The Gathering (I) – Part 4
The hour of twilight was on the verge of breaking over the quiet country fields of England, a faint mist hung over the dew-covered grass fields and rolling hills. A rather picturesque landscape of peace, especially at this hour. A pity, then, that no human was present for the moment of the sunrise. No, they were all tucked away in their little homes, in the little cities and towns, waiting for the protection of the sun to wash away the darkness.
Poor, weak creatures.
Their fear of the dark kept them from witnessing the sun cracking over the horizon, streaks of light spearing through the clouds.
Stonehenge stood as the sole monument for miles around, and without a human for miles around to witness it from this angle and at this time. The mysterious and old circle of stone held an air of mystery in these times, the hour of witches and ritual synonymous with the location. So to some, seeing a portal tear itself open at the centre of the monument wouldn't be that surprising.
Fear slowly stepped through, foot crushing the grass and removing the thin layer of moisture that rested on the green blades. The portal behind him, a nasty and evil red, like a gash in the fabric of reality, slowly sealed up behind him, leaving only the early sunlight of the morn to highlight his silhouette. Feeling the weak rays of light on his back, the Hand of Horror slowly turned on the spot, his uninterested gaze looking at the scene before him.
The days of his Master's near-conquering of this pitiful little world still came to him at times, yet remained just out of reach; like a dream he couldn't quiet recall, but still dreamt every night. Fear wasn't even sure he could dream. He couldn't even remember the last time he had slept. He had no need for sleep.
Yet the visions still came.
The humans, simple Neanderthals, scattering at the mere sight of one of Horror's demons, terrified of the unknown. Or was it terror at the sight of what they were so easily beaten by? Fear liked to think of it as everything scared the humans, making them seem that much more pathetic as a species.
Which is why it infuriated him to no end that they were in this position. Humans, the dominate species of this dirt planet. Humans, the apex species. That sentence left a rotten taste in Fear's mouth.
"Wretched humans…" he growled, tearing his sight away from the rising sun and however many humans that could exist beyond what he could see.
He marched across to the outer circle of stone, pausing briefly as he came to a stop beside one of the pillars. His gaze turned to the rough stone, one of his hands coming to rest on the pillar; a familiar roughness, almost grinding sensation, against his stone-like skin.
"Soon…the humans will understand…"
Fear spoke to no-one in particular, for there was no-one around to listen. It was as though these thoughts needed to be heard aloud by the Hand of Horror.
"The humans will come to fear our kind as their ancestors did…they will understand-soon, they will understand-that they are not-"
His hand clenched against the stone, almost digging into the Stonehenge monument.
"-the dominant species of this world. They'll realize, they never were."
Fear ripped his hand from the pillar, not looking back as another portal-this one a sickly green-tore itself open in front of the Demon. He stepped through without a moments' hesitation, vanishing beyond the liquid-like portal's entrance. It sealed up behind him, leaving the scene of Stonehenge in a waning foreboding sensation, as a tranquil feeling overcame the area.
Well, tranquil everywhere except the stone pillar that now bore a sinister-looking palm print, radiating toxic green veins through the length and width of the ancient stone.
"How do you expect to get away with this from a legal standpoint?"
E turned on the spot at this question, taking his eyes off the wall of monitors to direct his attention back to Mallory at his former mentor's question. It had been barely two weeks since the Director's previous visit, and E had hoped to that'd been the last he saw of Mallory for the time being.
Turns out, that was wishful thinking.
"What are you talking about?" E huffed, shaking his head as he turned back to the wall of monitors, eyes slowly shifting from view to view.
The three screens in the centre switched between the five cells they currently had occupied; White, Black and Yellow were pacing back and forth in their cells, the chain locking their Morphers down and keeping them attached to the cell coiling around the floor behind them. Blue had been pacing too, but had switched things up by sitting in the centre of his cell, running his free hand through his growingly unkept hair-he had been meaning to have their heads shaved. And as for Red-
"I mean, those American kids are their own separate problem, but at least they can be dealt with on this lands' terms. But the Red one-Isaac-he's a British citizen, is he not? Surely his government is going to tear you a new one the second they find out you're holding one of their citizens captive?"
