Sophia's Chronicles
A/N:
WE HIT ONE HUNNY OH MA LAWD. Thank you all for sticking by me as we reached this milestone. It's been incredibly fun for me to write this story and it's really motivating to see that there are people out there who are willing to read the stuff that comes out of my brain. I am thankful for all your follows, favourites and reviews, be it good or bad. Hearing your thoughts really makes my day and I'm always open to any feedback or criticism so don't be afraid to let me know! As you might have guessed I tried to make this chapter a little special with a side-quest for our favourite Stormbringer, Jack. On a side note, I did get an artist to work on a cover for this fic, as you might have already seen. It looks really good and it sucks that this site does not show it in its full resolution, so I uploaded it on Tumblr (search: archangelsophia) for anyone who wants to see it. Happy reading!
Chapter 100: 21st Century Jesus
Heaven – August 2013
Naomi waited till the patrolling angels passed before stepping out of the shadows. It certainly was handy that she knew the routes and shifts so intimately so she could meander through the buildings with secrecy. Her calculated gaze predicted every movement with precision. Only, there were some things even her robotic algorithm couldn't predict.
Cold, white light bathed her as she stepped into her office. A stiff exhale bloomed from her lips as she eyed the painting for the first time in a long time. It depicted a very specific river, one that ran through Heaven from the highest mountain to the lowest cliff, where it would then fall off the edge into nothing but light and mist. Like clockwork, she took away the painting to reveal a bronze plate on the wall containing a few knobs and a keypad. She undid the complex lock by tapping the right sigils and telepathically rotating the knobs about their three dimensions to find the right coordinates. Once it was done, she took out what was in her jacket and stepped back as a door carved itself out of the wall and slid open.
"Keeping secrets?" a male voice addressed her. She spun around swiftly to face him. "I thought that was my job."
"Raziel," she hissed, clearly vexed. "Don't you have better things to do than spying on your own kind?"
"Don't you have better things to do than snoop around?" he asked in turn, looking bored. His gaze flickered down to the object in her hand. "After all, if you'd gotten your hands on the demon tablet, I'd have expected you to share the happy news with everyone. Unless of course, you had gotten your hands on a demon as well to do it."
"Please," she rolled her eyes. "Like a demon would hand something like this over. In fact, a demon did offer me something in exchange for this tablet. Specifically, your life. Be grateful I didn't accept." She turned to enter the private chamber. "Now, if you'll leave me to my solitude."
"I thought you'd have changed," he called out behind her. She paused in her step. "You said you'd keep your 're-education' chamber closed. What, are you thinking of going back to your old ways?"
That very tone registered as nothing short of commanding to her, a laughable premise considering what she knew. Just this once, she chose not to ignore his jabs and instead turned around with an expression light as a feather. "Old ways suit an old order, wouldn't you say?" she remarked, much to his befuddlement. "The Old Ones always did have their priorities straight."
"Old Ones?" Raziel said. The way she looked at him then was an enigma in itself. Her usual ire towards him would always be reflected in a slight twitch of her upper lip but in that moment, her demeanour was unfazed. Calm, even. "You mean the Archangels?" he figured, brows taut like a clamp. "Please, for the love of God, Naomi, don't tell me you sold us out to Lucifer."
A laugh broke out of her jaw. An actual laugh, not an imitation. "If only you knew how much insight Lucifer is actually capable of, you wouldn't think he'd suggest something so ridiculous," she shot back. "Even more insight than you've shown, certainly," she grinned again. It was so unsightly, so unlike anything that reality could have conjured, that he just had to take a couple steps closer to be sure. In fact, she started chuckling so heartily that she just had to clutch her abdomen. "Oh, Raziel…" she sighed. "You claim to serve Heaven, but you put Wisdom above all else. You and your little posse put Sophia above all else, the Archangel of Vanity. And you stand here to accuse me of treason?" she smirked with an underlying fierceness. "I was a righteous angel who served God's cause, no one else's. That is, until Castiel came along."
"You can still be a righteous angel. Not for God, but for the sake of it!" Raziel argued. "It's what we all want."
"No, you don't," she smugly asserted. "You and the others believe that we can make it on our own, oh, if we work together," she mocked them in a condescending tone. "But it doesn't work that way, Raziel. Angels without a leader are like fish out of water. We're all just trying to figure out what we aren't built to do, can't you see? Soon, we'll all realise we don't understand why we're doing anything. Why we're protecting the humans, why we're preserving some cosmic order… and then, brother, Heaven will truly fall apart." She coughed briefly, an unintended punctuation. "I, for one, am not going to sit around and wait for an existential crisis."
"Oh my God," Raziel pulled a hand down his face. "You've truly gone mad, haven't you? Millennia of screwing in everyone else's bolts, and now you've lost yours!"
She laughed again, this time so deeply that she erupted in coughs. "The look on your face will be to die for," she proclaimed. "Once you realise there's nothing you can do to stop the inevitable." Now her coughs took over her that she barely got her last words out. She pulled a hand away from her mouth, only to frown at the deep red on her palm. "What's happening?" she muttered weakly, before collapsing onto her knees.
Raziel rushed behind the desk and seated her against the wall. "What do you mean?" he gruffly asked, kneeling before her. "What's inevitable?"
Even with the thick drop of blood running down her chin, she managed a wide grin. "Michael," she said. "He will rise again and align the stars. And I will be at his side, serving with the glory that was robbed from me."
"What?" he sputtered, just as she began to cough more. She had begun to keel over in a coughing fit but he rested her back against the wall, both hands on her shoulders to hold her in place. "What have you done, Naomi? Tell me!"
No amount of exasperation in his eyes could have made the interrogation smoother. It even seemed like she was enjoying it, despite the absurd amount of turmoil her angelic form appeared to be in. "The wheels are already set in motion, you simpleton!" she boasted, and then immediately heaved up more blood. Her trembling hands reached into her pockets. The smile on her face faded as she pulled out a small sachet tied with a ribbon made from corpse hair. On its surface were strange markings that the angels decoded as a morbid conclusion. "Cr- Crowley…" she managed to spit out his name. "You h-have to…" she gasped in an effort to breathe. "…help me, Raziel."
His features contorted into what looked like sympathy, like he couldn't help but feel bad for her. It almost hurt to see her in so much pain. A headstrong angel he'd had the pleasure of rivalling. But when it came down to it, he merely stood and backed away slowly. "You played with forces beyond your wisdom, and now you get burnt," he simply said, still captivated by everything happening before him.
"P-Please… Raziel…" she locked eyes with him and for the first time he saw softness in them. The same softness in every angel as they admired what their Creator had given them to protect. Now scarlet dripped from her eyes, her nose and even her ears as she gagged, shaking where she sat. "H-Help…"
"I wish I could," he softly uttered as he made his way over to her. He picked up the demon tablet, which now lay at her side, and leaned in close to whisper in her ear, "But this is for Jeremiah. And every other angel you hurt."
Her head turned once just to catch sight of him leaving. The door shut hopelessly behind him.
Warsaw, Missouri – 11 October 2013
"Thousands flee from their homes in the UK as the tsunami hits the North Coast. This mirroring the catastrophe faced by low-lying areas in Iceland and Norway, not to mention the hurricanes hitting the East Coast right now back home and droughts hitting farmland and forests in Central Asia. As we hit new records since 2010 and 2012, is it finally time for world leaders to take climate change seriously? This is Kate Evergreen, reporting…."
The static ramblings of the radio faded into the background. The rustic boat swayed steadily, waiting for its moment to be set free from the dock, as the Winchesters arrived. Unfortunately, it would have no luck that day—it was as much a prisoner as the prophet who walled up within its confines. They gave the special knock. Hearing no response, Dean carefully undid the lock and they ventured in, eyes open and guns drawn. The inside looked sadder than they had expected, though they knew the boat Garth set up for them wasn't exactly five-star material. Books strewn everywhere, scribbles on papers stuck to the wall, exposed rust and grime dangerously threatening tetanus—they had thought it would at least look like something more than a raccoon lived there, but it all made sense when Dean found Kevin hurling in the toilet.
"Wow, you look like hammered crap," he told Kevin, straight up, as Kevin attempted to plug his nosebleed with a cotton ball.
"Yeah," Kevin replied nasally. Clearly, he'd seen better days.
"Maybe Raz should have held off with this tablet," Dean commented.
Sam hugged his khaki windbreaker closer to himself as he crossed his arms. "Are you sleeping?" he interrogated.
