BLOOD/NIGHT

(Opening Theme - "Heaven in the Hell" by Mizuki Nana)

Chapter 3 - Midnight Dream

A band of bloodsuckers have gathered at the docks before Sarah Kingsley Beach, retrieving cargo sent to them from a human manufacturing branch in South America.

"Be careful with those boxes, boy!" the team leader throws his orders at a lazy human laborer.

"Y-yes, sir", shudders the laborer.

It's a disgusting trade – the manufacturing of humans who've mindlessly sacrificed themselves to Count von Dracula's cause. This underground illegal activity is a baby in age… For the past 12 years, the Church has funded this madman's fantasy to gather food for fellow bloodsuckers. Human delicacies that'd drive a cannibal insane with delight – they all have origins from this trading business… The Ferryman Coastal Company.

The workers consist of underpaid human laborers and overpaid vampires favored by the Red Moon Union.

Slave drivers hired by the Church supervise the illegal trade with an iron fist. Their current supervisor is a middle-ranked clergyman that dockworkers revere as "Cry Baby" – a venomous brute with a cold, poisonous stare.

Cry Baby gets his name from the brutal ethics he learned in his days as a longshoreman. He knows everything about wharfing, and he honors the man who showed him the ropes of this disgusting line of work – the legendary "Cotton-Eye" Joe Sanders. The one-eyed wharf master's job ethics bleed from Cry Baby's shattering tone. He also carries a bullwhip at his side, just like Cotton-Eye Joe did in the early 1800s.

Cry Baby cracks his lash on the back of a human laborer who's dropped a box of entrails on the docks.

"AAH!" the human laborer cringes in pain, feeling the lash rip at his flesh.

"Get your ass up, daywalker! Drop my shit again and I'll drop you!"

"Y-yes, Cry Baby – whatever you say, sir!" the young man scurries away, several union workers tittering at the sight of his unbearable fear.

A mocking whistle lights the air with a melodious, reverberating tune.

"Who the fuck's doing all of that bloody whistling?" Cry Baby's voice echoes across the entire wharf.

"Not I, sir!" answers one of the union laborers.

"No one's whistling here, Cry Baby!" calls another.

"Then why do I hear whistling?"

"Yep, he's finally fleshy-whipped himself crazy", a union laborer giggles under his breath.

This whistling – an irritating tooting of "God's Gonna Cut You Down" by Johnny Cash – is only heard by Cry Baby… No one else seems to hear its eerie tune that's burning into the back of the supervisor's mind.

"Oh, my god!" a union laborer is running away in fear, bumping directly into the slave driver.

"What's wrong with you?"

"He's…he's dead!" shock brings the union laborer to his knees, striking the attention of several other workers. Cry Baby suddenly smells the spilled blood of a vampire – a scent that comes from the direction a man draped in black. The vampire laborer runs away from the man, fearing his frightening image. "AH! No, get him away from me! He's a demon! A monster, I tell you!"

Cry Baby looks at the man in black coat and hat, his face hidden from everyone watching, with the eyes of a man whose business is being jeopardized. The wharf master's tone burns with a beastly anger.

"What the fuck do you want, stranger? Are you causing trouble like he says?"

"God sent me here, asking me to end your disgusting trade route", the man lifts his head up, exposing his youthful chin and a full set of canines. Cry Baby shudders at the sight of what appears to be one of his own. "Cut them down! Sticky Fingers!"

The union worker behind Cry Baby suddenly feels a hand grabbing at his right leg!

"AAH! NO, DON'T RIP ME APAR–!" before he can utter another word, the cowardly union worker's body is shredded a thousand-fold into a bloody mulch.

Cry Baby feels the bleeding tissue stain his back, sending his senses into a state of fear-instilled shock.

"OH GOD!" another union laborer suffers the same fate.

"RUN AWAY!" the vampire dockworkers scurry from the area, the humans watching with silent incredulity.

The hearts of the human dockworkers are ignited with hope!

"Rip those bloodsuckers apart, fella!" the human laborers cheer the stranger on.

The stranger in black tips his hat to the laborers, and then shoots the frozen Cry Baby a burning stare. The slave driver squeezes his lash, itching to crack it against the murder's bones.

"You want to try God's wrath, Cry Baby?" the handsome voice of the veiled stranger strikes the wharf master with a cold chill. "I don't like slavery. You were hurting these men because they're human. Now that your little union workers are being killed off by Sticky Fingers, look at the mass that stands up against you. The odds aren't in your fair, nightwalker."