E's shoulders sagged, an annoyed sigh escaping his mouth as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The technicians sitting either side of where E stood behind them glanced to one another, quickly returning to their work as E turned around fully once again.
"Considering all the things-the fact that as far as anyone outside of this facility would know, these terrorists are classified as dead as of nearly six and a half months ago-I'd say we're in a rather favourable position for the moment."
He didn't even have the chance to turn around again before Mallory spoke again.
"You can't keep this up forever."
E's fist closed around the plastic cup he had in hand, the crunch of plastic standing out in a moment of otherwise silence. The technicians paused, one turning partially in his chair as E and Mallory glared down one another. E looked over his shoulder, quickly turning the technician back to his screen.
"Why don't you two take a break?" E suggested, though his tone didn't make it sound like a suggestion. "A long break."
The one technician looked as though he wanted to say something but was flagged down by his colleague with a shake of his head.
"Yes sir," the other technician replied, gesturing for the younger co-worker to follow him as he locked his computer. The two quickly scurried through the door, closing it behind them to leave E and Mallory with themselves.
"Would it kill you to have the slightest bit of faith in what I'm doing here Mallory? Or hell, have your doubts, but don't share them with my men," E demanded, throwing the now crumpled cup aside as he stepped forward, jabbing a finger threateningly in Mallory's direction.
But Mallory remained in place, only raising an eyebrow at E's menacing reaction. After E had lowered his hand out of Mallory's face, the aged Director spoke.
"What I am trying to do, Elijah, is make sure you've got everything planned out. The entire program is teetering closer to the knife's edge, and I want to be 100% certain you've got this before I do any more to buy you time. Because its not just Division 13's reputation on the line now."
Mallory stepped forward, still leaning on his walking stick for support. Yet despite the weak stance he had, E noticeably backed up.
"Now my reputation is on the line too."
The end of his walking stick stabbed into the ground, emphasising the point, as he shot daggers at the former protégé.
"So," Mallory continued, looking from one of E's eyes to the other, as he trying to weed out any lies from the truth. "Do you have a plan to acquire a substantial amount of results from these Rangers to make up for the lack of these past few months? And do you have a plan in the works, should anything leak? Because if the Senate gets wind on what's really going on in here…I'm not going to be able to protect you."
"I don't need your protection," E fired back, gritting his teeth as he turned and walked towards the computers, shoving one of the office chairs aside with enough force to send it toppling over. Whether he meant to or not, E didn't give any hints: he was too focused on the keyboard and monitors he now furiously tapped away at.
The screens now entirely taken up by five camera feeds, each highlighting an individual cell and its occupying Ranger, E pivoted around to glare at Mallory.
"These menaces," he jabbed at the monitors, "are going to be compliant and give me exactly what I want. I don't care what I have to do going forward-that try with the Enfer files was a waste, I'll admit that, OK? But I will get results, and I'll bring them before the Senate to prove this effort was not in vain!"
"So get off my back about legalities, get back up to Washington and tell those goddamn suited bastards that they'll soon be crawling over one another to get access to wide-spread Ranger tech. Tell them I've seen first-hand just how powerful these guys are. They make stuff like the Titanium Ranger and hell, even that Silver Guardian Quantum Ranger, look tame by comparison."
E turned back around to look at the monitors, gripping the head support of the one remaining chair. His knuckles turned white as his eyes narrowed, and his voice darkened.
"Imagine what they could do with a hundred. A thousand!"
E turned back to Mallory, not caring to notice his former mentor's expression slowly morph from a scowl to a raised eyebrow.
"Who knows? They might actually be able to make a Ranger force that could protect everyone and eliminate threats before they even become threats!"
And there it was.
Mallory closed his eyes as a sighed escaped him, slowly shaking his head. Truth be told, he never expected any different. He just hoped.
Clearly it was a fool's hope.
"Very well," Mallory said eventually, as a moment of calm settled following E's outburst. He rested both hands over the head of his cane, fingers drumming against the stick. Once E's shoulder slackened, yet he still hadn't turned around, Mallory continued.
"It sounds like you've got plans in mind for…most eventualities. I'll go back to Washington; see what budget I can buy you. Should be able to persuade Congress to give you a bit more time."
With a firm stab at the ground, Mallory turned around halfway. He gave another look back to E.
