet has accomplished?" A young woman said to Alistair.
Crenshaw smiled and looked down at the woman, "Oh yes, he really is quite something," The bridge lowered and people started walking to the other side if the floating city. "Something indeed."
Vendors adorned the streets and were attempting to sell various wares. Crenshaw purchased an apple and continued to walk to the fair. He heard a quartet singing to his left, never heard the song before but it was pretty catchy. "Of course the song has to mention God, otherwise it would be absurd," Crenshaw snickered to himself.
Propaganda was on every wall, mentioning the superiority of the white race or Father Comstock. 'The Lamb' was mentioned as well. The lamb was to Jesus as Comstock was to God. The Lamb was supposed to take over for Comstock and rule the world or something. There was one poster that caught his attention before he headed into the fairgrounds. "The False Shepherd…"The poster depicted a demonic hand with the letters 'AD'. 'YOU SHALL KNOW HIM BY HIS MARK!'
"Well hope I don't accidently scar myself with letters from here on out." Alistair jogged up the stairs and walked into the fair ground. Despite being spacious, the area was crammed with bodies. Crenshaw had to pardon himself as he bumped into people as he passed by. There were games and stalls all around. Feats of mechanical wonderment and shooting galleries adorned the area.
The area that interested him the most was the display of 'Vigors'. "Gather around ladies and gentlemen, gather around! Have you ever wished to make the everyday woes of life go away? One swig, and feats of wonderment are at the tips of your fingers! You know our prophet is fair! You know our prophet is kind, and he asked, PERSONALLY asked, Mr. Jeremiah Fink to bring to you these amazing wonders!"
There were two men in devil costumes standing in front of the spokesperson. Out of nowhere, electricity sparked from the hands of one of the men. He pulled it back and forth between his hands as if it were an accordion of blue lightning. The other snapped his fingers and a floating ball of magma rotated in the palm of his hands. He spun it on his finger as if it were a small play thing. Alistair whistled to himself, "Well I'll be damned…" he scratched his beard. "If I could get my hands on one of those…"
"There you are!" Crenshaw had his thoughts broken as Evelyn grabbed his arm. "I've been looking for you!"
"My apologies. I've just been so intrigued with these… vigors." Crenshaw replied, still slightly in aw.
"They are quite spectacular aren't they?" Evelyn really did not seem interested in the conversation, still quite smitten with the man she was holding.
"Would…" Crenshaw went to speak but then felt something on him move out of place. He turned and saw a young man holding a wallet and attempting to escape through the crowd of people. "Dammit, get back here!" Crenshaw shoved patrons of the fair out of the way as he made his way closer to the pickpocket. When the man cleared the crowd he went off in a full sprint, he was fast, but Alistair was faster. He tackled the perpetrator to the ground and flipped him over to get a good look.
The man could barely be considered that, no more then eighteen or nineteen, dirt covered his face and his clothes were ripped. "Fuck you, I need this money!" The boy shouted, dropping the wallet momentarily to grab a small knife.
Crenshaw reacted quickly, forcing the knife to the ground and breaking the man's wrist. "What you need is some discipline." With one solid punch to the jaw the man was out like a light. Crenshaw stood up and quickly buttoned his suit jacket back up when he realized it had become undone in the scuffle. He dusted himself off and pocketed his wallet. He turned to face the crowd and was met by applause.
"Good show, sir! Good show indeed! You showed that scoundrel that there is no room for mercy for the weak and treacherous!" The Vigor spokesman had approached Alistair with an outstretched hand. He reluctantly shook it and gave a weak smile.
"Just reacted as anyone would," The police started to arrive and picked the unconscious pickpocket up. Without asking any questions they simply walked away, which Crenshaw thought was odd.
"My boy you embody the courage that all men should strive for! You know how to react! I would like to give you a complimentary vigor! You've earned, sport!" The spokesman removed a glass bottle from his suit coat and raised it high. "What do you say folks? Do you believe this man has earned it?" A roar of applause erupted as the onlookers agreed. The spokesman handed the bottle to Crenshaw; he examined it before putting it in his suit coat. It was a red bottle with an emblem of a grinning devil on it. There was a horned female on the cap blowing a fiery kiss.