"Who…are you?" shudders the frozen wharf master.

"…I'm the one people call 'Moonlight Mile the Protected One'. Sticky Fingers has chosen me, and the wrath of God is upon all those who terrorize humans and bloodsuckers alike…for I am both the races joined together."

"You're a half-breed?" Cry Baby gasps.

"Is it so hard to believe, watching these arrogant bitches fall like flies?" the question turns Cry Baby's eyes to the massacre around him, allowing him to see the last of the 47 union laborers shred into a bloody splatter. Cry Baby is now surrounded by 39 human laborers and 1 dangerous half-breed. "Listen to the anger that you've cowardly created, Cry Baby! Hear its bone-shattering tune!"

The human laborers have gathered around the scene, cheering with brutal ire.

"Fuck him up, man!"

"Who's getting whipped now, nightwalker?"

"Beat him till his mum feels it, stranger!"

"You're all fired – all of you are fired!" the slave driver tries to work up a mode of confidence, but his words fail to reach the hearts of the angered mob. "You're nothing without me! I'll show you all…by taking this fool's head as a trophy! Just watch me!"

Cry Baby lashes his whip forward, but he forgets – Sticky Fingers is still activated.

The lash of the bullwhip is grabbed by a metal forearm and hand that emerges from a small rift in the air.. The lash shreds and falls to the ground in a million pieces, as if it were attacked by an angry legion.

Cry Baby backs away from the metal hand in fear, causing it to react by fiercely grabbing onto his throat. The wharf master is lifted inches off of his feet, hanging from the metal hand in an attempt to free himself.

"A real man doesn't fight with toys, Cry Baby", the dhampir's confidence is monstrous, almost monumental. Moonlight Mile approaches the choking nightwalker, standing an inch from his hanging body. He looks up to the choking beast and rears his right arm back. "Forgive me…if I break your heart."

"Don't do this!" chokes the terrified vampire, before the cold-blooded right arm pierces through his chest.

Sticky Fingers is deactivated, allowing the lifeless corpse to hit the ground – a symbol of failure that will greatly upset the Church. Moonlight Mile throws the blood from his right arm to splatters upon the docks. A sarcastic grin colors his youthful face.

"Damn…and I just bought this coat. Oh well, tough shit. My bad luck never fails me."

"He's…dead?" one of the human laborers marvels at the sight of the slave-driving Cry Baby's dead body. Excitement stirs up, and the humans release their overwhelming joy. "He's dead! Praise be to God, he's dead!"

The human laborers rave their freedom, lighting the skies with a sick fanfare.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" shame hits the workers, and the mass is silenced by Moonlight Mile's disgust.

"Why is he so angry with us?" whispers one of the laborers, receiving a burning stare as a reaction.

"You're damn right I'm angry with you, but God's furious with all of you! What psycho would lower himself to selling off his fellow man as food for bloodsuckers? Have you all lost your God-damned minds? Speak up!"

A hand touches Moonlight Mile's back, grasping the attention of his burning glare.

"It was the Pope, sir", the young laborer from the earlier accident humbles himself before Moonlight Mile. "The Pope…he did this to all of us. Please, sir…don't be angry with us. It wasn't our fault."

"The Pope, eh?" Moonlight Mile lacks any surprise.

"Y-yes…s-s-s-sir!" the young man appears to be a teenager no older than 14. All of a sudden, the boy recognizes the dhampir's face, stepping back in shock. "No way! This is amazing – downright too awesome to be true! You work for the WWE, don't you?"

"It's a cover-up, kid. Glad to you know that you recognize me, but why is a little squirt like you working for the Church? You're not even of legal working age, yet."

"The Church took us from our homes and slaughtered our families", an older Irish wharfie in his mid-40s steps forward and explains what the thrilled teen's incapable of clarifying right now. Moonlight Mile turns his attention to the man, listening to his every word. "I was the top legal attorney in my neck of the woods, then those burning-eyed bastards showed up in the wee hours of the night – took everything from me. I had a beautiful wife and two lovely daughters – 17 and 15-years-old – that needed me to keep bringing in paper. I've been here for the past 9 years. Many others were here from the start. Like this little lad you're talking to – he's been working here since square 1."

"God is merciful, my friends", the half-breed fixes his hat and beams a dark smile. "Infinity favors you, and you shall soon find peace in the days to come. Our Witness Protection Program will keep you safe, help you to start anew and will surely give you a second chance at life."

Sticky Fingers is activated, appearing before all the laborers with business cards.