"Goodbye, Elijah. I trust to hear of your…eventual results."
With that, Mallory limped towards the door, and left without another word.
This left E as the lone figure occupying the room, back to the main doors and front facing the monitors. He had gradually hunched forward, hands pressing into the desk before him. They slowly morphed into fists, digging into the polished wood. The anger and rage within him started to grow, slowly seeping out.
And when he looked towards the central monitor, it burst.
Staring right at the camera, as though looking at him through the feed, was Isaac. And he was smiling-no, smirking.
Logically, he would try and figure it out; was his hearing that sensitive, despite all the concrete and padding between them and him? Was he just trying to be creepy?
But logic wasn't in the driving seat at the moment.
It was anger that took control for the moment, and made E throw his wound up first into the screen. The monitor shattered, black screening as E pulled back, his breathing deep and slow. His hand was trickling blood, no doubt from the numerous cuts that came from the screen. But it barely registered for the special agent.
E abruptly turned on the spot and marched to the door. They burst open as he stormed through, slamming the wall behind them and swinging back into place as the agent stomped down the hallway. The few scientists and soldiers walking in the opposite direction quickly side-stepped to avoid bumping into E. If looks could kill, they'd dread to think what E could do to them physically right now.
The Wastelands were a barren, silent stretches of blackened sand and dirt. The only semblance of life that existed before were few and far between; the crumbled remains of once high-rise skyscrapers, islands of shattered tarmac that were once miles of roads bringing people too and from on the daily. Now they lay empty, as remainders of the time before.
Even the skies bore a haze of dark orange, a result of the kicked-up sand, despite the hour being so late the moon was beginning to rise. Not that you'd be likely to see it through the dust clouds that were beginning to rise on all sides.
But as the greater darkness passes, nearly two years after the fall of the Venjix Virus, life finds a way of returning.
The sound of engine revs echoed across the wastelands, carrying for miles and drowning out all other sounds in the vicinity. The revs grew higher and lower in frequency and volume, the source drawing closer as a distant spec began to hove into view, a great dust cloud billowing out behind. The setting sun caught the angled sides of the muscle car as it glided across the ground, leaving a set of tracks behind as it casually weaved left to right to avoid the raised dunes in the sea of sand.
Slowing, the car came to a stop, its break lights catching the partially buried 'STOP' sign before the engine was switched off. Silence once again came over the area as the revs gradually fell to zero.
"You sure this is the place your contact told you to meet? There's nothing here."
Dillon looked across to the passenger seat of his car, to his sister source of this question. He gently pulled himself back into the groove of his seat, eyes instinctively flicking between the wing mirror and reversing mirror, settling on the path ahead of them before he answered.
"Yeah. This is the place."
"What exactly does this guy have that's so important?"
Summer leaned forward from the back seats, grabbing onto either head support of the front seats and pulled herself into the conversation. The former Ranger Operators shared a quick glance-one which Dillon broke first-as he, again, faced straight in front of them.
"He didn't say," Dillon replied, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Just that it was important."
"That's not usually enough to get you interested," Tenaya questioned, hastily unbuckling her own seatbelt as Dillon stepped out of the car. Summer quickly followed suit, shouldering the back door to get to open as Dillon closed his.
"Well…" Dillon began, sliding his hands into his worn trouser pockets as he turned on the spot, scanning the surrounding area. "This one caught my eye."
"Where is he then?" Tenaya asked, she too looking all around them to find this mysterious informant her brother was so insistent on meeting. It should be more concerning, really; nothing had really captured his attention like this before, apart from maybe the former Ranger Operator Yellow that had joined them when the group had parted ways.
"Now that's the million-dollar question," Dillon muttered to himself, hands coming out of his pockets as he walked ahead, grinding his teeth together as he looked back and forth, and right and left. Aside from a few raised sand dunes and the remnants of what was once civilization, there was nothing for as far as the eye could see.
"How much you wanna bet that intel was bogus?" Summer questioned, leaning back against the front bumper of the car, arms resting on the bonnet for extra support.
"Certainly beginning to look like it," Tenaya agreed, already walking back towards the car for the journey home; even all this time later, the idea of having a 'home' and being relatively normal after what she had been through previous was still such a novel concept, yet left such a warm feeling in her heart.