"Not really." The kid looked tiny sitting in that chair as the boys towered over him with nothing but questions.
"Are you eating?" Dean asked.
"Hot dogs, mostly."
"Sure, yeah. Breakfast of champions," Dean remarked with a cynical twitch in his left eye. "Look, I'm gonna feel dirty saying this, but you might want a salad and a shower."
"I know, and I've been getting bad headaches and nosebleeds, and I think maybe I had a small stroke," Kevin casually considered, which rightfully took the brothers aback. "But it was worth it."
"What was worth it?" Sam pressed.
Kevin stood up with a smile. "We've been thinking all this while how to give Lucifer the boot, but there's something more we can do," he introduced, the light returning to his eyes. "We can close the Gates of Hell."
"We-" Dean's head jutted forward as he took in the information. "We can do what now?"
"You heard right," Kevin beamed. "We can put Lucifer in the Cage and lock up all the demons in Hell—perfect double whammy. Or a good consolation prize since Crowley's ahead with the whole Lucifer thing."
Sam and Dean exchanged looks of relief. "Come here, you smelly son of a bitch," Dean had a twinkle in his eye as he scooped up Kevin in his arms and patted him on the back.
Even Sam couldn't help but release a hearty chuckle. He clapped a couple times in celebration. "Okay, okay, so what does this mean?" he asked. "What are we looking at?"
"It's a spell," Kevin naturally said as he lead them to his little arts and crafts board with the dozen notes on it.
"And?" Dean probed as the kid handed them a piece of paper from the table.
"And it's just a few words of Enochian, but-"
"Oh, here we go," Dean examined the writing.
"-the spell has to be spoken after you finish each of the three trials."
"T-trials," Sam uttered. "Like, Law & Order?"
"More like Hercules," Kevin answered as Sam got his turn to inspect the Enochian. "The tablet says, 'Whosoever chooses to undertake these tasks should fear not danger, nor death, nor…'" he counted off the conditions in his hands, frowning as he attempted to recall more. The boys merely watched on in avid anticipation. "…a word I think means getting your spine ripped out through your mouth for all eternity."
"Good times," Dean nodded.
"Basically, God built a series of tests, and when you've done all three, you can slam the gates."
"So… what, God wants us to take the SATs?" Sam wondered.
"I- I guess?" Kevin said. "Uh, he works in mysterious ways."
"Yeah, mysterious, douchey ways," Dean agreed. "Alright, where do we start?"
"I've only been able to crack one of the tests so far, and it's gross," Kevin briefly glanced at one of his notes to jog his memory. "You've got to kill a hound of Hell and bathe in its blood."
"Awesome," Dean said.
"Awesome?" Sam questioned.
"Yeah," Dean exhaled in relief. "Hey, if this means icing all demons, I got no problem gutting some devil dog and letting Calgon take me away."
"Where are you gonna find one?" Kevin asked.
"Well, Hellhounds like to collect on crossroads deals. So all we got to do is track down some loser who signed over his special sauce 10 years ago, get between him and Clifford the big dead dog," Dean outlined so confidently. "Easy."
"Doesn't sound easy," Kevin remained sceptical.
"It's not," Sam added.
Before he could say anything further, Dean already laid out the plan for them. "Look, you get on the net – see what you can dig up. I'm gonna go for a supply run because we need goofer dust…" Dean practically had one foot out the door as he paused to continue. "…and the kid needs to eat something that's not ground-up hooves and pigs' anuses – not that there's anything wrong with that."
He gave them a wink and went on his merry way. Freshly invigorated, Kevin reminded himself of what a shower was as Sam got busy on his laptop. Closing the gates of Hell, huh… he thought. He opened the browser and was immediately confronted with last night's search history. Zara's face stared back at him. No one could have thought that those innocent eyes were meant for something far more devious. No social media, no internet footprint, no record save some university events and missing person's reports—two of them. The first was from back home, when she was younger, and the second was closer to Sioux Falls, right around the time they'd actually met. Yet, nothing came up that could give him any insight into the questions that burned in his heart. He longingly stared at a picture of them, remembering precisely how her body and her face moved.
I love you.
That's what she'd said. Those were the words from her mouth. He wished so badly that the picture would just talk to him so he could look her in the eye and give her a piece of his mind. It was so painful now, like being stabbed in the heart. What if those smiling eyes in the picture were actually sad? Because they knew what was to come? What if she'd always told him the truth, not with words, but with everything else? The worst part of it all was not knowing. It settled under his skin like a constant itch. He just brushed a hand over his face and closed the tabs.
Warm steam wafted in from the room as Kevin came out with fresh clothes. "Okay, I feel a lot better," he said, drinking cold coffee out of mug.
"Hey, Kevin," Sam looked up at him, not a sign left that he'd just stifled an uneasy stirring in his head. "Buddy, you gotta slow down."
"What?" Kevin just stared at him.
"Get some shut-eye. Take a day off. Open a window," Sam suggested.
"No," he slowly shook his head. "You said nuking Hell, caging Satan—that's how I get out. That's how I go home."
"Right, it is, but you can't live like this," Sam stated, and the mere sight of the boat was evidence enough.
"You think I want to?" Kevin began. By now, he hungered so much that even the look on his face was a plea for mercy. "I hate it here. I can't leave because every demon on the planet wants to peel my face off. Every angel wants to lock me up in a desert. I can't talk to anyone except you guys or Garth, when he swings by, or my mom, right? And when she calls, all she does is cry. I just..." his voice softened. "I need this to be over."
"I know, I do," Sam nodded like he considered every single word. "But trust me on this. This whole 'saving the world' thing—it's a marathon, not a sprint. You gotta take better care of yourself."
Kevin softly muttered acceptance when the door squeaked open to let Dean in. "Hey, did you know that there are like, six thousand kinds of tomatoes?" he entered with a clear pep in his step and two full shopping bags. "Did you find anything?"
"Yeah, demon signs, 10 years ago, all centred on Shoshone, Idaho," Sam reported with some taps on his keyboard.
"Okay, well, big-time mojo means a big-time freak. So, anybody have a horseshoe shoved up his ass?" Dean inquired.
Sam huffed. "That's one way of putting it." He cleared his throat and turned the laptop around with the news article on the screen. "Meet the Cassitys, small-time farmers who struck oil on their land in February of '03, which is weird because geological surveys-"
"Yeah, you had me at 'weird'," Dean cut him off, skimming through words in the article. "Alright, we thinking deal?"
"Best lead we've got."
"Well, let's go visit the Beverly Hillbillies," Dean decided. To Kevin, he said, "You stay here and work on step number two and, uh, if you come across anything on Hellhounds, drop a dime, okay? Because between the- the claws and the teeth and the whole invisibility thing, those bitches can be… real bitches." He pulled out two pill bottles from the shopping bag. "Got you a present." Handing one over first, he continued, "The blue ones for the headaches and the greens are for pep." And handing the other, he smacked Kevin on the arm, "Don't OD."
"Thanks?" Kevin curiously studied the bottles as the Winchesters left.
"You sure about that?" Sam whispered to his brother.
"Sam, we are on the one-yard line. It's time to play through the pain."
It was certainly lucky that they showed up to the farm when they did. Granted, they did have to blend in by doing some 'crap work' – literally, as Dean found out – before the real action kicked in. It all started when Carl died. The husband of Alice Cassity, who now realised she didn't know what she had felt for him at all, even after a long ten years of them being together. An air of gloom fell over the farm as the other Cassitys piled in the next night. Hours of caustic exchanges later, the boys figured that it had been Crowley who'd hooked them up with contracts ten years prior. Only problem was, no one was openly boasting about their deals. It had to take the youngest Cassity's death to realise that the Hellhound was still on the prowl. So it came down to the nitty-gritty. Sam and Dean explained the situation as plainly as they could to the family, cuffing them in their seats and forming a perimeter of goofer dust to protect them. Still, no one seemed to spill the beans.
"So… what's our play?" Sam asked Dean out of earshot of the Cassitys.
Dean finished the line of goofer dust and answered, "Well, you camp here, figure out who whored their soul. I'm gonna go scout the grounds. See if I can't gank Huckleberry Hound before he makes his next move."
With how quickly Dean had left that sentence hanging, Sam barely had time to think before he followed closely behind his brother into the hallway. "Wait, you're not going alone, Dean. I'm gonna come with you," he asserted.
"Wrong," Dean remained adamant even as he turned to face Sam.