The human laborers receive the business cards, recognizing them as the famous Infinity P2 Division Passes – business cards handed out by high-ranked members of the radical group. Sticky Fingers is deactivated, as Moonlight Mile continues with his words of refuge.

"Call the number on those cars, my brothers", the dhampir beams at the many young and seasoned workers, showing them great kindness.

"Who are you, really?" asks the older Irish worker.

"Christopher Bennett, formally Christopher von Alucard."

"You're THE Baby Christopher?"

"I'm not a 'baby' anymore, sir. That was centuries ago. Now… I'm one undead man that the Church shits their pants at the sight of, and a friend to people like you fine gentlemen. Keep your heads up, brothers. The war to end this kind of bloodshed…is far from over. My extension is on the back of those cards – use it if you have to. I can't stand false alarms."

A rift opens to Christopher's left. He steps through it, the rift reflexively closing like an automatic door.

Comically enough, the young wrestling fan gushes in delight, "That…was fucking…awesome!"

"What? Cry Baby's been killed?" the Pope is greatly disturbed by a vampire informant's report.

"Yes, your holiness. It was Moonlight Mile's doing", confirms the phoning informant.

"His territory, Sticky Fingers, is quite the infernal nightmare… Lord, have mercy on the ignorant one – he knows not the fools he protects."

"Rest your heart, your holiness. You're not a young vampire anymore."

"Silence yourself, White Album", the Pope's voice speaks with bleeding annoyance. "You've not many chances left with me, so don't go about pointing at my age!"

"Forgive me, your holiness. I only wish you good fortune."

Pope Leonard calms himself, seeing his actions as irrational and childish.

"Lord, I've grown angry by mistake", he giggles about his behavior, surprised that a man of his hierarchical position would possess such irritability. "I've only had that trade route for a decade and some years. Moonlight Mile – that faceless infidel – has cut me a few pennies short with his murderous actions. I still can't bring myself to understand why – why he would protect such hateful and mindless animals."

"He's his son – Lord Frederic von Alucard's offspring. It's only natural that the former Queen of Rutherford would raise him to love both races. She did a fine job of corrupting his mind in place of the boy's parents… That sordid little witch rotted the very foundation of the races, ripping us of some of our finest clergymen in the process. Her actions are nothing short of sickening and unforgivable."

A gentle knock comes from the Pope's door.

"White Album, I'll get back with you – I've a guest at the door."

"May God be with you, your holiness", the phone conversation is ended.

"I've been expecting you, Sister Mary Victoria. You may enter, my dear."

A beautiful daughter of the Church – a strikingly fair lady of African descent – graces the Pope with her elegance. She pierces her chest with a cross, politely bowing afterwards.

"Your holiness, Backdoor Man's mission to annihilate the fledgling is coming along very well", reports the beautiful nun, receiving a beam of delight from the Pope. "The people there recognize him as 'John Hennigan' – the professional wrestler revered as 'John Morrison', amongst several ridiculous epithets and monikers. His veil has even ensnared the target's lover, Damien Crosse. I'm in no position to lie to you about this – something troubles me about Backdoor Man's relationship with Mr. Crosse."

"Whatever could that be, my dear?"

"Mr. Crosse – his blood is of the Type E Class", the knowledge of the nun strikes the Pope's intrigue. Sister Mary Victoria unfolds a document about Type E Blood. She recites the highlighted contents of her copy, adjusting her glasses to get a better glimpse of the fine print. "Amongst the Type E Class, there are three known bodies – the existences of earth, the existences of healing, and the existences of the feed. The most powerful of them being the Feed Existence – a power allowing vampires to slaughter other nightwalkers by draining them of their lifeblood en masse. 'Crusnik' is the name given to this breed of nightwalker, and they are feared by even the highest ranked members of the Church."

"Do you believe the young man to be one of these 'Crusniks', my dear?"

"I'm afraid it may very well be true, your holiness", Sister Mary Victoria folds her document to a neat wrap, adjusting her reading glasses. "His blood is positive, and the other existences are negative. I fear, if Mr. Crosse discovers his vampire blood, he'll surely strengthen the fledgling's morale tenfold. He already has an alliance with Father Yuvraj, Lady Katherine and Brother Theodore. Imagine it, your holiness – the potency of such a front with a Crusnik in their numbers… It'd surely ruin us."

The Pope's attention has been captured by this disturbing notion, leading him to take drastic measures.

"Very well, then. Give Backdoor Man these orders – 'capture the alleged Crusnik for brainwashing, and make sure that his body is left unharmed'. Sister Mary Victoria, I thank you for your report. I'm a busy man, my dear, so be off with you for now… Oh! Before the idea escapes me – happy birthday, my dear."