Dillon remained where he stood for a short while longer, still scanning the horizon for anything that made a trip this far out worth it. But the only thing he saw were the sun rays shimmering across the distant deserts surrounding them, reflecting of what little remained of the life before the Venjix Virus. Now all that was left were relics of the past, rubble scattered everywhere, a lone figure in white in the distance-
Dillon's eyes quickly snapped back, his hands suddenly clenching as he searched for what he thought he saw. He squinted against the sunlight, desperately trying to spot the figure again; hoping against hope that it wasn't some kind of trick of the sun.
But there was nothing there.
"Did you guys see-?" Dillon asked, turning around to where he expected to find Summer and Tenaya along with his car, ready to head back after this supposed wild goose chase.
His froze mid-sentence when he all of it absent. No car. No Summer. And no Tenaya.
Demeanour immediately shifting to that of alarm, Dillon looked all around, his movements much more jolted and sudden as he tried to visually locate the women and the car. No tire marks suggested they had just driven off-he would have heard them if they did, clearly-and no more tire tracks suggested the presence of anyone else recently.
Though this only raised more questions than answers.
"Tenaya! Summer!" Dillon shouted, his voice echoing across the empty plains, yet no reply came.
At least, not a reply from someone was hoping for.
"They're safe, I assure you."
Dillon whipped around again, and took a staggered step back.
The figure in white was back. And not only that, but right in front of him.
Instinct took over and he quickly fell into a fighting stance, fists raised and staring fire at the mysterious figure. Was this supposed to be his contact? He didn't look the part.
"What have you done with my friends?" Dillon demanded, turning on a tight spot as the figure paced around him, never once letting him leave his line of sight.
"I find it…amusing, how you think I had something to do with where they are now," the figure mused, his voice seeming to come from everywhere, except from his mouth. It echoed around, as if the his very surroundings were talking to Dillon.
"You said they were safe," Dillon quickly rebutted, his patience quickly fading.
"I did, though I said nothing that suggested I was the one that put them somewhere safe. I only gave my reassurance they were safe."
"I'm not in the mood for this. You tell me where my friends are, or we're gonna have a real problem, real soon," Dillon responded sharply, barely trying to hide the thinly-veiled threat as his flexed his hands, tightening his fists as he mentally prepared a plan of attack.
Zeta paused mid-step, slowly turning to face Dillon head on. He gave no verbal response immediately, instead settling on tilting his head to one side. A certain look in his crystal-clear eyes.
Was he…amused by the threat?
"Oh, if only you knew the extent of what you were facing…my mere presence in this dimension is sure to turn certain heads, and none of them for good reason. So,"
Zeta's hand suddenly rested on Dillon's shoulder, the latter not even realizing the white-clothed figure had closed the gap. Yet when he went to go for a punch, he found himself unable to move. He could only look at Zeta, his expression a sharp mix of fury and shock.
"Let's make this a quick trip, shall we?"
London, England
The streets of the City of Westminster were quiet; at this late an hour, that shouldn't have been that much of a surprise. Add to that the forecast proving true, and rain steadily pouring down from darkened clouds above, and the bitter cold wind that snaked through any crack and gap it could reach.
Only the streets seemed to bare any sort of life beyond the tightly drawn curtains and secured windows of the houses that flanked either side. The London taxis were in control of the streets at this hour, ferrying passengers back and forth from all across the capital.
One such black cab pulled over to an empty spot, a rare find, and briefly parked up.
"Aight gov'na, that'll be £25.62," the driver called back, applying the handbrake and leaning back in the driver's seat. The passenger in the back propped the door open and stepped out of the cab, immediately opening the black umbrella to shield him from the rain.
After a quick exchange of cash from one hand to another, and an utterance of "Keep the change," the passenger closed the taxi door. With a quick, parting tap of the horn, the taxi departed, revving engine quickly fading into the background of constant, heavy rainfall.
The umbrella deflected most of the raindrops as the passenger walked down the path, though the wind still whipped at the tails of his overcoat, rain managing to get through to cling to his trouser ends and slide down the perfectly polished Oxfords. A particularly strong gust of wind sent a heavy shiver down the back of his neck, instinctively drawing the navy scarf draped around his neck tighter.
