Night was calm in New York, or at least calm if you were used to the sounds of the city. People walking around en masse, cars driving with the occasional honk, and the often echoing siren of a lone police cruiser. For those who slept early, it was usually easy to fall asleep. Except for Marshal. Standing on the balcony of his small apartment, Marshal clutched the railing as he stared out at the city that never slept. He stood there, drinking in the sights and sounds of the city. But it wasn't these things that gave him trouble sleeping.
He recalled that a few minutes earlier that he had been tossing and turning in his bedsheets, dreaming. Or more accurately, having a nightmare. Unfortunately for him, it was much like the ones he had had in the past: Screams, Knives, and a whole lot of blood. His shift in attitude had taken a real toll on his psyche. But what was different about this one was strange, and he was now trying to piece it together before he forgot about the experience.
He tried to remember past his muddled mind, trying to recall what exactly he dreamed. But all he got back were bits and pieces. He definitely remembered the face of a girl; one who had fallen and he wouldn't allow to get back up, and he also remembered the expression on his face. A smile. The same heartless smile he wore whenever he killed some demonic creature. But strangely, he also remembered that his dream had shown his first encounter with the Nightwatch Foundation.
"So, you're Mr. Hopkins?" The person asked the question, seemingly wanting confirmation, but Hopkins just snorted at it. "You people damn well know my name, so I don't see the point of asking." The man smiled, obviously amused by this showing of attempted dominance. Instead of following up on the previous statement, the man instead switched to a different conversation, asking the question, "How would you feel about hunting different prey?" Looking up, Hopkins raised an eyebrow, interested in this sudden turn. "What do you mean?"
But that's as far as the dream went. Stepping away from the railing, Marshal walked back inside. Deciding he had had enough sleep, Marshal picked up the remote and turned on the TV, which had previously been on a News Channel. Flickering to life, the anchorman was already midway through the evening report, but he was just in time for the report of his little "outing". "...Police are still trying to locate the killer of Leonardo Maxwell," he began, somewhat distraught at this news.
"They currently have no leads, although they do believe this to be a religiously motivated crime. Upon investigation of the area, a Rosary had been found floating in a water tower attached to the building, which explains why the sprinkler systems had gone off somewhat. A guard had also been found, unconscious from a drugging, with what he described as 'fleeting thoughts' of what the killer looked like. Wherever he is, the police have confirmed that they are investigating any Christian organizations in the Manhattan area…"
As he said it, Marshal pointed the remote at the TV once again and turned it off. Setting the remote down on the dinky coffee table, Marshal muttered, "That's enough TV for now." Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the ceiling, blowing air out his nostrils as he thought. Sighing, he got up and made his way to his closet-sized bedroom. As he closed the door and laid down on top of the sheets, he muttered, "They're gonna tear me apart tomorrow about this."
Nightwatch: II
From the bodies blood is shed
Soon the ghouls become undead
"You idiot! How could you be so clumsy!" Almost as soon as he walked in the lobby of the facility, he had been told that Mr. Nightwatch himself wanted a word with him. Usually it was a once a month deal where he'd actually meet the guy, but something he had been doing had angered him enough to the point where he saw him once a week. And apparently, he was now being told why. "You've been slacking during your latest jobs. More witnesses, evidence of our involvement. For God's sake, Marshal, if you keep doing this, then the Government will be on our ass!"
Marshal sighed. He had been told many times that it was imperative that the Government had as little to do with Nightwatch as possible, being extra careful when it came to international case like this. Usually whenever he had this speech given, he gave some stupid excuse for why he messed something up. But this time, he had a reason.
"Nightmares, you say?" Mr. Nightwatch walked behind his desk, sitting down as he thought. He mulled over what Marshal's dreams could mean. Being a man who worked with the demonics, he was extremely superstitious of dream pattern changes, thinking something important might come of it. But for the most part, he didn't have a clue. Sitting up, he looked at Marshal, shrugging his shoulders. "Well we know therapy doesn't work with you," he said, remembering the sight of the therapist nearly beaten to death, "It would seem your mind has a violent way of keeping hidden memories locked away."
"I suggest you do what you see fit to calm down. You are one of our most valuable assets, Marshal… we need you in top form for these missions." Nodding, Marshal gave the usual sign of understanding and left the room, already knowing what he was going to do.