"Uh, they're on lockdown and you need backup," Sam laid out.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I need you to be safe, Sam, okay?" Dean cut him off. "That's what I need."
"What? What am I- when are we ever safe?" Sam shot back, clearly showing how ridiculous it all sounded to him.
"This is different," Dean's eyes swept across the floor.
"How?" Sam searched his brother's face for an explanation but only found pause.
"Because of the three trials crap. God's little obstacle course. We've been down roads like this before, man—with Yellow Eyes, Lucifer, Sophia. We both know where this ends," he said, just as Sam forced himself to look away. "One of us dies. Or worse."
"So, what? You just up and decided it's gonna be you?" Sam questioned, clearly unsettled.
"I'm a grunt, Sam. You're not. You've always been the brains of this operation," Dean began. Again, he had that twinkle in his eye like he'd just figured out everything. It did nothing but confuse Sam as to how he could have even thought about it.
"Dean-"
"After everything I saw, I know there's a way out for you. Forget Zara, man, that can be rough on anybody but you still have a light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. I don't," he spoke with a passion that jumped out of hiding, which Sam couldn't help but just watch with stinging eyes. "But I'll tell you what I do know—it's that I'm gonna die with a gun in my hand. 'Cause that's what I have waiting for me. That's all I have waiting for me if it means that you pick yourself back up and have a life. I want you to get out," he went on unchallenged. "You, with a wife and kids and- and grandkids, living till you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra… that's my perfect ending, and it's the only one I'm gonna get. So I'm gonna do these trials. I'm gonna do them alone. End of story. You're staying here. I'm going out there. If landshark comes knocking, you call me. If you try to follow me, I'm gonna put a bullet in your damn leg."
Every single word punctured Sam like a needle. He couldn't believe he'd just left his brother go off like that. Where did all of that even come from? Sure, Dean had always been the one to jump between him and a bullet, but he thought they were well past that. At least, when Zara had been around he seemed more at ease, like he could just lean back in a chair and leave them be. Now she was gone and he had this grumpy brother back. And he thought he had issues.
In the end, hunting was still hunting. Nothing goes as planned. Dean finally found the culprit. It was Ellie, the farm hand, who had signed the dotted line all those years ago to save her mother from Parkinson's. All she wanted was some booze, some tunes and some… Dean in her last moments. So when the Hellhound finally came, he was ready to tackle it. Only, it roughed him up quite bad and before he knew it, he was ready to become puppy chow. It was then that Sam let loose some salt-filled shotgun shells to dispel the mangy thing. Before they knew it, Sam was trapped under the beast and had no choice but to gut it and let it spill its black blood on him. The brothers were both panting and had jaws agape by then, just staring at each other. In blood, he was born and in blood, he was reborn. The pain in his abdomen finally got to him and Dean collapsed back, exhausted.
Dean slightly winced as he patted his side to make sure the stitches were in place. "You need to go to a hospital," Ellie told him.
"Oh, I've had worse," he dismissed nonchalantly.
Ellie looked over to Sam, who was still covered in the guts even after a change of shirt. "Yeah, he's had worse," he confirmed.
"So, what now?" Her delicate brown skin glowed with the incandescent light but her brown eyes were sharp as ever. She was a strong one, they could tell. One moment, she'd accepted the inevitable and the next, she'd chosen to fight for her life. Perhaps a lot could be learnt from her but neither of the boys were ready for that conversation.
"Now we make a hex bag, and you start running. If demons can't find you, then they won't be able to sic another mutt on you," Dean advised.
"So I'm not going to Hell?"
"Not on my watch. Will you give us a minute?" As she gave them space, Dean inched around the table and beckoned Sam to hand over the shirt.
"Dean," Sam said thoughtfully, leaning back against a table. "Even if she can dodge every demon, as soon as Ellie dies, her soul is earmarked for Hell."
"Not if we shut it down first," Dean remained resolved. He grabbed the shirt anyway, getting a good whiff and feel of the mutt's gore. He didn't know how but he tried the most hippie thoughts bolstered by his own stubbornness to channel the blood of the Hellhound.
"The spell's not gonna work for you," his brother said.
Dean sighed and threw his head back, fishing out the note from his pocket. "Kah, Nah, Ahm, Dahr," he uttered. The hollows of his cheeks undulated with anticipation. He looked around. Nothing. "Doesn't matter. We'll track down another Hellhound and I'll kill it."
"No," Sam said, looking through woe in his gaze.
"Sam, I didn't pass the test!" Dean grew exasperated.
"But I did," Sam proclaimed, nearing his brother. "And I'm doing the rest of them."
"My ass you are!"
"I'm closing the gates," Sam defiantly maintained. "It's a suicide mission. Maybe. You don't know that."
"Sam…"
"I want to slam Hell shut too, okay? If it's anyone's responsibility, it's mine," Sam argued. For once it felt like he could grab the pain by its throat and force it to become a coherent message. Not let it swallow him and thrash him about like a ship on rocky waters. Everything that had ever kept him up at night now came to the forefront, naked. "You have friends up here, family. I mean, you got a proper home for the first time in your life. You were wrong, okay? I don't have a light at the end of the tunnel. At every point in our lives, it's always been me who's been the fuck-up. And it was me who let Zara pave the yellow-brick road for Lucifer to take over everything. How many times have I come back from the deep end? The deepest end? This time, I don't want to leave as a fuck-up. I want to leave having done right by you, by everyone. I'm sorry you don't see the light at the end, but if you come with me, I'll take you to it."
"Sam, be smart," Dean said. It took all of him not to punch his brother right then and there, as if daring to feel pain as he did was the most forbidden crime.
"I am smart and so are you. You're not a grunt, Dean. You're a genius. When it comes to lore- you're the best damn hunter I have ever seen. Better than me, better than dad. You can do so much more than I can. I believe in you, Dean. So, please… please believe in me, too. Give me this chance to- to finish this story with dignity."
They could do nothing but exist in this moment for the span of a few breaths. Every part of Dean wanted to just end this conversation then and there and never have to think about what his brother had just asked of him. To literally sign a death sentence on Sam was impossible. "No," Dean said. Sam had but the look of betrayal on him. "None of what happened to you is your fault. Really? Just because Zara…? You're not some cosmic screw-up-"
Sam snatched the note from Dean's hand. Even as Dean protested, he simply turned away to read the words. "Kah, Nah, Ahm, Dahr," Sam confidently recited. Almost immediately, the gears of space and time shifted, creating a draught that sought Sam as its home. His brows twisted and he shut his eyes for a moment. Then it was as if an onslaught of vibrations had infected his body. He fell to his knees. A grunt pushed its way out of his throat. His hair bounced with a faithful curl, only partially obstructing his vision as his arm glowed so intensely that he began to see black spots.
"Sammy!" Dean called out behind him.
The force sucked itself inside of him. He released one last grunt. It was all clear now. He simply stared at his own hand and stood up. The deed was done. "I'm good. I'm okay," he told Dean.
Cheston, Memphis, Tennessee—14 October 2013
The dark interior of the dilapidated building was like a universe of its own, sucking away any light into its dim corners. Twenty years ago, it could've been a regular apartment complex but the sands of time had not been kind. The large black man on the raggedy armchair had muscles bursting out of his biceps and chest, as revealed by his tank top and khaki pants. Tattoos adorned every inch of his arms. He sported a bald head and neatly trimmed beard. He leaned over to the table and finished a line of the white dust, leaning back like he was finally sober again. All around him were young men in much the same attire, each looking like years of trauma prepared them to unload the chamber of their guns at the command of the older man in their centre.
The older man laughed, shoulders shaking as he let out an engine-like sputter. "Where y'all find this clown?" he arbitrarily asked his aides. "Nah, he ain't a clown, he's the whole goddamn circus!"
The single ray of light that weaselled through a crack in the paint covering the window illuminated Jack Pierce's face. As it turned out, his lips inched up on one end. There was also that glint in his eye, like he'd figured out a mystery that no one else had. "Won't be so funny when the FBI raids your house, Thayne," he gestured with his eyes towards the stack of papers on the table. "I got a parcel ready to ship with all these little nuggets of wisdom. Bank statements, eyewitness accounts, evidence that magically disappeared from police lockers—the whole nine. Of course, I can make it all go away if you cooperate."