Continuing down the pavement, he slowed to a halt, just short of a growing puddle, and looked up and to the side. The houses may have been near identical to one another around here, save for the bronze numbers attached to the front of each door.
But this particular number was exactly the one he was looking for.
Pushing open the black iron gates, and up the stone-slab path leading to the front door of the house, the man collapsed his umbrella as he stepped under the protective cover above the door, shaking off the rain. Raising his other hand, he gave a sharp, four-hit knock to the treated wood.
The doorbell was present at the side of the frame, but given the hour, a knock seemed far less disruptive.
Time seemed to drag out as he waited for some sign of life to emerge from within, as the rain continued to pour down. He glanced over his shoulder, noting the nicely looked after BMW parked outside before turning back to face the still closed door.
His hand raised, he was ready to deliver a set of knocks when a faint click came from the door. By the time he brought his hand back down to his side again, the door was pried open a fraction. Behind the sliver of the view inside, an elderly face greeted the man on the other side. A chain link lock strained between, keeping the door partially closed.
"…Master Elliot?"
A small smile spread across Elliot's angular face at the butler's voice, the small light hanging above the door finally highlighting his facial features, notably the kept black stubble across his cheeks and chin, leading up into the equally well-kept hair.
"Hello Benson," Elliot replied, brushing a bit of rain from his shoulder as he looked back to the cracked open door. "Is Milly still awake? Need to talk to her."
"I'm afraid Mrs Valerie has already retired for the evening, sir. H..Hold on a moment."
Benson quickly close the door abruptly, but before Elliot could give a reply, the door opened again; only this time, it opened entirely. Revealing the well-dressed elderly butler, dressed in a black suit and white shirt, complete with a tie.
"Why don't you come in for a moment, sir? I'm sure Mrs Valerie would mind more if I sent you away in weather like this," the elderly Benson offered, stepping aside to allow Elliot to step over the threshold.
An offer that Elliot quickly accepted, stepping through the frame and offered a thankful nod to Benson as he entered. He promptly took the offered umbrella from Elliot, shaking it free of any remaining excess water as Elliot walked down the wide hallway.
"Your jacket, sir?" Benson offered.
"Oh no, no it's fine thank you. Hopefully won't be stopping long," Elliot quickly replied, falling into step with Benson as he was guided through the house.
"Hopefully the weather will let up in the next half hour or so," Benson mused quietly, hands carefully folded over his front as he walked Elliot towards the kitchen. A dry chuckle escaped him. "Though considering how bi-polar the weather's been recently, I'll have my reservations."
Elliot gave a light chuckle of agreement in response, allowing Benson to take the lead as they entered the kitchen space. Perfectly polished grey marble countertops, smooth white surfaces and a separate central island countertop housing the sink. It was almost blinding to walk into it, especially after the time in the dark outside.
But Elliot's eyes quickly adjusted to the brightness, and immediately noticed that Benson had stopped just as quickly as he had. Surely his eyes didn't need that much adjusting too, right?
"Benson? Who's-Elliot?"
Standing to the far left of the kitchen, in front of the American-style fridge freezer, was a woman who looked about her mid-40s. Her dark skin almost stood out against the well-lit kitchen, though she was mostly covered up by the charcoal dressing gown she wore, sporting a faded yellow trim to the personalized bedwear. Beneath, she wore silken pyjamas, barely visibly underneath the tied-up dressing gown.
"Hey Milly," Elliot greeted casually, giving a small wave.
While it didn't earn him a verbal response, he got himself an eyeroll for his efforts. But from the smile across her features, there was no malice present.
"I took the liberty to invite Master Elliot in for a short while, Ma'am, less he have to make the return journey in the torrential rain," Benson elaborated, gesturing to the guest as he went to close the kitchen door behind them.
"It's fine Benson: why don't you retire for the night?"
"...Ma'am?"
"It's only El, Benson. I'm sure I only entertained him with a roll of string once," Milly continued, flashing a smile towards her friend. It widened when he rolled his eyes.
"We were in the middle of Afghanistan!" Elliot exclaimed, yet a smile spread across his own face as he recalled the very event that Milly brought up. "Besides, wasn't much else we could do at the time."