Entering the facility's personal gun range, Marshal noted that someone was already there and firing with extra vigor. He had a guess for who it was and knew they were already in a bad mood, so he chose to ignore them. Instead, he walked over to one of the shooting booths and looked at the long expanse of targets. Looking at the ones that were currently being shot at, his earlier theory was proven true as several shots whizzed past and only three managed to hit non-lethal shots. Smiling, he grabbed a pistol left behind from someone's earlier use and took aim. Three remaining bullets: Two to the eyes and one to the heart.
As he shot the last bullet, he could hear the annoyance coming from the person's voice when they stopped shooting. Walking out of the booth, he could already hear them coming and he turned to face her. "So what's got your panties in a twist, sweetheart?" he said, letting the sarcasm drip from his voice. Scoffing, she nearly shouted back, "You do! What with nearly giving up the game for us with that last mission!" Leaning against the wall, Marshal looked up and chuckled, "Are all the Nightwatch family members gonna lecture me today?"
"If it wasn't for you, I'd be the one to go on those missions for my father. And I don't want to hear anything about that expendable crap. I've listened to your meetings. 'Valuable asset' this, 'valuable asset' that. He knows I can fight for myself!" Shaking his head, Marshal gave her another smile, saying, "That temper of yours is probably a reason why he keeps you away from missions." Stepping away from the wall, he said, "I'm gonna go get coffee. Want some?" Glaring at him for a moment, she looked about ready to slap him. Instead, she said quietly, "Get me a cappuccino, jerk."
Stepping out of the building, Marshal walked out of the alleyway that housed the entrance to the facility and into another side street. Joining the throng, he had to pick up the pace, otherwise he might've been trampled. Not one for crowds, Marshal exited onto a side street as soon as possible. But as he walked, he took a chance glance to the left and saw something he'd seen many times in New York before. At just the entrance of an alleyway, a woman was struggling with a man; trying to fend off her attacker as his hands grew ever closer to her nether region. He could hear her gasps from across the street as his hand swept her thigh and his grunts as she elbowed him in the stomach.
Sighing, Marshal was about to keep walking, but then took another look back at them. As he looked back, he could hear the man grunt out, "Oh don't worry, my dear. You'll only be impaled twice today!" Hearing this, Marshal knew that the woman was probably going to die. Shaking his head, he began to cross the street, pulling his gun out of his jacket. Calling as he walked, he shouted, "Look buddy, let the lady go." As he said it, he immediately caught the attention of the potential rapist and victim, momentarily halting their struggle. Both their focus was on in: a curious one from the rapist and a terrified one from the victim. "Your first mistake was doing this in broad daylight," he began, drawing ever closer to the pair, "Your second mistake was doing this on the coffee route of a guy who's casual weapon is a semi-automatic pistol, with silver bullets blessed by a priest so that whoever is killed by it is seen as a 'holy death' by the church."
As he said the last part, panic quickly flared up in the eyes of the rapist as he took another few steps towards him. But that panic quickly vanished, even going as far as to smirk at Marshal. Turning to the woman, he gave her a smile, saying, "I'm sorry, my dear. It looks like I'll only be impaling you once today!" And before Marshal could react, the rapist leaned down and bit down on the woman's neck, releasing a gasp of shock and horror from her mouth. Blinking away his surprise, Marshal immediately took aim and fired at the vampire. But, he was too quick and only took a glancing shot to the shoulder. Racing down the alleyway, the vampire bolted away from Marshal. Firing randomly in his direction, a look of satisfaction crossed his face as he heard a yell of pain from the vampire's direction.
Holstering the gun in his jacket, he knelt by the woman's side, inspecting her as blood leaked out of the two holes in her neck. Shaking his head, Marshal knew what would come of this and began to reach for his gun again. But as he took ahold of the grip, he recalled something that Mr. Nightwatch had said in his first week. "Chance encounters are not chance, but destined." As he thought this, he remembered his dream, and strangely the woman in his dream looked similar to the one laying on the ground before him. Sighing, he dug his hands under the woman and hoisted her onto his shoulder. Standing, he looked around, making sure no one was around to see him. Walking in the direction of the facility, he decided the best course of action would be to take the side roads that people rarely took.