The lovely vampire nun blushes and bows to the Pope, "I'm honored, your holiness. May God be with you."

Sister Mary Victoria excuses herself from the Pope's office, closing the door on her way out.

The Pope's hands have been shaking since the word "Crusnik" bled from the beautiful nun's lips.

"A Crusnik…" the word brings back horrible nightmares of the past, when he was attacked by a frightening dark figure that claimed to be of the species of killers. He remembers the man's face – a handsome Afro-British local that veiled his beastly clout with an enchanting smile. "…He even carries his surname – Crosse. If he truly is of Alexander Broaden Crosse's blood, then he'll probably be just as fearsome once awakened… God help you if you fail us, Backdoor Man, for I will surely kill you myself if you disappoint me!"

The Pope's heart bothers him… Leonard holds onto his chest and calms his nerves.

"Curse this blasted weak heart of mine", the Pope looks out his window to see the evening's red moon. In his heart, he knows that blood is doomed to shed under the crimson glow. Still, if it is for Count von Dracula's cause, everything done is for the preservation of the food chain…and the separation of the masses. "…Lord Valdo, my dearest friend, rest in assurance – the King and I will grant your dark desires, even if it means the death of us. I do wish you well, and I hope that you find peace in the days to come."

"Ouch! Take it easy, ass wipe!" Stephen's suffered a few injuries from tonight's match against Morrison. They're minor flesh wounds, but injuries of this extent are rare in these bloody G–rated No Holds Barred matches. That can only mean one thing – Father John took out a bit of his anger on the poor little ginger. Our male nurse finishes fixing up my bud's wounds, excusing himself from my locker room. "That God-damned pretty boy and his horse legs – kicked the fucking shit out of me! I thought my career was going to be over!"

"Well, you did take out Jaime Noble a few years back. It would've been karma working its magic, but I'm not cruel enough to point fingers at a gammy."

"I'm not lame, ya little–!" Stephen loses his patience, but his injured neck shuts him up.

"Like I said, I'm not that cruel. Steve, you're in no condition to be raising your voice to me. The human body requires a little time to regenerate damaged bones and muscles. Do yourself some good and don't overexert your already banged up body. It'd piss the medical team off, having to deal with a menstruating Irishman."

Normally, Stephen would angrily snap at me with something clever; however, this time…he's staring off into space with a serious glare.

"Steve…why are you staring at me like that?"

"No reason, fella. I have to get out of here for a spell."

"Where are you rushing to?" Stephen stands to his feet, beaming me a wordless smile. Ignoring my question, he excuses himself from my locker room. "Stephen, where are you going? Stephen!"

"Don't worry, fella. I'll be…'around the way'."

Around the way? What the devil is he talking about?

My cellphone sounds from my jeans. I pull it out and see the touch screen reading my lover's name.

I take the call.

"How was the meeting, handsome?"

"Quite good", he giggles.

"So, what did the C.O.O. say to you?"

"I've been nominated for a promotion – 1 of 2 candidates. You're talking to who could very well be 'Executive of Creative Development & Operations', being that Mrs. Lévesque plans to leave the seat in a month."

"You? My boy could be an executive officer?" I'm so overjoyed that my heart feels as if it'll burst from its core. I feel like a child before a Christmas tree donned with presents. "That's extraordinary, love. I'm so very proud of you, my little Sweets."

"I'm on my way back to the hotel. How was work tonight, Daddy?"

"I hate my storyline… Cena just bitch-slapped me back to boarding school."

"Oh, forgive the puppy-faced brute – he's just doing his job, following the script."

"I miss being a champion, love", I confess with dissatisfied expression.

"Don't you worry your head, dear. My opponent's résumé is lackluster compared to mine, and I've known Paul since I was a babe. I really care about that man, and I'd like nothing more than to help his business flourish. I hate to see Stephanie leave the seat, though. She's a talented and creative woman."

No she's not. The broad's reacting to a sexual advance I shot at her when I first set foot into this God-forsaken company. I've been sucking balls just to get a good storyline ever since, but I won't let that little fact escape my lips… Mistakes of the past can really make a man grow a set, as you can see.

"Stuart, are you still there?" Damien pulls his car into our hotel's parking lot, turning off the engine.

"Oh, um, yes…" I snap out of my reflection in a little embarrassment. "…Forgive my spaciousness, love. I've had a pretty rough evening. As for Cena, I can very well forgive him. He's a good husband to Lizzie – an oddball of a bull-faced bastard, but still a good man all around."