"You got some nerve, kid, I'll give you that," Thayne hoarsely voiced. His bulging eyes spared Jack no modesty. The young men around him smirked in tandem while Thayne pulled out a handgun from the holster at his back and rested it casually on his thigh. "Let me ask you this: you see any blue uniforms on the streets? Shoulda thought about that before walking your white knight ass in here, Jack Pierce," he uttered the name mid-chuckle. "I'd ask you to drop the evidence… but I'd rather drop you."
"You're right. There aren't any cops in this area," Jack reciprocated the humour. Despite the effort that went into it, his heart really wasn't into making a compelling case with the evidence. With a millisecond glance, he'd already plotted a thousand ways to take down every single man in the room with just his hands—a remnant of his time in Monster Prison. "No one's gonna bat an eye if I put you six under."
That elicited a smug huff from Thayne, who looked at the standing man at his side. "You listening to this fool?" he asked. "I ain't never seen that kind of attitude from a man looking like- like that. Blindfold some of our guys and they'll think they slammin' a shawty. Get outta here with that pussy shit."
"The only pussy I know is your daughter's," Jack said with a straight face. A sudden veil dropped from Thayne's expression as he stared daggers at Jack. "I knew you'd resist, so I went ahead and put her in the back of a Cadillac. Kiara, is it?"
"You think that's funny?" Thayne leaned forward, clicking off the safety on his pistol. "Keep her name out of your mouth, bitch. Or you ain't have a mouth no more."
"Oh, you don't think I mean it?" Jack finally conceded ground to the frown sprouting on his forehead. He held up his phone, just to signal that it wasn't a weapon, and tapped a button. The sound of the girl's whimpering was unmistakable.
"D-daddy? I'm- I'm scared…" she sniffled so vividly that the dampness on her face could be felt with just audio. "I don't know where I am. I'm in the trunk of a car. It's dark. Please…"
Jack stopped the recording. By then, the men had all raised their guns on him. Thayne himself was tense as a statue, as if stabbing him over and over again in his mind.
"I won't hesitate to drive her into a river," Jack said with the most relaxed posture in the whole room. He gave them a moment to think. "It's okay, you can all relax," he prescribed as if it would be so easy. "I wouldn't actually hurt someone who's innocent. I mean, not that she's that innocent. But it would be about as low as you ruining the lives of all the young kids in this neighbourhood by killing their fathers and taking their money. You do as I say and you stop that shit. Stop selling drugs. Stop selling guns. Put that blood money into schools and clinics and businesses. Then maybe you'll see Kiara again."
That did it. Thayne pulled the trigger, barrel pointing at Jack's face. As much as he willed it with every fibre of his body, the gun just wouldn't fire. It just kept clicking, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a complete pull. Flustered, he smacked the gun on the table. The goons tried their hand too, all clicking their guns as much as they could. While Jack sat there with just an amused grin, not a single bullet fired from any gun. They were all jammed. The men could do nothing but watch him in wide-eyed horror as he calmly spoke.
"You know, I'm getting real tired of this," Jack said through gritted teeth, leaning forward in his seat. "I laid out all the stakes for you. If you still ain't seeing it, nothing much I can do. I'm not boutta waste more time."
His left hand picked up Thayne's gun and aimed it at his face. Seeing that, Thayne was unfazed albeit a little mystified. No one thought to do anything. In fact, he almost spat out a chuckle. But Jack pulled the trigger. And this time, a boom erupted from the barrel. Thayne's head shot back, blood and bits of his skull splattering on the chair.
"Listen up, scumbags," Jack stood up and addressed the room.
The faint wisps of smoke from the gun spread like incense. They were all stiff and shaken simultaneously. The sudden gunshot had instilled a soberness in them. Though survival instinct had pulled taut their muscles, the right course of action wasn't obvious. Especially not when the psycho that killed their boss was making a round to look every single one of them straight in the eyes in unwanted penetration of their souls.
"You used to work for an asshole. He's dead, so now you're gonna work for this asshole," he pointed a thumb at himself. His steps resounded on the creaky floorboards. "Every one of you probably has a long rap sheet going back to when you were just kids surviving on the streets. Mine's longer, guaranteed, so don't even try to step up to me. And believe me when I say you can turn things around and stop being dumb, useless pieces of human trash," he practically yelled in a timbre that would resonate in their very bones. "You wanna get a normal job and a normal life? Not gonna happen. Because no one's gonna hire your Scarface-lookin ass. But if you help me run these streets, make it a better place for folks to live, I can promise you that you can be free men living with dignity and nothing to prove. All you gotta do is want it."
Some uneasiness spread through the men. They looked at each other and down at themselves. That seemed like a win—it got them to at least think about their ways. As Jack looked on at a group of them who seemed ready to make a decision, there was a stirring behind him. One of the men was slowly inching towards him.
"And if you don't…" Jack continued. "Your story ends here."
He quickly spun and shot the guy who was nearing him. With a loud groan, the man dropped to the ground, clutching his chest. From his other hand, a knife clattered onto the ground. That was all any of them needed to see. Within the span of a week, the new boss made some pretty significant changes, namely patrols on the streets to fill a void that the cops left and clearing out any stray guns and drugs making their way in. It was in doing this that a new mystery was revealed.
Jack and couple other thugs opened up the back of the truck in the old basement parking lot. He had some idea of what he'd see. After all, Thayne had some pretty shady contacts who had avoided detection even by his methods, which made the find even more valuable. Inside, weapons of military grade were mounted on the walls. Few though they were, each one had the shiny gleam and feel of a new car. Each one of them was far too deadly to be legal. One was a heavy-duty long range light machine gun which would require incredible upper body strength to wield and bullets that could each take down a target a whole kilometre away.
"Why would Thayne need these?" Jack's husky voice bounced off the metallic interior. His hazel eyes made note of every model in that truck. His identifications were confirmed with an invoice tucked away in a corner. There was no return address or company name but just a chop with a strange symbol.
"The old boss had some visitors from Colombia," the one named Shaun explained to him. "They sweet-talked him into a deal. Guns for hands. Sometimes women and children too."
"Human trafficking? Looks like someone's head was far up his ass," Jack retorted caustically. "Any idea who they worked for?"
"They mentioned something called Azar," Shaun recounted. "It's the name of a cartel. Once Thayne saw the shiny guns he couldn't say no. They'll expect us to pay up soon."
"Oh, we'll pay up alright," Jack promised, gaze sharpening. "We'll gift wrap our thanks with some C4 in it."
"What do we do with these?" Shaun asked.
The archangel took one last look at the weapons before closing the truck. "Leave it to me. I'll take care of it," he simply said. Once he'd stowed them away, he sat down with his laptop and a cup of coffee in a little diner down by the road. His men were enjoying a couple of beers at tables not too far from him. A group of the thugs also drove down the roads occasionally, looking out for any suspicious activity. All in all, it gave Jack the peace and quiet he needed to look up this Azar group.
As expected, not much came up on them except a few Colombian news reports of murders with their symbol left at the crime scene. Nothing linking them to any police raids or weapons seizures. The cops must have really had a hard time tracking them, which meant anyone else would find it much harder. Unless 'anyone' meant Jack. One article showed a cordoned-off crime scene with police keeping away several bystanders. It took only one look for Jack to detect something unusual. One of the bystanders had unusually pale skin, immortalised in great detail by modern digital photography. Just enough detail to partially reveal a tattoo on his neck that looked eerily familiar. The man also appeared to have just exited a hotel that looked not too shabby. A quick search on the hotel displayed many innocent results but to Jack's trained eye, it was an obvious front for money laundering. He shut the lid of the laptop.
Within moments, he checked in to the same hotel. Once night had fallen, he knocked over a plant in the hallway to distract a staff member while he searched a back room for their financial records. It was just as he'd suspected. There was no way that all this money came from running a three-star hotel. But where else was the real question. To wit, he'd found the hotel manager's address in another file.
Distant sounds of young people swaying their bodies to Latin rock and margaritas filtered in to the apartment with some remnants of light from a blinking streetlamp. The older woman had certainly learned to tune it out because she slept sound as a baby. The apartment was well-maintained and neat, a standard which was just a little high for this neighbourhood. Some of that blood money definitely went to her, but not nearly enough that it'd raise suspicion. A sudden silence fell over everything. Not even crickets could be heard. Strangely enough, that was what woke her. She looked around in complete darkness, squinting as her eyes adjusted. She fumbled to switch on the bedside lamp. It clicked, but no light emerged.