"That's Devil's Kiss! No one will bother you anymore with that! And it requires a whole lot less effort then chasing a man down!" This man was a little too enthusiastic. Crenshaw nodded and thanked the man and the crowd before grabbing Evelyn and walking away.
"My Lord, Mr. Crenshaw, that was mighty brave of you!" The woman cried in excitement. She hung onto his arm tighter as they walked through the fair grounds. "Come on, we don't wish to miss the raffle! It is right this way!" Evelyn pulled his hand as they broke into a jog. Crenshaw couldn't help but laugh at the girl's gusto. They went up some stairs and arrived at a larger crowd centered on a stage with the curtains drawn.
There were multiple women with baskets filled with baseballs. Evelyn approached one of them with a grin on her face. "Two raffles numbers please," The woman nodded and dug into the basket. She gave Evelyn a ball, number 23.
"And for you sir, number sixty-nine." The basket carrier gave Crenshaw a wink as he accepted the ball. Crenshaw smiled at the small innuendo and thanked the woman.
"How much do I owe you?"
The basket carrier and Evelyn giggled at this seemingly stupid question. "Silly, you don't have to pay for the raffle."
"You'll have to excuse him, he's new around here," Evelyn said as she patted Crenshaw's arm. The two walked away and got a space on a ledge towards the back of the crowd. "I'm so glad I get to spend your first raffle with you! It really is quite exciting." Evelyn looked so pleased with herself
"Well I'm glad to have such a great guide," Crenshaw replied. The girl was sweet, but he was growing tired of this. He felt bad for leading her on but he really was not interested.
"One minute before the raffle starts! One minute!" The announcer stated in the same enthusiastic tone that everyone in this city seemed to share. He had a top hat and a curled moustache, wearing a very nice custom tailored three-piece suit.
"Is there anyone around here that isn't dressed to the nines?" Alistair asked. Despite having a suit on himself, he felt underdressed for such a casual occasion because he didn't have a vest and tie on. The heat was prominent from the rays the sun provided. He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief before putting it away.
"We pride ourselves on our clothing, appearance is everything. Especially when the Lord may pass judgment on us at any passing moment." Evelyn informed him calmly.
"The God I always envisioned wore a white robe not a suit…" It appears these people did not understand the humble simplicity that most religions were supposed to dictate.
"Hey mister! Mister over here!" One of the raffle girls called out a passing patron. The man looked at her and they started to have a conversation, as she handed him a ball. This man was different, like he didn't belong, similar to Crenshaw. He was a hardened man, you could tell by his face. Late thirties, he openly wore an empty shoulder holster outside of his vest, not being very inconspicuous with that. His brown hair was worn similar to Crenshaw's, black pinstripe suit pants and a red cloth tied around his neck like a tie.
"Peculiar sort, definitely out of his element." Alistair thought to himself.
Music started playing from the band and everyone started to cheer. The raffle was beginning and people acted like their favorite team just won the World Series.
"Are we all ready for the raffle? Do you think you have the winning number? May the luck of the Founders' be with you! Without further ado let us pull the number." The announcer exclaimed. A blonde with a basket strutted on stage, waving to the crowd. The men hollered and Crenshaw let out a small whistle.
"Bring out the bowl! Now isn't this just the most attractive young white girl you ever did see?" The announcer addressed the crowd. Crenshaw was momentarily taken aback from the bluntness of the comment. He was raised in the city, he knew what racism was like, but it still caught him off guard. The blonde handed the spokesman a ball and the man looked at it.
"And the winning number is… seventy-seven!"
"Over here! Over here! It's him!" One of the basket carriers cried out and pointed to the hardened man who had just arrived. The Man looked down the ball in his hand and seemed to scoff in amusement.
"We have our winner! How about we show him his prize ladies and gents?" The crowd cheered as a response. The curtains were drawn and Alistair's eyes grew wide. A tied up interracial couple were carted forward slowly, a white male and black female. Cardboard monkeys with big lips surrounded the stage along with various jungle-like objects. A mocking version of 'Here comes the Bride' played aloud and the crowd chanted along. The couple begged for sympathy, Crenshaw felt horrible.
