Night Maneuvers
Prologue
by helios@godisdead.com
It was evening, and there were no stars in the sky.
"You're looking well." The man's rich baritone voice held only a hint of sarcasm. His uniform was crisp, and his dark, steel-toed boots burned on the glassy marble floor. The gaunt fellow across from him looked as though he had just been through Hell and barely returned to tell about it. He flashed a manic grin as he came closer, and when his companion saw the fire in his eyes, he nearly shuddered.
"It really isn't so bad, once you get used to it," the smaller man assured in a quiet, reedy voice, picking up on his companion's distress immediately. "Not nearly as bad as one would assume." He gave a shrug.
"I'll try it some other day," the taller man said, brushing the subject off.
"Oh," his companion enthused, "you'll have to." The knife-edge smirk never wavered.
"Was your expedition worth anything?" His eyes were drawn to where the other was fiddling with something in his pocket. His scowl deepened, making his face look ever the older. Around them, businessmen and merchants filed past, too deep in worlds forged from their own petty concerns to notice the pair.
"Traitors and whores. Useless," the thin man snapped suddenly, fixing passerby with his forceful gaze. Slowly, he lifted a hand, extending one digit. His finger followed the path of an anonymous salaryman in a gray jacket, his cheeks bulged with exertion as he raced from one appointment to another. "Bang."
The effect was immediate. The suit dropped to his knees, his legs folding beneath him as he collapsed. His briefcase skidded loudly across the floor as both hands flew to his throat, his bald head twitching. His body convulsed, a puppet of flesh dragged along by an uncaring master. Screams of panic began to fill the air, and serious men who had no chance of success rushed to administer first aid. The killer regarded his finger with detached interest, looked across it at the carefully stoic face of his comrade.
"Does that answer your question?"
They watched the chaos in silence for a moment. A bold crowd of scandalmongers formed around the stricken manager while the more faint-hearted and survivalistic of the group made a course none too discreetly for the door.
"Intriguing, isn't it?" A pause. "Isn't it?" He turned to regard the larger man, thin lips that had formed many a sneer in life curving now into a frown of annoyance. He began to tap one foot in irritated impatience.
"Very," the other replied at last, looking away from the scene. They were the only ones standing outside of the pulsing throng now, but it did not seem to matter. He held out a gloved hand expectantly. "Give it to me."
The two locked glares for a long minute.
"No." He glanced up at the ceiling; was that a glimpse of fear on his face? Each watched the other carefully, always carefully, no matter the occasion. A series of sickening pops filled the air as the scrawny man worked some kinks out of his neck.
"If we want to expand our operation ..."
The killer clicked his tongue in annoyance. "You never needed anything like this before."
"We never had the capability ..." he began hotly.
"You did fine without it." A meaningful pause. "Mostly because of the woman." One eyelid twitched. he knew he had scored a hit. "I don't intend to give this up just yet. If you need it right away, why don't you go get it yourself?"
"There's going to be trouble in Junon," he replied stiffly.
"From who?" He paused, realization dawning. "That gallery of fools? What possible harm could they do? There's only three of them."
"It only took three last time," he answered. It was the thin man's turn to glower.
"You should be more worried about the new free-state militia. If you run into any difficulties, just," he waved a hand dismissively. "Splatter them. That's all. I need time to analyze the potential of this new find. When I'm finished with it, you can have it."
"Don't take long," he answered, voice gruff. There was greed in his eyes that more than rivaled the hatred in the soul of his partner. It would have withered a lesser man, but it barely phased his only ally. Behind them, security was escorting people away from the scene of the accident. A man in riot gear walked within two inches of them and didn't flinch.
"You need to learn patience, my friend. We have all the time in the world." Without giving time for another word he turned, rather extravagantly, and raced toward the dying man. Something about him seemed different now, as though he had been cloaked in shadow and had only now stepped into view. He parted the onlookers with a wave of his hand. "Let me through," he called, and with singleminded determination, pushed aside all protests until he knelt before the man. "I'm a doctor."
He felt the man jerk beneath his icy grasp, wheezing, trying to form words.
"No," he barked. "Don't try to move or speak."
The salaryman gaped, his vision mercifully beginning to darken. He could scarcely see what was being done to him. Suddenly he wished he had not spent so much time in isolation, in dogged pursuit of the next credit, sacrificing all else. No amount of gil could save him - not from this. In the deep darkness, he fought and struggled until the end. Until he was lifted into the light.
When he reached the light, he screamed.
The grimace of concentration on the thin man's face went blank as he slid his victim's eyes closed and rose to his feet, straightening his coat as he did. He had felt the last glimmer of life leave; the unique, individual nature that had once been was now nothing more than a slab of meat gently cooling on the floor.
"I'm sorry," he lied to the crowd, and turned away. "I've done all I can do." Even after the police reports, the ambulance, the paperwork, and the cleaning crew, the screaming went on into the night. Nobody heard it but him.