Figuring that the circuit breaker had gone off, she dragged herself down the hallway. It was only at the attempt to draw herself a glass of water that the hair on the back of her neck raised. She turned around. There was a figure sitting in the shadows. A gasp was caught in her throat. She caught herself on the wall before she fell back. Blinking rapidly, she ascertained that there was, in fact, an intruder in the house and she wasn't just imagining it. She could see his long legs bent to fit him on the chair and locks of hair draping down the sides of his head.
"Rafaela Yanez?" the voice inquired. It had the depth of the shadow world. A voice surely belonging to a creature from another world.
"(W-who are you?)" she stuttered in Spanish.
"(Answer my questions and it won't matter)," Jack stood up, revealing his godly height as he spoke with native precision. She slithered forward along the wall and grabbed the telephone, dialling in a number. But no sound from the receiver. "(The lines are cut. Don't even try. Tell me, who owns the hotel? Who's feeding it all the money?)"
"(Please don't hurt me)," she cried, sinking to the floor. Each step of his permanently registered in her memory as he neared her. Deciding her heart was speeding enough, she let out the loudest scream that her diaphragm would allow before being paralysed by fear. He didn't so much as flinch as he knelt on one knee before her.
"(Rafaela, no one can hear you)," he said. Even in this proximity, a dark veil seemed to have fallen over his face, making it impossible to detect human features on him. "(Answer me. Who's laundering money through the hotel?)"
"(I don't know their name!)" she wailed, tears streaming down her face. "(I just get paid to run things. One of their men comes to check up on us sometimes. Danya—Russian man. He's going to kill me!)"
"(He won't if you tell me how to find him)," Jack assured her.
"(I don't know anything, I swear)," she pleaded him. "(He just comes and goes.)"
"(The accounts. Who are you sending them to?)"he asked more gruffly this time
"(Oh- oh yes, we put it on a server)," she pressed herself further back into the wall, as if wishing it would swallow her whole.
"(This month's numbers—what happens if you don't hand them over?)"
"(I- I don't know. He might call)," she answered. Jack nodded slightly, mulling over the information.
"(Tell me which phone he'd call you on. You're going to take a vacation for two weeks. If I ever see you at the hotel in that time, I will shatter your kneecaps)," he warned. "(And if you tell anyone about this, I will know.)"
Patiently, he waited by the appointed telephone in the hotel, which happened to be in her office. It was locked without its primary occupant so the staff never bothered checking in there, though he did hear the occasional rumours of their speculations. Family medical emergency, they'd guessed. He'd gotten everything set up, perfectly ready for the phone call. And then it came.
The Slavic accent was unmistakable. "Hello?" the voice came in from the other end. The program on the laptop began to run the search, but it would need more time to work.
"Hola," Jack answered, hesitant. "(La Casa Hotel. How may I help?)"
"(Where's Rafaela? Who's this?)" the voice replied in fluent Spanish.
"(Madam is unwell. I'm her assistant. Would you like me to pass a message?)" the archangel tried to sound as innocent as possible.
"(Assistant? She never told me about an assistant.)"
Jack sheepishly chuckled. "(I'm new, sir. She is my aunt by blood and offered me a job for the summer. Don't worry, I will make sure her work is done without any trouble.)"
Some mumbling and cursing sounded from the other end. A belated sigh later, "(Screw this. You tell your madam that she has to answer my calls or else.)"
His gaze darted to the laptop. A connection was so close to being established. Right now it pointed to somewhere in Central Asia, but to get a more precise readout meant keeping the man on the line longer. Before the call could be cut, Jack rushed to say, "(Mr Danya?)"
That certainly gave the man pause. "(How the hell- is she telling everyone now?)"
Another coy laugh from Jack. "(Um… she is my only relative, sir. She wanted me to take after her in the business. Your secrets are safe with me. She wanted us to meet in person, but fate didn't allow that. So please, allow me to serve you.)"
"(W-what was your name again?)"
A red dot finally placed itself on the laptop screen. Kyrat—the country was wedged between Kashmir and the Himalayas. That's where the call came from. Jack dropped all pretence of emotion. "Pendejo," he said and immediately slammed the receiver back into its holder.
Kyrat was one of those places you'd visit and never leave. One, because its fresh green pastures set in the backdrop of the monolithic Himalayas were absolutely breath-taking, like stepping into a painting. Two, you'd probably become collateral damage in the war between state-sponsored terrorists fighting for the vast resources via exploitation of enslaved civilians. Either way, Jack had come prepared. He was dressed in a regular parka with ski goggles and gloves over his sweater and pants, like any other person. His long hair was tied up and hidden under a green beanie. The elderly commoner ranted to him about how poor everyone was under the regime before thanking him for renting the motorcycle with such a generous bonus. The man wasn't so much animated as he was grouchy, but he did give Jack that rosy-cheeked smile that everyone here was capable of—a gift of the high altitude oxygen-deficient air.
Jack offered well wishes as blessing, knowing it could warm anyone inside-out. The bike was no Honda or Harley, but she was beautiful regardless of the duct tape bandages that kept her still running. For a dirty old girl with tearing leather seats, she wasn't as noisy as he'd expected. Goggles on and engine sputtering, he set out on the rocky, meandering roads that cruised through the uphill and downhill terrains. Did he need an automobile for this? No. But it was certainly a privilege to experience life in slow motion. Perks of the job. Drop Jack from a height and he'd probably reach out his limbs before his wings.
He had the location keyed in to a tracking device which used an old-school radar screen to point him in the right direction. When he was close enough, he decided it was best to park the old lady near a tree, hidden well by bushes, before venturing further into the forest. He parted the bushes on the outskirts only to find something that made his blood boil.
Dozens of people knelt over and scoured the mud in the little mine. While some people dug endlessly to deepen pits, others ran their hands through the coarse gravel they collected in little trays. Even a small break or a plea for food or water was met with whips from the guards, who were all dressed in the uniform of the local military.
"Blood diamonds," Jack mumbled through gritted teeth. Wealth extracted from the lands was taken mercilessly from the people, but redirected to what, exactly? His answer appeared not so much later. An open-top jeep soon arrived and from it emerged two pale men in all black from head to toe apart from their faces which had just shades for protection. As he watched, the pale guys made conversation with the military personnel, collected some packets and gave them a briefcase in turn. Someone opened the briefcase to check and it was immediately obvious that parts of an unassembled high-calibre rifle were inside. And then, the pale men looked at the workers in the site and pointed to a couple of them, like picking things off a menu. The chosen civilians were forced into hand-ties and bags over their heads before being loaded into the back of the jeep.
It was go-time. Jack hopped on the motorcycle again and followed the jeep with enough distance. At will, the atmosphere obeyed his command and a thin fog fell over the lands, perfectly keeping the jeep just within eyeshot but not for anyone with inferior senses. It was a fairly long drive. Once toll stations began to appear, he thought it best to take an unmarked route through the forests. Night was soon falling but that was not a curse to him, nor the men he was stalking. Once they finally stopped at a compound, Jack had stationed himself atop a small cliff overlooking the place. He could see them arriving through the front and dragging the civilians into a two-storey wooden house built in the common Tibetan-inspired style. Prayer flags and laundry from long ago hung around, suggesting that this place had been sieged recently. Some dark blood stains in the backyard soil seemed to clarify as much.
Guards patrolled the perimeter, unsuspecting of the serene surroundings. He cautiously descended down the hill and crouched to get through a hole in the back fence. Taking cover behind some crates, he easily pulled a passing guard back by the neck and silenced him with a slit across his throat. As he lay the body down in the shadows, he just had to confirm his suspicions. Poking the deceased man's gums caused the undead canines to pop out. Just as I thought. Vamps. He pulled down the man's shirt by the collar. The tattoo immediately gave it away. This was a Vory operation.
Time to clear out the nest. It was easy enough when they walked around alone, ripe for being picked off one at a time. Inside, of course, there were far more of them. Plus there was the added risk of injuring the hostages. By their screams, there wasn't much time. He unlocked a back window and crawled into the kitchen, where he untied some unmanned civilians and told them to leave out the way he came as quietly as possible. The air suddenly smelt a lot less like warm meat and Jack was aware. At first, they checked in one by one and then, it was groups of them. Bodies lay decapitated in the hallways, on the stairs and even slumped over chairs. When he reached the last one, he held the bloody knife to her throat but remained patient. He had a forearm pressing her chest up to the wall, her feet dangling and her arms doing nothing to him even with her outstretched nails.
"(Danya—where is he?)" he growled in Russian.
"(Fuck you!)" she shrieked back.
