Burning Hatred
Samuel awoke abruptly with a snort, as the nearly empty bottle of Jack in his lap fell to the floor, spilling what little was left onto the threadbare carpet. His vision swam under the influence of the whiskey he had slammed back over the course of the early evening, but it was apparent that it was well after midnight and the house sat in darkness.
"Ugh…" he said rubbing the side of his head, "I better go sleep this off."
Sam was about to stand up when he caught the scent of something that didn't belong in his cottage. Gasoline. The distinctive smell of petroleum permeated the air and it quickly sobered him as he swept his living room with his unsteady eyes.
At first, he saw nothing. Then a glowing ember caught his eye, followed by the scent of a clove cigarette. A figure sat in his favourite armchair, silhouetted by the moonlight filtering in the front windows.
"Hello Sam," the figure said amongst a plume of smoke. "I see you haven't changed much…"
"Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house?"
"Who I am is not important and you know perfectly well, this house isn't yours. It belonged to your late wife. Chautauqua Lake is a little far from Albany, don't you think?"
Sam gazed unsteadily at his unwelcome visitor. "You seem to know quite a bit about me. I'd be very interested to know why you're here."
"None of your biz, chummer," the man said. "Just know that I'm not your biggest fan."
Sam rubbed the stubble on his square jaw and stared hard at the man sitting nearby. As an ork, he was gifted with low-light vision. But, being backlit, the visitor's features were masked quite well. The drunken ork tried standing on shaky legs.
"Sit down, Sam," the man ordered him.
"This is still my house and if you're going to rob me, go ahead and do it. I just want to go to bed."
As Sam got to his feet, the other man shot upright. The four barrels of the Sakura Fubuki pistol leveled at his head. The gun would surely annihilate his face if he were to shoot Sam. The glint of steel fingers caught Sam's eye. The hand that gripped the pistol was artificial and trying to bat it aside would likely prove foolhardy.
"Sit. Down."
Sam finally obeyed and returned to a seated position. "What exactly do you want?"
"I want you to hold still," the man said. A single long blade ejected from the cybernetic arm and his captor held it in the moonlight for effect. "If you so much as twitch, I'll run you through."
Sam's abductor walked back into the shadows and Sam could hear a duffle bag opening up. The man returned with two rolls of duct tape. "Don't move."
Sam nodded slightly and resigned himself to being tied down. As his captor, began wrapping his arms to the chair, it dawned on Sam to try and connect to his commlink wirelessly and call the police. It became apparent in short order that wireless broadcasts were being jammed.
"There's something about your voice… it reminds me of someone…" Sam said.
"Does it now? I'm surprised it's taken you this long."
"Might I ask what I've done to piss you off?"
"The list is a long one," the man said, as he circled his chest with tape, cocooning him to the chair.
"Look, what do you want? I don't have much, but if there's something I have that you want, it's yours. Just tell me."
The man tore off the tape and circled around in front of Sam. "All I want is a little payback."
"Payback! For what?"
"Because of you," the man said, returning to his duffle bag, "My brother has the cognitive abilities of an 8 year old. You beat him so badly, you gave him brain damage. Since he's not able to do it himself, I'm here on his behalf."
Sam sat in slack-jawed disbelief. "Derek?"
The man stepped back into the moonlight, this time letting the light catch his features. The man's face was craggy and scarred. His nose showed evidence of the break that Sam had given him years before and had gone uncared for. The unusual bulk of the ork's cybernetic arm was visible, even beneath the contours of a jacket.
"Took you long enough, ya drunken idiot," Derek said. He stepped back into the shadows and rummaged through his bag once again.
Sam chuckled and then started laughing. "I…I can't believe you're here to 'pay me back' for the favours I did for you back then."
"Favours! What favours? You kicked the shit out of the both of us on a semi-regular basis."
"You and your brother were orks. The outside world hated you for what you were. I had to show you just how much the rest of the world hated you. It was the price of waking the both of you up."
"You almost killed Corey, you bastard. If it weren't for the doctors, he would be dead."
"Part of the lesson, Derek. You're still a coward, I see. Instead of running off and hiding in the woods, now you simply hide behind a gun."
Derek strode forward and punched Sam square in the nose. The nose bone shattered as the metal hand struck home and a spray of blood coated Sam's jaw.
"Augh…you stupid punk…" Sam spat, as blood ran down his face. "You're gonna pay for that."
"Not today," Derek said. He pressed a piece of duct tape over Sam's mouth and applied heavy pressure with his steel appendage. "You need to shut up now and let me work."
Sam yelled muffled curses around his makeshift gag, as Derek disappeared back into shadows. He re-emerged with a bundle of dynamite, connected with a wireless detonator cap. Sam immediately silenced and paled as he looked upon the explosives.
"This kills two birds with one stone, actually," Derek said, as he walked over to Sam's chair. "It gives me the revenge I've been wanting for years, but it also helps with my new line of work."
Derek began taping the bomb under Sam's chair. "You see, nobody calls me Derek anymore. Everyone simply calls me Burn now. I have a reputation for blowing things up or burning them down. In your case, I'll be doing both."
Derek finished placing his explosives and stood up in front of Sam, he looked down with a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "With you gone, it'll be one less person that knows the old me."
Sam glared up at Derek, as a last ditch effort to intimidate the ork. Derek simply stood there; arms crossed looking down on an old bully who sat vanquished before him.
"Anyways… time for me to be going, Sam. I wish our little reunion here could have been a little more eventful, but such is life, I suppose."
Derek pulled the nearly-finished cigarette from between his lips and tossed it into the far corner of the cottage. The cigarette landed in a pool of gasoline and fire quickly fanned out across the floor. The old timber of the cottage took no time to catch the spark and fire began rolling up the walls and across the carpet.
Derek wordlessly stepped out the front door and onto the deck. The cool New York air swept over him, as he scooped up the jammer that had blocked any attempt to call for help. At this point, anyone that came would be too late.
Derek strolled up the dirt road that led back to the road from the cottage. The quiet tranquility of the forest was calming and he took his time returning to the road. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw firelight flickering amongst the trees behind him, as the fire burst through the ceiling.
He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a fresh cigarette and his lighter. He clasped the stick between his lips, flicked his lighter and took a deep drag from the rolled comfort he held between his fingers.
He sent the mental command to his commlink that would detonate the explosives. The explosion echoed off the nearby rocks on Chautauqua Lake and fragments of glass and wall sprayed outward from the cottage.
Burn, formerly Derek Milner, began walking down the road, away from the burning building. As he exhaled a plume of smoke, he said quietly to himself, "Goodbye Dad."