So it began.
Prologue
by helios@godisdead.com
It was evening, and there were no stars in the sky.
"You're looking well." The man's rich baritone voice held only a hint of sarcasm. His uniform was crisp, and his dark, steel-toed boots burned on the glassy marble floor. The gaunt fellow across from him looked as though he had just been through Hell and barely returned to tell about it. He flashed a manic grin as he came closer, and when his companion saw the fire in his eyes, he nearly shuddered.
"It really isn't so bad, once you get used to it," the smaller man assured in a quiet, reedy voice, picking up on his companion's distress immediately. "Not nearly as bad as one would assume." He gave a shrug.
"I'll try it some other day," the taller man said, brushing the subject off.
"Oh," his companion enthused, "you'll have to." The knife-edge smirk never wavered.
"Was your expedition worth anything?" His eyes were drawn to where the other was fiddling with something in his pocket. His scowl deepened, making his face look ever the older. Around them, businessmen and merchants filed past, too deep in worlds forged from their own petty concerns to notice the pair.
"Traitors and whores. Useless," the thin man snapped suddenly, fixing passerby with his forceful gaze. Slowly, he lifted a hand, extending one digit. His finger followed the path of an anonymous salaryman in a gray jacket, his cheeks bulged with exertion as he raced from one appointment to another. "Bang."
The effect was immediate. The suit dropped to his knees, his legs folding beneath him as he collapsed. His briefcase skidded loudly across the floor as both hands flew to his throat, his bald head twitching. His body convulsed, a puppet of flesh dragged along by an uncaring master. Screams of panic began to fill the air, and serious men who had no chance of success rushed to administer first aid. The killer regarded his finger with detached interest, looked across it at the carefully stoic face of his comrade.
"Does that answer your question?"
They watched the chaos in silence for a moment. A bold crowd of scandalmongers formed around the stricken manager while the more faint-hearted and survivalistic of the group made a course none too discreetly for the door.
"Intriguing, isn't it?" A pause. "Isn't it?" He turned to regard the larger man, thin lips that had formed many a sneer in life curving now into a frown of annoyance. He began to tap one foot in irritated impatience.
"Very," the other replied at last, looking away from the scene. They were the only ones standing outside of the pulsing throng now, but it did not seem to matter. He held out a gloved hand expectantly. "Give it to me."
The two locked glares for a long minute.
"No." He glanced up at the ceiling; was that a glimpse of fear on his face? Each watched the other carefully, always carefully, no matter the occasion. A series of sickening pops filled the air as the scrawny man worked some kinks out of his neck.
"If we want to expand our operation ..."
The killer clicked his tongue in annoyance. "You never needed anything like this before."
"We never had the capability ..." he began hotly.
"You did fine without it." A meaningful pause. "Mostly because of the woman." One eyelid twitched. he knew he had scored a hit. "I don't intend to give this up just yet. If you need it right away, why don't you go get it yourself?"
"There's going to be trouble in Junon," he replied stiffly.
"From who?" He paused, realization dawning. "That gallery of fools? What possible harm could they do? There's only three of them."
"It only took three last time," he answered. It was the thin man's turn to glower.
"You should be more worried about the new free-state militia. If you run into any difficulties, just," he waved a hand dismissively. "Splatter them. That's all. I need time to analyze the potential of this new find. When I'm finished with it, you can have it."
"Don't take long," he answered, voice gruff. There was greed in his eyes that more than rivaled the hatred in the soul of his partner. It would have withered a lesser man, but it barely phased his only ally. Behind them, security was escorting people away from the scene of the accident. A man in riot gear walked within two inches of them and didn't flinch.
"You need to learn patience, my friend. We have all the time in the world." Without giving time for another word he turned, rather extravagantly, and raced toward the dying man. Something about him seemed different now, as though he had been cloaked in shadow and had only now stepped into view. He parted the onlookers with a wave of his hand. "Let me through," he called, and with singleminded determination, pushed aside all protests until he knelt before the man. "I'm a doctor."
He felt the man jerk beneath his icy grasp, wheezing, trying to form words.
"No," he barked. "Don't try to move or speak."
The salaryman gaped, his vision mercifully beginning to darken. He could scarcely see what was being done to him. Suddenly he wished he had not spent so much time in isolation, in dogged pursuit of the next credit, sacrificing all else. No amount of gil could save him - not from this. In the deep darkness, he fought and struggled until the end. Until he was lifted into the light.
When he reached the light, he screamed.
The grimace of concentration on the thin man's face went blank as he slid his victim's eyes closed and rose to his feet, straightening his coat as he did. He had felt the last glimmer of life leave; the unique, individual nature that had once been was now nothing more than a slab of meat gently cooling on the floor.
"I'm sorry," he lied to the crowd, and turned away. "I've done all I can do." Even after the police reports, the ambulance, the paperwork, and the cleaning crew, the screaming went on into the night. Nobody heard it but him.
So it began.