He roughly banged her blonde head against the wall, eliciting a forceful grunt. "(Danya)," he repeated the question. She winced, blood seeping from her lips.
"(You'll just kill me anyway)," she answered.
"(Only if you answer me. Or else I'll chain you up, nail you to a coffin and just forget about you)," he threatened. His scowl bore into her skull like a bullet. From the strength of his single arm holding her up, she could tell he meant business.
"(You can find him but you can't escape us. Our brothers will find you, the demons will find you, and make you regret breathing)," she taunted.
"(I don't breathe)," he simply answered. "(Now speak the truth before I carve out your brains to find it myself)."
He banged her head on the wall again, this time just below the pressure needed to crack her bones. Her chest heaved as she struggled weakly against his grip. "(G-go up North… T-to the snow… Just below the climbing trail, he's in the factory…)"
"(Thank you)," he tilted his head to say, before making a quick deal out of slitting her throat. Back on the trusted motorbike, he scouted the land where she'd said and found the base camp across a crevasse, which could only be accessed by one heavily guarded route. So the direct path was a no-go. But this was where things would get fun. He flew to the peak of the mountain nearest to him. It was just below the blanket of clouds and from here the adjacent peak could be seen. Further below that peak was perfect flat ground for plane and helicopter landings. And that spot was not too far from the factory.
"Surf's up," Jack smirked as he pulled down his goggles again and manifested a snowboard. "No such thing as a waste of time when you're immortal."
The heavy, ruthless winter winds gushed past him as he made his way down, gliding smoothly on the board. His body instinctively swayed and swerved to maintain balance, weaving a smooth trail that was almost immediately covered by snowfall. Some rocks appeared and he pounced, letting the board do a couple three-sixties before expertly landing back again under his feet. And now, the time came. The path was ending, leading to nothing but a steep drop below to certain death for any mortal. He leapt with all he could, pushing off his feet like springs, spread his wings and relaxed for a smooth glide. He almost shivered when the icicles tickled his feathers. A true smile blossomed on his lips like never before.
With a deep exhale, he landed on the flat tundra, giving the storm clouds a motivating push. This time, they almost seemed to fight back, instead raging on in a different direction. That gave him some pause, and then he remembered that things had always felt off since he returned. He had thought it was just him, but the earth herself seemed to agree. Droughts and famines in places of fertility, tsunamis and floods in Northern Europe, hurricanes in dry areas—there was only so much he could do. He wasn't omnipresent. But he could try to stop the illegal arms manufacture in a small part of the world.
Again, he came upon the scene finding the locals held hostage to build and assemble the weaponry round the clock. The factory was of a formidable size and had way more vamps crawling everywhere. Playtime was over. He went into archangel mode and scoured the whole place for his target. Once the man he remembered from the news article appeared, he made himself visible in that otherwise empty office. Wisps of cigarette smoke wafted about as the vampire exhaled his last drag and put out the stick for good. He had just made some clicks on his laptop when the long shadowy figure appeared before him.
"(Son of a bitch!)" he cussed in Russian as he jerked out of his chair, frozen stiff to the ground. He was a rather young-looking man with shoulder-length black hair, probably turned into this life at an innocent time, but the fury in his eyes betrayed a far greater age. "(Who the hell are you?)"
"Pendejo," Jack simply said, a glee-like light manifesting behind his predatory scowl. Danya's eyes darted down and that's when he noticed a red button on the side of the table. Before the vampire could reach it, Jack had his hands around Danya's neck and held him against the wall. The vampire gagged for breath, head turned away as Jack's deliberate breath caressed his cheek. While Danya practically trembled under his touch, it was barely breaking a sweat for the archangel. He could control every muscle and bone on the guy with a single twitch of his hand, all while being eerily still. "(You Vory scum are really branching out, aren't you? From running things under the table to out in the open with state support.)"
"(W-we… grow s-stronger… )" Danya said through a choked voice. "(Our Lord… Lucifer… has g-given us… th-these blessings.)"
"(The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh)," Jack nonchalantly rebutted, only slightly easing his grip on the vamp's throat. "(Now tell me, where else are you shipping these guns off to?)"
"(Screw you)," Danya cursed.
"(You first.)" Jack flipped him around, locking his elbow around Danya's neck, and just squeezed. The vampire's arms flailed about, attempting to scratch at him but to no avail. Just before the neck would have given in to the pressure, he turned the vamp back around and held him up against the wall by his shirt. Danya wheezed like an old asthmatic, each breath swallowing large volumes of air. "(It'll only get worse from here. So answer me.)"
To that, the vampire stretched his cold lips into a grin. "(I don't care. Kill me)," he whispered hoarsely. "(You'll never win against the Vory.)"
Even with his battered vocal chords, the vampire managed something resembling a laugh. Jack slowly let him down onto his feet. Some thought crossed his mind, and then he immediately pressed his forearm against Danya's chest. He stuffed his free wrist into Danya's mouth and sure enough, the vampire's teeth bore into his bloodstream, drinking hungrily. "(They sure love my blood in Purgatory)," Jack muttered, right before letting go and slicing off the vampire's head. He couldn't help but stare at the mess he made. Against the yellow-painted walls, the blood splatter looked about as enticing as a McDonald's menu.
This wasn't the end. He messed around with the unlocked laptop a little, changed the settings and stowed it away—no doubt a lot of incriminating evidence was on there. He also found a little safe underneath the table and with some simple cracking, it opened to reveal packets upon packets upon packets of blood diamonds. This was the gold mine—or rather, the diamond mine. The amount that these gems would add up to was… a lot. Luckily, he knew just what to do with them.
But before that, he had to clear the area of the Vory. With the impatience of an archangel, even a task so daunting could be completed with ease. Seeing him take down the vamps so brutally, the slaves joined in, picking up any fallen guns to weaken their captors. The alarms were disabled and the surveillance footage destroyed. When it was all done and dusted, a crowd had gathered around to watch him decapitate the last one of the vampires. He looked at them and they looked at him. Only, they appeared a little hesitant to say or do anything. In fact, Jack could see a clear tremor sweeping across them.
"(You are free now)," he told them in their language. They exchanged looks of unease amongst themselves, suddenly sobered by the pungent iron smell wafting around them.
"(B-but where will we go, what will we do?)" a man stepped forward to ask.
What Jack saw in them then was a fire that needed to be ignited. Hands clasped behind his back, he stepped forward like he had all the authority in the world. "(Your country needs you. While your people do all the work, your King, Pagan Min, eats expensive food and lives in splendour. He sends his army to subjugate and torture you. Sell you out to terrorists from other countries. You need to take things into your own hands. Fight for your freedom)," he urged them.
Mumbles spread among them as he let them process their newfound situation. "(What about them? The blood-drinkers? Th-they are… inhuman)," someone else asked.
"(They too can die. Cut their heads off, or poison them with the blood of a dead man)," he advised. "(Come dawn, I will do everything I can to beat them out of here, but that's only the beginning. If you want to survive, you have to earn it. You must take your country back from these criminals. Are you willing to do that?)"
Fists were clenched. Shoulders were pulled back. Chins held up high. Their answer was obvious.
"(People of Kyrat, I see the fires burning in your chests. So long as you're willing to fight, I will be right behind you. I will arm your soldiers and buy you seeds for sustenance with the wealth they stole from you)," he promised them. It was amazing to him to see what a few kind words could do. It was why he never ran out of them. This chaotic force that brewed in the air was almost his very life blood. He could do this over and over again, in any part of the world, at any point of time, and never tire of it. It was just another record in his book, another bill he had to pay. But why not? All this wealth and power never ran out. It'd be too lonely at the top otherwise, and he didn't want to end up a miserable fucker like that, he thought. But I'm miserable anyways, his inner monologue taunted him. Not if I never stop to think about it, he fought back.
Before he knew it, he led the group back to the first mine he saw and together, they shot dead the military men, served refreshments to their brethren and destroyed a nearby radio tower which had only served to enable communication amongst those in power and spread propaganda. A small victory to set the wheels in motion. While it certainly warmed him to see the tears and grins of relief on them, he knew there was more important things to be done. In exchange for his help, all he'd asked for was an undisturbed plot of land to farm as he wished. No one could reject such a simple request.