"I recall it being in the midst of a night raid, and we were supposed to keep watch," Milly added, earning an incredulous headshake from Elliot. "And there you were, pawing at a loose bit of carpet thread in the house we were held up in like a cat high on catnip."
"Well…if you are sure, Ma'am," Benson said slowly, a quick glance between the pair of old comrades being the final decider. With an additional nod, accompanied by both a 'Ma'am' and 'Sir' to Milly and Elliot respectively, the aged butler departed the kitchen, seemingly vanishing into the large house. Whether he would retire for the evening or not, who knew for sure.
"So," Milly resumed, "what brings you all the way to Westminster this late at night? Gabbi kicked you out again?"
"Nah, she's gone to visit her parents in Liverpool for the rest of the month," Elliot responded casually-a little too casual to Milly, but she said nothing-as he moved around to lean against the sink, digging around his coat pocket. He cleared his throat, pulling his iPhone from his pocket.
Milly paused, hand resting on the fridge door handle and about to open, as she turned back around to look at Elliot. That previously etched smile of his was gone, and another look had taken over his face. One that Milly didn't like one bit.
This had to be serious.
"Got a call from BP. Someone's been asking about our Enfer files."
Milly's jaw visibly tensed.
"Did they give any specifics?"
Elliot scrolled down his phone, tapping the screen intermittently.
"Ours seemed untouched, and Sarah's wasn't specified either."
Milly stepped away from the fridge and turned fully to face Elliot completely. Arms folding across her front, tugging her dressing gown closer.
"So that just leaves…"
"Arthur's," Elliot finished, turning his phone around to show the string of messages to Milly. "And that's exactly the file whoever was asking was after."
"What the hell would they want with Arthur's file?"
Elliot brought his phone back around and taped the screen a few times, eyes flicking up to face Milly again before he turned his phone to her once again.
"Might have something to do with our Wolf Ranger friends."
Milly took the phone from Elliot's offered hand, getting a closer look at the image on the small screen. She glanced up to him, which urged him to gesture to get her attention back to the phone. So she quickly glanced back down, looking over the several blurred images as she swiped them across.
"Yeah, the Pax Valley Wolves. But last I heard, they went MIA about seven months ago. Figured the Americans finally did them in."
"I think that's what the US Congress wants the people to think."
Milly glanced up once again, cocking an eyebrow at her friend's insinuation. Her other eyebrow quickly joined the first, expecting an answer from her non-verbal question. A prompt that Elliot picked up on quickly and responded as such.
"The same agent from the US contacted MI6 a few months back, asking for on a particular individual of interest…the Red Wolf Ranger, by the name of Isaac Bryne. A British citizen. Seems like he wanted to get some dirt early o-"
"Wait…Bryne?" Milly interrupted, flicking back a few pictures to a mugshot of the named teenager. Though the picture was blurred and the boy in frame was a bit busted up, a nametag was added beneath, clearly identifying the boy in question. "Wasn't…Didn't Arthur say his wife's last name was…" Milly's voice slowly died in her throat as the realization crept up on her. She almost let Elliot's phone slip through her fingers before she caught herself.
"You've got to be shitting me…"
"I wish I was," Elliot assured solemnly, leaning back against the countertop, elbows tensed to keep him supported.
"Our days as Knights may be long over, but we made a promise-on Arthur's dying breath-that we would step in should anything happen to his wife or son. I know this is really short notice, but I'm asking you to come with m-"
"I'm in."
"…Oh," came out of Elliot's mouth after the interruption, not entirely sure how to process the quick acceptance. He had kind of anticipated a little more persuasion. "That was…a lot less hassle than I anticipated."
"He saved our asses more times than I can count. We owe it to him," Milly stated, giving an affirming nod as she handed Elliot's phone back to him. "When do we leave?"
"Got a couple of plane tickets booked in a couple of hours, so just pack an overnight bag or something," Elliot informed, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "We can get anything else from the Embassy when we touch down State-side."
"On it," Milly agreed, quickly skirting past Elliot as she speed walked out of the kitchen, into the hall towards the flight of stairs. "Give me five minutes!"
"Oh! And we need to make a quick stop at the Palace before heading to the airport!" Elliot called, quickly rushing to the kitchen doorframe so Milly heard him.
"Time we picked up our swords, one last time."
TO BE CONTINUED...