"I saw Stevie's match against JoMo", his voice bleeds with concern. "Is the sweetie all right? How bad are his injuries, dear?"

"He seems to be fine. He left not a second before you called, acting as if he was all right… Still, he behaved quite strangely. Steve wasn't himself just now."

"What do you mean, dear?"

"As usual, we exchange light banter with each other. Stephen didn't react like he would to my words…and smiled at me. I asked him where he was rushing off to and he went on to say, 'I'll be around the way'. I know I'm probably sticking my nose in too deep, but I've a feeling about the ginger…and I don't like it."

"Maybe he's found himself a girl", he titters an innocent guess.

"No, Stephen would have a dame on his arm by now. You know how boastful that silly Irishman can be. The last time he had a lady, he was the loudest little wanker I ever did see – 'look at me sweet little sugar' and whatnot. His behavior was so soppy that I nearly threw up my lunch."

"Oh, enough with that – you were piping happy for him", he giggles, humored by my sarcasm.

A shadowy figure comes upon Damien's car, striking his attention.

I can hear Damien's scream oscillating loudly! Some rumbling occurs that sets me into a state of fear, as if his bloody scream wasn't enough!

"Get away from me! Let me go!"

"Shut up!" commands the familiar voice.

"Damien, what's going on?" my voice is heard from my boy's cellphone, and the attacker picks it up to humor himself. He puts the phone to his ear, allowing me to hear his laughter… I know who this bastard is. "Father John, you spineless little bitch! I'll have your head if you've hurt him!"

"You're in no position to threaten me…when I've got your 'boy' frozen in suspended animation. He was unlucky enough to get ensnared by Gates of Perception's spell. In other words – I'll kill him right now, if you don't listen to what I have to say."

"Out with it, then", I calm myself down and have a seat on my locker room bench.

"Winifred Park, 11:30 PM – be there or your little piece of ass gets broken in half. Come alone – this's going to be a 1-on-1 match to the death… Want to wish your boyfriend well, Damien?"

"I hate you, John!" this bastard has made my boy cry. He doesn't know how deep he's just dug his own grave… No, that'd make Damien even more upset! Oh, damn it all! I'm treading neck-deep in this shitty situation. "I can't believe you would put your hands on me like that! I never want to speak to you again!"

"Aww, I made him cry", laughs the cruel-hearted clergyman, disturbingly halting his laughter with a pleased sigh. "Be there, Stuart. We'll be waiting for you. Later, bro."

I look at my wristwatch on my way out, carrying my gym bag over my shoulders.

10:59 PM – just a minute over half-an-hour from the meeting time.

I arrive to the rental car that I drove here, only to discover that my tires have been slashed and the upper part of the vehicle has been sliced completely off of its base in a straight line. Jesus! That fucker did this to a rental car? Oh, he's going to get it good! I'm going to pound his face in!

What the–? My body's hovering…? Oh, I see now…Paradise City is showing me how to get to my boy.

"Very well, then. If this is the only way – let's go, Paradise City!"

I laterally extend my arms, causing my body to ascend into the grand starry sea.

Winifred Park's south of here. I better not waste a single moment.

"There he goes, off to save the one that he loves", Stephen looks up to me from his rental car, beaming at the sight of my ascendance. He looks at his right hand, opening it up to look upon a red cross and moon pendant. He ticks his teeth, sarcastically huffing afterwards. "I don't even know why I still have this piece of shit. I ain't down with the Church's cause anymore. Let some lowly bum have it."

Stephen tosses his pendant to the back of his car, starts up his engine and puts his rental car in reverse.

He runs over the pendant, cracking its wooden body in half. It's a small little trinket, so the cross doesn't damage his tires… The brutish Irishman takes off towards the south, beaming an excited leer.

"I haven't went toe-to-toe with a bloodsucker in two-hundred years", he fixes his special GPS radar, somehow programming it to lock-on to my bodily heat with infrared scanning. I'm already a mile and a half ahead of him, and he's arrogant enough to take a shocking guess. "Father John's existence is of the B - Sight Category. If my mind ain't leading me wrong, he wants Stuart to meet him at Winifred Park's House of Mirrors… Leave it to a pretty boy to want to have a catfight at a fucking amusement park. I ain't nowhere near being homophobic, but this is some 'fierce and fruity bullshit'."

Stephen steps on the accelerator to keep up with my 70 MPH flight velocity.