Los Angeles—31 October 2013
Steaming water washed away his sins. The archangel pushed his hair back in a smooth motion. Every movement of his did nothing but flaunt his divinely sculpted figure, with accents on every possible body part calculating its own optimal location. It was enough of an indication to him, at least, that he wasn't profoundly weakened anymore by his time in Purgatory. Sure, he still looked like a pile of ribs depending on the lighting, but he'd looked much worse at other points in his history. The bruises and wounds were gone on his mortal flesh but remained as bookmarks in his divine memory.
Once he stepped out, with just a towel wrapped around his waist, a pleasant surprise greeted him. "Jack? Didn't hear you coming in-"
"Whooo is that CUTE girl?" he exclaimed with a babying tone. Jen blushed, tucking a hair strand behind her ear. He walked past her and picked up the ball of white fluff he had for a cat. "Hi, Missy, are you feeling good today?"
He bounced the Persian up and down, oblivious to Jen's dead glare. As if to add insult to injury, he cradled the cat and kissed its forehead before delivering belly scratches. The feline nestled its head on his chest, sucking up all the attention it was offered.
With an ambient smile on him, he looked back up to the human. "Oh, hey, Jen, didn't see you there," he greeted as he gently let Missy down.
"Where have you been? You've been unreachable the past two days," she asked, telling herself it was mere curiosity when her folded arms indicated otherwise. "I was starting think you went AWOL again."
"Would you relax? It was just two days. People today always expect such immediate contact," he playfully jibed. He slid open the wardrobe, dropping the towel as he picked new clothes to wear from a limited selection of streetwear. "Remember a hundred years ago when people would write letters that took weeks to reach someone else? Why's that patience gotta change now because we have some magic rock in our pockets?"
"Well, a hundred years ago, people didn't have the Internet," Jen rolled her eyes. "If we're gonna make this work I need to get answers from you quickly. Especially if you're doing a show tonight!"
"Jen, really, don't stress it," he said, shooting her a look he called confidence as he fastened a belt around his jeans. "Music is supposed to be fun. You don't have to make it all corporate. Just take things as they come, and if it doesn't work out, it's fine."
"Easy for you to say," she snapped back, frown deepening. "Your new project? It's not getting half as much of the reach Black Eternity had. You refused to do ads or- or promos and- and look at our numbers. It's only in the hundreds."
Jack huffed into a grin. "So?"
"So…?" she sounded flustered. "Less people… equals… less album sales…!"
"I'm not selling anything. Didn't you see? I put it all up for free. But that one site gives us revenue for listens," he mentally calculated. He pulled a plain black t-shirt over himself.
"But that was just until we kicked off, right?" she stared at him, puzzled. "Then we'd start selling the CDs."
"Uh… no," he answered smugly. "We did that for Black Eternity. Frankly, that's so old school. CDs are obsolete now. And besides, I don't really want to sell music. I just wanna put it out there. It's my gift to humanity. And so what if I have a smaller audience? It's not about the fame. So I sure as hell ain't telling anybody to 'like and subscribe'."
Her jaw dropped. She blinked rapidly. "But… how are we gonna make money, Jack? How are we gonna pay rent?" she asked like these were the strangest words to leave her month. "How are we gonna afford living in this house? Food? Utilities?"
"Don't worry about the money. I have investments and assets," he said, nearing her. "Money will never be an issue, I promise. I can pay for both of us."
"But…" she looked almost in pain. "If you didn't want to reach more people, or make more money… why am I here? How am I ever gonna repay you for my student loans?"
"Jen, Jen…" he took her hands in his. "You don't owe me a dime. Really. You can do whatever you want. I just don't think you should think money should stop you. You remember when we first met?"
"At that bar?" she squinted in recall.
"You said art and real life can never be separated. Art exists to reflect all our traumas, all our pain, and putting it up on stages and galleries for ridiculous bucks is just a scam."
She released a huff, almost like a cough, finally easing her taut shoulders. "I was a drunk business major rambling about things. If I really believed that, I would have done something like Art History or something."
"You didn't, because you wanted to support your family. Your mom, your two kid brothers. You did believe what you said. You just needed someone to see your traumas, put that into something that spoke to you," he said in a way that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand. "You wanted to play a game that was all about profits, all about squeezing every cent from real people, and I know you woulda been amazing at it. You're smart. But I saw that you were willing to break the mold, walk a path with me that no one else would take. No, we're not gonna be seeing a sexy bottom line all the time. But we're gonna do something that actually has value to us, not some soulless corporation, not 'society'."
She took a long, hard gulp. With the delicateness of a feather, her eyes flickered up to meet his gaze again.
"Like I always say, if you wanna leave, I won't stop you. But right now, we can do anything. Whatever you want," he said with a sway of the head. "We'll make it work. Show the world how it's done."
She shut her eyes tightly. The burden of decision had come upon her. "How… are you so sure of this?"
"I just am," he suavely said. "So, you comin' with or what?"
The outdoor parking lot was rife with feisty youngsters with enough energy to flip cars and make the elderly tremble. It was just the kind of crowd a place so dingy and grimy would attract—people who weren't afraid to leave their sensibilities behind for a taste of something real. There couldn't have been more than a few hundred people present. Jack rose up on the makeshift stage like the messiah.
"What the fuck is up!" he yelled. The crowd roared in support. For his first show deviating from black metal and introducing a new hip-hop project, the response was far better than anyone would've imagined. A small audience, but their spirit was strong. It flooded his veins as an elixir, as he jumped and rocked his head back and forth to give it his all. A mosh pit had even formed for his darker rhythm. Clearly, the skill in crafting the hardest-hitting breakdowns had not been lost but merely transformed into a new incarnation. Everything about the experience was so raw, so unprocessed—no guards, no journalists to take away from pure catharsis. People moshed against each other, stage-dived and headbanged as they wished. Jack stood still in between melodies, head lulled back as he absorbed it all, the surreal explosion of youth anger and existentialism funnelling into his blood.
Cheston, Memphis, Tennessee—a couple days later
Already the air smelled fresher. Jack thought he even detected the scent of hope dispersing through the streets. The men always straightened up when they saw him—any one of them could be getting the boot that day for thinking their new boss wouldn't notice their misbehaviour. Beating wives or consorting with other gangs, none of it would be tolerated by the archangel. Once the usual rounds were done, he retreated back to the same apartment it all began in for some privacy. Not all of Thayne's blood could be cleaned off the furniture but it sure added a nice ambience to the place.
Today's mystery was something he'd been mulling on for close to a year. That fateful night in that fancy Egyptian hotel, he'd arrived with two intentions – getting the gossip on those who run the world, and finishing a contract job. The latter, given to him by a stranger he thought he could trust, was to kill Hovan Avedis. It didn't make any sense to Jack at the time. Why would VampireBoy give him a target who hadn't committed heinous acts of cruelty? That was their unspoken rule. He wanted so bad to believe that his partner-in-crime had been hijacked somehow, but the truth was deeply obscured. Their messaging service on the Dark Web was covered in layers of encryption and anonymity. All Jack had to go off of was this fancy camera he'd ripped off the sniper rifle left for him at the rooftop.
Finally, some clue had revealed itself as he closely inspected the cylindrical object. Not even a symbol of the maker was left on it, but an indentation revealed the same mark he'd found on the weapon stash earlier. No way this was coincidence. Those fang-toothed assholes in Kyrat made this camera. Which meant… VampireBoy could well be a vampire working for the Vory. The very thought rang hollow in his head. Everything could have been a lie this whole time.
This speculation was partly confirmed as Jack scoured through Danya's laptop. The device itself had invaluable information on the weapons trade – future targets for sure – and a memo sent several months back had the specs of the very same camera.
"Holy shit…" Jack sighed, leaning back into his seat as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "The hell did I get into…"
After more snooping, he saw something even more curious. An explosives delivery to an airport runway in Kyrat. Only, there were no commercial airplanes in that war-torn region. This was a private delivery for someone's amusement. He rushed over to the airport, showered in broad daylight and chilling mountain air. Of course, the military had hold of the airport and there was almost no traffic except for the vampire mafia who merely had to present papers. He searched the hangar for the plane model listed but he couldn't find it.
They must've already left. The control room had just a few military men monitoring the situation. From what he could gather, the plane was on its way to Iraq. None of it made any sense. Where they were headed, things were even more unstable than Kyrat. What with actual war waging, they wouldn't need such a large amount of explosives. There were plenty in the area and all they'd have to do was point some terrorists in the right direction. In any case, the plane was close to its destination. He had to hurry.
"Aha!" a vampire slapped down a card onto the floor where they sat. There was but the constant mechanical rumble of the plane's engine. "(Pay up bitches.)"