"My boy, you get the first shot! Take advantage of it!" The spokesman directed towards the winner. The Man looked down at his ball with a look of disgust on his face. "Looks like we have a shy one here folks!" The crowd got a brief chuckle out of it as they cheered the winner on.
The Man said something that Crenshaw couldn't here from his position and winded back to throw the ball, but the direction was not towards the couple, but rather the man on stage. "Man has a pair…" Alistair thought to himself. However, before the Man could release the ball two police officers grabbed him by the arms.
"Wait. It's him!" One officer said aloud so that the crowd could hear.
The announcer drew closer to the apprehended man and looked at his hand. "Now where'd you get that brand boy? You know that makes you the backstabbin', snake in the grass, False Shepherd?" The crowd gasped and murmured to each other in surprise. Evelyn grabbed Crenshaw's hand tighter.
"We don't want no False Shepherd in our flock now do we? Boys, show him what we have in store for him!" One of the officers withdrew an object that covered his arm; there was a rotating pinwheel like blade on the end. Crenshaw had seen these before; these were sky-hooks, devices that allowed people to travel on the skylines that were found all over the city.
He slowly approached the Man closer with the blade. "Ah shit," Crenshaw thought to himself, he stood up, from his spot, ready to intervene. In a fluid motion, the Man threw his raffle ball up in the air. Both of the officers looked up, and the man used this to his advantage. He grabbed the officer to his right by the neck and rammed him into the spinning blade. The crowd shrieked in horror as blood splattered from the officer's torn face. The remaining officer let go his sky-hook with a look of astonishment on his face.
The Man quickly picked up the dropped weapon and swung it at the remaining officer as the crowd dispersed with shrill cries. "Mr. Crenshaw we must get out of here!" Evelyn cried, obviously shaken by the events.
"Get out of here dear, I want to make sure everyone escapes safely. I'll meet you when this has blown over." Crenshaw kissed her and pushed her out of harms way. Evelyn disappeared into the crowd of people as they left the grounds. Three more cops ran into the small stage area and launched themselves at the Man.
Despite being outnumbered the Man held his own, maiming each of the officers that attacked him. He could obviously handle himself. Crenshaw thought this was good, there would be overall less attention on him as long as this Man was stirring up trouble, and he needed him to be alive. A police officer attempted to sneak up on the Man from behind. He never would have noticed because he was trying to dispatch of two other cops.
Crenshaw reacted quickly, he came up behind the police officer and put him in a firm headlock and dragged him back towards some cover. He snapped the officer's neck with ease and threw his body in some bushes. By this time the Man had killed the remaining officers and had seen Crenshaw. He looked at him in the eye and ran up a set of stairs without so much as a nod.
"Well he lacks the common decency to say thank you." Alistair quipped to himself. He did not take out his handgun quite yet because no one had noticed him. He saw the Man plowing through a new group of police officers, both of the combatants now armed with handguns. He saw the Man swirl a green aura in his left hand. He shot it towards and machine that was firing at him. All of a sudden the machine had a green glow and turned on the policing officers and riddled them with machine gun fire.
"That must be a vigor…" Crenshaw thought to himself. He remembered the Devil's Kiss he had just been given. He withdrew it from his suit jacket and examined it. "Well, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Crenshaw threw the top of the bottle to the ground and chugged the entire bottle down. It tasted like the smell of gasoline; he felt a burning in his throat like he drank whiskey.
He felt a fiery pain in his hands and he looked at them. He shouted as his hands caught on fire, his fingers being burned to the bone. The flame went up as high as his forearm. He felt the burning and smelled his skin boiling. Then as quick as it started, his hands extinguished and the skin covered his body again.
"Holy hell…" Crenshaw bent over and coughed heavily. "What the hell did that do to me?" He looked at his hand and concentrated hard, thinking about fire. A ball of magma began to float in his hand and Crenshaw began to laugh. This was amazing.
Then a voice from behind caught him off guard. "Nice parlor trick, I'll show you mine." Before he had the opportunity to turn around, a black sack was put over his head. "I'll make you disappear." The last thing Alistair felt was a blow to the head.