"Yay, cotton candy!" a child has just received a carnival treat, munching on his sugary delight with his elder brother at his side. His brother's girlfriend, a native beauty of Kingsley, clings to her lover's arm in awe of the child's hyperactivity. "I wanna go on the rollercoaster, I wanna go on the rollercoaster – I wanna…!"

The elder brother looks up to see the ride that he wants to go on – an aerodynamic monster caller "The Slayer". According to the laws that be, a little squirt like this hyperactive puppy is " far too young and too short" to ride on such a wild rollercoaster.

"Sorry, Dylan. You're too little."

"But I wanna go on the rollercoaster – I wanna, now…!"

"No luck, little fellow", the caring elder brother pets the little tike on his head.

"Why not, huh?" little Dylan gives his elder brother the dreaded puppy dog eyes.

The cool-headed young man's far too hip to his little brother's character. He silently thinks ,"it'll be a cold day in hell before I give in to those eyes", with an honest smile. The handsome English teen of mixed Hindu blood kneels before his little brother, petting him on his little head.

"It's the rules, man. Besides, you wouldn't want to get your future sister-in-law worried. Mum and Daddy are away in Aruba doing their honeymoon thing. It's my job to keep you safe until they get back… Here's an idea – let's go on the bumper cars."

"Yay, the bumpy cars!" the little tike holds onto his future sister-in-law's hand, pulling her towards the bumper cars in the distance. "Let's go, Alice! I wanna ride one with you!"

"Okay, slow down", the lovely lady of Kingsley giggles, enjoying her future kin's energy.

He stands to his feet, proudly watching his future wife getting along with his little brother… The gentle sight allows him to realize something – he's picked the right woman to marry. Precious visualizations of their pending marriage cross his mental vision.

("Yep…she's a keeper. Can't wait to jump the broom with her – she's a one-in-a-million type of lady.")

The young man hears something heavy gracing the skies, causing him to look up at the sight of a man – me, actually – flying to the southern parts of Winifred Park.

("What the hell did I just see?") the young man scratches his head, believing himself to have gone mad.

"Lyle, this way!" his little brother's voice summons his presence.

"Pipe down, Dylan Michael Lovett. I'm right behind you."

Stephen pulls his rental call into the parking lot across the street from the amusement park.

He's releases a rough breath of irritation, disappointed that there would be people playing around on such a dangerous night. His blood begins to bother him, and his existence mentally drives him to adjust his rear-view mirror… He can see the image of several shadowy figures scurrying around like raccoons in the night.

He can also smell that fresh lifeblood's just stained the ground.

("I should've known – that bastard knew I'd follow Stu"), a briar of emerald thorns materializes onto his right arm. His briar's existence ability activates, causing a venomous olive green gas to spread within 20-meters of his vehicle. The result – several beastly creatures suffocate and choke to their deaths… When the last of them has met death's cold embrace, the poisonous gas thins into spare oxygen. Stephen aborts his car and looks down to see that the Church's sent lowly vampire hounds to attack the people. ("Dogs? Honestly, these jackasses were thinking of attacking me with T-Bones, Lassies, Old Yellers and Rovers? What a crock of bullshit!")

Stephen extends his arms laterally, being carried by the wind into the starry skies.

Meanwhile, I've just touched down near the southernmost parts of Winifred Park.

This area is considered "Old Winifred" – the place where not a lot of people commute due to "New Winifred's" up-to-date technology. The House of Mirrors is located on this side of the Park, wastefully neglected by the commuters in the newer parts. Such a shame… I actually like funhouses.

"Come one, come all, and enjoy the mysteries of the amazing House of Mirrors!" the voice of Father John barks from the P.A. system built into the foundation of the funhouse. "You, young man, you look like you're up for the test. Your prize will be – I allow your piece of ass to live… Get in here, now."

("This fucker's calling me out"), I think to myself, stepping through the entrance to the funhouse. I remain quiet and discreet. This attraction doesn't have many cameras, but there're some that have been cleverly placed on one corner of the wall in each room, veiled by a two-sided mirror. My image becomes comically bizarre with each mirror that I pass, but I ignore the silly visualizations of myself with a stone face. ("I haven't the time for funny mirrors… I have to get my boy back, right now.")

My journey through the funhouse leads me to the center of the attraction – an oval cul-de-sac of mirrors the size of a quaint little country club.

Oh Lord, I've stumbled upon a dead end… Where's White Noise when you need him?

"I'm not too far from you, bro", well, speak of the devil.

("How long have you been watching me?")