The others grumbled and pushed over their stacks of cash to the winner. The aloof metallic walls never pretended to be interesting, not even bearing decoration or paint, so the Vory men had to get creative. They could only afford this leisure away from the safety of their seats which offered just the bare minimum for such a journey. Beyond the wired enclosure, crates of explosives were stacked and secured tightly away from the seating area.
A rattling came from the shadows. "(What's that?)" a vampire asked. Even his keen senses couldn't detect any sign of life from beyond the crates.
"(Probably turbulence)," another one speculated. But the alerted one couldn't stop looking. He went into the fenced area where the cargo was secured. He turned a corner and never came back. It had taken a while for the others to pause their little poker game.
"(Where'd that fucker go? Anatoly!)" one of them who was more muscled than the others called out. With that permanent scar going down his right eye, every emotion tugged it in a different direction while his face stretched with the texture of latex.
They peered into the shadows. Sure enough, their friend returned, but with company. "(Move)," Anatoly ordered, gun to the intruder's back. Jack emerged with arms raised, doing as he was told. The other vampires straightened immediately as they dropped their game faces in favour of business ones.
"(And what do we have here?)" the burly one strutted self-assuredly as Jack was brought to their midst. Another one pulled out cuffs and secured Jack's wrists while he shot them all a disgruntled look. "(A stowaway?)"
Anatoly promptly kicked the back of his knees, forcing Jack down. "(Who are you?)" the vampire growled.
Jack refused to answer. He targeted Burly with a scowl, the one he knew for a fact that would get cocky. As he thought, Burly was the first to deliver a fist to his jaw. He turned his jaw just in time so that Burly's knuckles wouldn't crack on contact with him. "(Answer the question)," Burly ordered.
"(You listen to me, you rat-faced fucker)," Jack began. Immediately, he could see their muscles ready to contract. "(You're gonna tell me exactly what's going on here before I gut every single one of you.)"
They exchanged frowns which suddenly exploded into chuckles and smirks. "(You're funny, I like that)," Burly squatted to reach his eye level. That, and to move closer in an attempt to invade Jack's personal space. "(What are you, a spy? Interpol?)" Just then, Jack caught sight of the others loosening their ties. They looked like they were grinning but it was just a way to set free their emerging fangs. "(You crashed the wrong party, buddy.)"
Anatoly grabbed a fistful of Jack's hair to yank it back. Leaning in close to his ear, he said, "(You're about to see the truth for the first time in your tiny human existence)."
"(Vampires, yes, I know. But what business do you have in Iraq?)" Jack spat out through clenched teeth.
"(Oh, he knows)," Burly offered a surprised nod. "(So he's just stupid.)"
"(Why do you need all these explosives?)" Jack continued despite his apparent disadvantage. If anything, it amused the fellas. They looked among each other as though they'd discovered some new entertainment.
"(Let's throw this bitch overboard)," one of the others suggested.
"(At least drink him first)," another said. "(Don't waste good food.)"
"(No, no, I'll bite)," Burly disagreed with a smug upturn of the lips. "(If he wants answers, we should be so kind)." He clearly enjoyed the sound of his own voice. "(See, our boss and this one guy, they're supposedly on the same side, right? They're supposed to be friends. At least that's what it says on paper. But the other guy is always looking miserable, like he just doesn't wanna be there, right? Can you imagine how annoying that is? You're trying to accomplish something great and this one guy is like a thorn in everyone's back. Wouldn't you like to get him back in line, make him see where he stands?)"
Anatoly chuckled. "(Why are you entertaining him, Yury?)" he asked. "(We're almost there. Put an end to it.)"
"(I am)," Yury insisted. "(Since our buddy here is so curious, why shouldn't we satisfy the dead man? He'll taste better.)"
Jack narrowed his eyes at Yury. "(Where would you even land? We aren't close to any airports)," he remarked.
"(Why, so you can escape?)" Yury taunted. "(We aren't going to land. We'll circle back soon. Only you won't see land again.)"
A ding went off with a respective cabin light switching on. That was some sort of cue. Anatoly chained him to the fence and they all returned to their seats, only to put on vests and attach ropes connecting their vests to the seats.
"(Alright, bitches, let's make it happen)," another vampire declared.
Time was running out. "(Wait)," Jack urged, 'struggling' against his cuffs as they began to unlock the enclosure with the crates. "(Who's this guy? The one your boss hates?)"
"(He's starting to get annoying)," Anatoly said.
"(It doesn't matter)," another vampire answered Jack while giving him a side eye. It was all he divulged as he fastened the buckle on his vest. "(What's another bombed pagan temple in Iraq…)"
Just as they unloaded the cargo, they took their eyes off the prisoner for just one second. That was all he needed. Yury twisted the red handle on the exit, sliding it open. A rush of air flooded the compartment. The next moment Jack was standing before them, fists clenched and free. He struck a blow at one of the six before they could blink and from then on it was whack-a-mole until they were on the ground and groaning. He picked up Anatoly with one hand, stretched his other palm to the seat and undid the safety chain.
"(No, no, no!)" Anatoly hoarsely protested as Jack dragged him over to the open door and held him dangerously close to the opening.
"(Tell me who the target is)," Jack demanded to know. The vampire pushed and pulled against his grip to no avail.
"(I don't know!)" Anatoly wailed. "(I just follow orders!)"
"(Like Hell you do)," Jack said through gritted teeth. But he could sense that the kid was telling the truth. He leaned out the door, one hand on the wall, and threw the vampire into the turbine engine. The others were horrified at the grating sound of their brother being shredded to droplets. Just a moment and it was over, like any normal case of turbulence. Then Jack turned to Yury. "(You next.)"
As he undid the chains, the vampire did not submit meekly. Teeth and claws baring, he attempted to rush Jack. Indeed, it caught him off-guard for a moment and he stumbled. Just as Yury hurled his claws towards him, Jack stepped back, knocked his hand down and delivered a solid punch up into his nose. The vampire staggered back, shocked by his bleeding nose.
"(Fuck it)." A Kubrickian glare had befallen Jack by now. The others had morphed into their full, beastly forms. Just as they charged him all at once, he sprinted towards the door and leapt out. Gravity lulled him into its embrace. Arms and legs out, hair flying back, he could just let the earth come to him. It was all just sand below. He turned around, mid-air, watching the plane cruise in the air. In he took, a deep breath. The desert atmosphere was not so hospitable to his stormy halo, but he would command its subservience. No water molecule, no matter how distant, would be spared. With all he could, he summoned a clap in his hands. Friction erupted as molecules collided. From that, electrostatic sparks were born and shot down on the plane. The purple streak of lightning crashed into the plane. In the next second, it burst out spectacularly with a flaming huff. Metallic debris rained down from the sky and soot dissipated as smoke.
The rest of the freefall would be silent and tranquil. He just let the air caress his entire being. He surfed through infrared waves the closer he got to the sun-beaten ground. It was only in the final hundred metres or so that his wings lifted like a parachute to land him smoothly on the ground. He took one last look at the cloudless blue sky. There were definitely vampire bits leisurely cascading down.
"That's going to make a nice autopsy report," he remarked to himself as he looked around. "That is, if they still make those here."
There was nothing but sand dunes and cacti around for miles. What was the plan? he wondered. The Vory had planned to drop the explosives straight down onto a temple. It was a pretty strange plan, considering one could always go to the temple and explode it on the ground. No, they wanted a hands-off approach so the message would be delivered without making their presence known. Meaning, the temple was guarded somehow. But where would the temple even be?
He did some mental calculations using the speed of the plane, gravity and rate of the earth's rotation about its axis to figure out where the explosives would've landed. Sure enough, he found something at the target location. He just wasn't sure what.
The 'temple' was no structure like one would recognise today. Fair enough, considering the vamp said it was pagan. But it wasn't just old. It was really old. Like just-a-few-blocks-stacked-on-each-other old. Beginning-of-civilisation old. Nothing about it looked special or divine. Maybe it was back in the day but humanity had grown more creative in expressions of worship than this. It couldn't have been more than ten feet high or twenty feet wide. The entrance was just a roughly rectangular opening leading in to the darkness. All that effort for this?
It was just as he was pondering this that a familiar voice interrupted him. "I see you found my secret."
A/N:
This chapter contains scenes from S08E14, Trial and Error, and references to Kyrat, a fictional country in Far Cry 4. FC4 has been one of my favourite games to play—the atmosphere and environment are so beautiful!