"No! Stop it!" the woman shouted, as she jolted awake from her bed. Sitting up straight, she was panting as she tried to regain her breath. Feeling her hands, she saw that they were cold and clammy, soaked in her own sweat. As she sat there, she felt a twinge of pain on her neck and reached her hand up to feel the remnants of some sort of wound on her neck. And just as she did this, her memory came back to her, hitting her like a freight train. Falling back into the bed, she clutched her racing heart as she began to panic. Hearing something to her left, she spun around, seeing a door that had previously not been there open.
Walking through it was a man coming on in years and what appeared to be his secretary. Before the man could speak, though, the secretary spat out, "You should consider yourself lucky. We don't usually allow vampires in the facility." The man put a hand up to hush her, saying, "That's enough, Jane." Turning to the woman, he spoke in a reassuring tone, "You won't have to worry about your attacker for long, Miss…" The woman answered back, caution in her voice, "Alice… And what do you mean about 'I won't have to worry about my attacker for long'?" Turning away from her, the man began walking towards the door. Looking over his shoulder, he said, "Because, Miss Alice, when it comes to hunting these things, we have the best in the business."
Standing outside the warehouse, Marshal gave it a cursory glance. To the casual viewer, the place would look abandoned: broken windows, graffiti, and several dumpsters that the garbagemen refused to get. The perfect place for a vampire nest. Glancing down at the ground, he made sure that the blood trail he followed had led here. Vampires could move very quickly when they wanted to, but this only led to this one's downfall. Moving that quickly, the vampire had pumped more blood out of its wounds, leaving a clear splatter trail of where it had headed. Smiling coldly, Hopkins looked down at his gun and clicked off the safety. Raising his foot, he slammed it into the door, causing whatever kept it shut to splinter. And with one more ferocious kick, he knocked the door right off its hinges, sending it sliding across the dust covered floor.
Marching in, he glanced around quickly, seeing that the area he had stepped into was like a lobby. He was on the ground floor, and there were stairs in front of him that led to the second floor. He was about to start his search, but something alerted him to movement upstairs. Raising his eyes, he saw five dark shapes lining the balcony, with one leaning against the wall behind them. "So I guess you're the one who shot Dixon?" Hopkins didn't speak back, he only answered with a simple nod. And as he did it, the five vampires leaped at him, ready to tear him to pieces.
In a flash, Hopkins raised his gun and fired a spray of bullets. Colliding with the spray, the vampires fell to the floor and clumsily rolled into a lying position. None of them could move as blood leaked out of several holes in their bodies. The vampire still on the balcony could only watch in horror as Hopkins systematically went from body to body, plunging his dagger into their hearts. As he stared, that horror turned to panic as Hopkins turned his gaze on him. Turning on a dime, he sprinted towards the nearest window, planning on leaping through it to escape. But just as his legs were tensing to make the leap, searing pain shot up through his body as he collapsed to the floor, rolling to a stop in front of the window. Glancing down, the vampire had to suppress the urge to gag as he stared down at his mangled legs. Reaching for the railing, he tried to haul himself over it so he fall to the ground floor and crawl away, but Hopkins wouldn't let him.
Stomping on the vampire's deformed legs, a shout of pain escaped from the vampire's mouth, and continued as he dragged him by the hair into a kneeling position. Looking up at Hopkins, he quietly said, "How?" Hopkins just shook his head, deciding to let him in on the little secret. "You vampires may be able to move quick, but you're easy to hit if you move so predictably." The way he said it gave a note of finality to their little chat and the vampire knew what was coming next. Looking up at him with pleading eyes, the monster tried to beg but all he got back was a cold stare and an even colder dagger to the heart.
Pulling his blade out of the already burning corpse, Marshal wiped it clean of the blood on it. Looking down at the body one last time, he made sure that what he had identified was correct before sheathing his dagger. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out his phone and quickly dialed into headquarters. "Hey, Daniel it's me, Marshal. Can you put the boss on the line, I think we have a problem. And I have a feeling he's not going to like it."
So yeah, as soon as I typed the word 'rapist' I decided to change the rating. Will probably stay the same, seeing as how I'm now realizing that some scenes I'm planning will be pretty graphic… in a reading sense.
I also want to say that this series is going to be pretty irregular to other series I have… as in a once a month or twice a year thing. Don't expect it to be a weekly thing.
May 9, 2019: I just wanted to update this fic to see if there would be any interest in it again. Sorry if you thought there'd be a new chapter, or something.