"Since you epically took off into the sky like a riches-to-rags Superman… And, from the looks of it, you've just merrily strolled into a can of whoop-ass."

("Where're you going with that smart remark, my friend?")

"Did you even pay attention to Backdoor Man's existence – it's called 'Gates of Perception'. William Blake said it best – 'If the doors of perception were cleansed, man could see things as they truly are: infinite.' Think back to what happened to Lady Katherine and Brother Theodore… What was the first thing Father John did to Kat and the last thing that he did to Theo?"

("The first thing he did to Kat…and the last thing he did to Theo?")

I was so caught up in the moment at the time, that I could only see red… Blast it all! What the devil did he do to them? For the love of God, why has that memory escaped my thoughts at such a critical moment?

"That's all I can tell you right now. You've got company knocking at your door. Remember, keep a cool head, Stu… Don't let this bastard outsmart you. Help's on the way, bro."

("A million's worth of thanks to you, my friend. I think I know what to do now.")

"For your sake…you better hope that you're right."

"And here's our lucky contestant – a pin-headed bastard whose only reason for being here is to make sure he doesn't wake up with blue balls in the morning", the mocking voice of the clergyman speaks using the funhouse's P.A. system, but his footsteps are sounding from behind me. I turn on my heel, greeting the robed image of the mad terrorist. John tosses the fiber optic microphone on his right ear to the ground, stomping it with a cruel right foot. "Congrats on reaching the center of the funhouse. I hope you like the little game we're playing."

"Enough with the formalities! Where's my boyfriend, Hennigan?"

He smiles at me, humoring himself by looking at the ceiling.

I do the same thing… And my eyes meet a frightening sight – my boyfriend hangs from an air-bound crucifix! Why that…disrespectful little–! What kind of blasphemous gutter trash is this?

"And you call yourself 'a man of the cloth'?" I shoot the mad clergyman the most terrifying glare a man's capable of – the furious stone eye. The stone eye is the look of a man who's been pushed to the limit… A man who's but a mere splitting hair's second from killing another. "John, I've grown to respect you over the years, but I never – not for a split second – would ever think you to do something like this! Damien loves you, goddamnit…and you'd do something like this to him? Unforgivable!"

"Are you angry with me, Stu? Upset? Pissed off? Good… I want you to be heated. Anger makes a fight to the death all the more…interesting."

His venomous smile is hot enough to melt a sheet of steel… His eyes are burning, and he seems ready for battle. Father John poises his hands in a diamond fashion before his eyes, beaming hysterically upon my image.

"Open their eyes! Gates of Perception!" the clergyman holds his arms laterally, summoning a watery territory from the mirrors surrounding us. The territory surrounds the entire area, locking us inside of what appears to be "his" Purgatory. Father John poises his hands in the original position, getting a full image of my solid frame. "You've gracefully walked into a trap. Gates of Perception will not allow you to leave this place, just as I won't let you leave with a beating heart."

My stone eye remains, my lips do not part, and I stand perfectly still.

Father John titters in a fit of humor, "I thought you'd make the first move, Stuart! What's the matter – did I get under your skin, lover boy?"

My stone eye remains, my lips do not part, and I stand perfectly…still.

Father John loses patience, becoming more than furious – he's downright livid.

"Why you smug little bitch! You dare to stand there and not answer me?"

Father John's poised hands illuminate with a crimson light.

"Die! OPTIC SCREAM!" the furious call sends forth a radiant ray of ionic plasma from his poised hands.

Oddly, the ionic plasma ray passes through me as if I were nothing more than a holographic projection. Father John is psyched by the unusual phenomenon, seeing it as practically impossible. The laws of physics forbids such an event from happening; thus, I should be dead right now… Unfortunately, for him, my clock's still ticking.

"Impossible! That was a perfectly accurate blast…" he receives his answer – my image fades away with the wind. The clergyman is psyched even more, now realizing what I've just done. "…Incredible! A flash step?"

"Where are you looking, Hennigan?" my voice sounds from his rear, causing him to turn on his heel to a monstrous big boot to the chops! Due to my body being ten-times stronger than before, the impact of this simple attack sends him rocketing back-first into the southernmost glass mirror. The mirror cracks with the length and width of his body, before he falls to his hands and knees in pain. The threading of his robes has slightly torn from the force delivered with my first attack. He bleeds from his mouth, shooting me an enraged glare. "That had to hurt, old friend. Do yourself some good and stop this mindless charade."

John gives me his answer – he rips the drapery of his robes from his body, revealing his solid boyish figure, his finely woven slacks, and his name brand leather Stacy Adams.

Without warning, the mad clergyman proves his dexterity and speed as a force to be reckoned with – he bounds forth into a blinding execution of precise kicks! It's amazing to me, how he's able to move faster than any man I've ever faced in my entire life! Father John's close-range skill…is lethal!

"To hell with you!" Father John tosses his hind right leg into a roundhouse strong enough to shatter a man's ribcage; however, something miraculous happens to my senses.

It appears as if his body has somehow slowed down, and I'm capable of seeing where he's aiming his limb.

Acting on instinct, I perform an ingenious counterattack – I grab onto his flying right leg with my left arm, throttle him with my right hand, and brutally toss him over my hip to the ground! I savagely mount him, pummeling his face with reflexes I've never seen before in my entire life… My fists make impact with his pretty little face millionths of a second apart from the next punch.

But that all changes…when he grabs onto my cupped, hammering fists.

"I've caught you!" a flash of ionic plasma light bursts from his frame, repulsing me several feet away from his floored body. Father John flips to his feet, leaps high into the air and gracefully performs a polished corkscrew spin. The mad clergyman uncurls his body, descending towards me with a burning glare. "Nice little counter, Stu! Let's see if you can escape this! OPTIC HURRICANE!"

The mirrors around the room release perfectly concentrated lasers of ionic plasma, all of which are aimed directly at my body! I panic, covering my eyes for the blow that's sure to end my life; however, something goes wrong… I haven't been hit?

I open my eyes, looking up to see the most…interesting turns of events.

"GAAH!" Father John has been intercepted by a flying dropkick…from Stephen?

My flame-haired hero swings from briars of emerald thorns attached to his arms with the greatest of ease, sending the surprised clergyman rocketing away! Father John coils his body, allowing him to adjust his flight to a gentle descending to the ground… Now on his feet, the mad clergyman looks forward to see the daring Irishman lowering himself to the floor using his briars.

"Good evening, Hennigan", greets the ginger with tooth and cheek expression, as his briars fade back into his unknown existence. Stephen cracks his hungry knuckles, ready to bury his fists in the clergyman's skull. "You've been ringing up my phone for an ass-whooping, fella. That ain't fair – getting rough with a newbie like that."

"Why the hell are you here, traitor?" the mad clergyman's eyes burn with hatred. "This is a private fight – a 1-on-1 between the fledgling and me! You've no right to interfere, old man!"

Wait a second… Did he just call him a traitor? And did he just say…"old man"?

"Traitor? Old man, you say? I can take the 'old man' comment, but Father John Hennigan… you've got a lot of nerve calling me a traitor… It's funny – White Noise told me where you'd be, and I doubted the old fool. But, oh well, I'm here now… And, I've got someone to apologize to before I bitch-whip you back to your powder room."

Stephen looks over his shoulder at me, showing me the sentimental ocean of his eyes.

"Stu…I'm sorry for lying to you, fella. It ain't like a real man to go about keeping secrets and telling lies about himself to others, especially to his best friend… Will you forgive me, bud?"

"Stephen…who are you?" my heart beats roughly, contemplating his next set of words.

"I'm your grandfather's best man – Father Paddington O'Shay, the Briars of Green Day", my entire body freezes, never expecting my favorite ginger bud to be… Father Paddington. Stephen laughs at how surprised my expressions are, mocking me as he always does. "Ha! That face's worth about 1, 000, 000 likes on Facebook! Calm yourself, fella… This old man's got some unfinished business to take care of…with a certain hotheaded fag who tried to end my career tonight. Isn't that right…JoMo?"

Stephen – I mean, Father Paddington – shoots Father John a burning, bloodthirsty stare.

The mad clergyman stands to his feet, ready to finish the job he started in the live recording at Sarah J. Kingsley Amphitheater's arena. The fabled best man holds his hands to his side in a provoking manner, tilts his head and shines his pearly white fangs at the prejudice bloodsucker.

"Come on, fella. Why not take a shot at a seasoned veteran for a spell?"

"More than happy to, traitor", Father John is fired up for mortal combat.

My word! I can't believe what I'm seeing here.

Stephen…is Father Paddington? Seriously?

And my lover's hanging from a crucifix above our heads… So many climactic happenings in one measly night – it's enough to drive a man insane. One thing's for certain: if nothing else, this has truly been one hell of an exciting night.

(Ending Theme - "Black Diamond" by Mizuki Nana)

(Up Next: Chapter 4 - Broken Dreams)