187. The Earth Must Bleed part 2

November 18, 2004.

There is something special about this day.

I can't seem to remember what it is, though.

"…….," I paused in the middle of my walk. My metal fingers clenched.

I let out a confused sigh.

This day………

I shrugged it off and moved along.

I traversed the side of a pebbly, dirt road leading down an expanse of flat, flat, flat…….flat desert outside of East Las Vegas. The ground was yellow and brown with stony dryness. I had spent a good part of the day slowly walking towards my destination. I feared that—if I blurred into superhuman speed—I might either overlook the place that I was trying to find or possibly reveal myself to shady characters within the area.

And just where am I trying to go?

I stared ahead…down the dirt road. Towards the golden horizon under the hot, noonday Sun.

Shepherd Plain.

This is where Glover said I would find a Ranch.

And at this Ranch, I should find Jacob Anderson.

And with Jacob Anderson, there'll be a way into the 'Herculean Vault' somewhere in Las Vegas.

The Herculean Vault has a key.

And that key……will take me to Terra.

Even if it's on the other side of the world.

I sighed.

I pressed on. Backpack, shades, and all.

I had found a remote place to change from my dark clothes to a light tank top and gray slacks. My 'desert wear'. It helped little. I was still sweaty…smelly…and downright exhausted.

I at least wanted to get a good look at this 'ranch' first. And I was prepared for anything. So I had Myrkblade out in the open with its scabbard hanging on my back.

I kept my eyes peeled ahead, as a wooden fence appeared. A barrier to hold in cattle on a field barely lush enough to give anything something to graze on.

Who in the Hell would start a cattle ranch here?

I took a deep breath and followed the dirt road and wooden fence southeasterly.

Someone who didn't need to raise cattle.

Someone who merely needed a 'ranch' to hide out when the heat got too intense in the City of Lights.

Who is this 'Jacob Anderson' anyways?

I became aware of an 'end' to my path. The plateau was cutting off sharply into a nearby ravine. But something rested just short of where the ground dropped off into a dry, hot abyss.

A two-story building. A farmhouse—so it seemed—but with enough space for at least twelve living rooms on each floor. There was what looked like a cattle barn a few spaces away from the building site, and then also storage containers for water. There was not a single bit of livestock on the 'ranch'. No cars. Not any sign of living things.

It looked too surreal.

I felt a nagging suspicion…..

Could Blake Glover have been……mistaken about this place?

What's so special about Shepherd Plain?

I shook it off. I took a deep breath.

Concentrating, I covered my body from head to toe with a curtain of murk. The black tendrils of energy battled with the noonday sun and heat….but eventually won out. Soon there was nothing to be seen or heard of me as I entered stealth mode and crept on ahead. Slowly. Eyeing the area with invisible, shaded eyes of black.

I approached the front lawn of the ranch. A slight spray of grass lifted up weakly from the earth under the Beating Sun. A brief chill of November wins flew through me and kicked at the brown-green blades. I paused before them. Still cloaked, I reached hand out and poured forth a colorless stream of murk. With spatial sense, I checked the ground and the very foundation of the building. And I could detect no sensors that could take notice of my movement or proximity.

I saw nobody. I heard nobody. And I certainly didn't taste anybody.

"……."

I glanced right—invisibly—towards the cattle barn.

Nothing. Not even flies for manure.

"……"

I looked straight ahead again.

I crept forward.

Towards the front of the building.

The steps.

The doorway.

The parlor windows.

"……."

Everything was still.

A cold wind blew in from November's sigh, again invading the desert heat.

I came invisibly to the door. I breathed slowly….lightly. I craned my neck. I leaned my ear to the door. Listening…..

"…….."

I held my right hand out. I traced the edges of the door. I found cracks and spaces of air passing through the frame. I concentrated…..

I meditated….

I sent a current of smoke filtering in through the door and into the building. With spatial sense, I felt the floor and walls and ceiling for sensors, cameras, or anything that could at least optically detect me.

And I decided to risk it.

I held the murking currents firm.

I took a deep breath…..and teleported through the spaces in the door frame.

FWOOOSH!

I stood in the foyer of the ranch building. Solidified. Exposed and visible.

CHIIIING!

I yanked Myrkblade out of its holding and held it up high. Glancing left. Glancing right.

"……"

Nobody.

"……"

I have a bad feeling about this……

I gently lowered Myrkblade and forewent stealth mode as I slowly stepped down an adjacent hallway lined with parlor windows. My shaded black eyes looked every which way. Eyeing the shadows of corners and distant doorways. As I crept down the hallway, I heard a crackling sound. And then….

Voices.

'Snkkktttt……'

My eyes narrowed.

I gripped tighter to Myrkblade.

I crept forward.

'Snkkktt……reporkkkt……skkkt…'

I approached an entrance way to a room on my right.

There were lights on inside.

I held my breath.

I angled Myrkblade around.

I crept…..

'Snkkkttuxor……skkt……'

I snaked around the corner.

I saw the room.

And…..

There was no one.

But…

An office complete with three desks. All cluttered. Covered with printouts and files and sheets of data. It wasn't the after product of a ransacking. But rather—as I surmised—simply a very messy work area.

But for who?

There was a communication radio at one desk. It squabbled with spit static while I walked over and stared at the clutter and information detritus.

"Snkkkt……snkkktktest side of the Stripssnkktktk……crkkkkknderson for the tournamsnkktkkkt…"

I looked a file of what looked like some sort of budget. Figures in the hundreds of thousands and then in the millions. Issues regarding 'construction' and 'armament' and 'metropolitan favors'. I saw a map of Las Vegas with a tiny square along the central Strip highlighted and circled in red ink. A few spaces over, I saw a queer diagram. The specs for an AV-8B Harrier Jet. The name of Jacob Anderson over and over and over again. And finally…a photograph. No. And artwork. The conceptual sketch of a nonexistent (as far as I knew) casino with fountains and flaring torches on the front lawn…and titled: "Pompeii."

"………….," I took a deep breath.

And then the radio squealed:

"Snkkkkkttt…10-4. Approaching Shepherd Plain Ranch as instructed."

"!" I looked at the radio.

"Hope you got all our boys out of there, or else God rest their crappy souls. Snkkkktttt!"

I bit my lip.

I heard a rumbling noise.

"?"

I held Myrkblade up.

It's coming from outside the Ranch………

I quickly paced back into the front room.

I looked through the parlor windows.

Shaded eyes narrowing against the brightness.

Vrmmmmmmmm……

A hummer was driving up the dirt road from which I had come. Dirt and asphalt kicked up before bouncing lightly towards the desert, stone ground on either side. I could see the shapes of people inside. Driving the thing. Riding. All of them….arriving.

I exhaled a mute grunt.

I gripped Myrkblade tighter.

I looked behind me.

I saw a door beyond the cluttered office.

Slightly ajar.

I blurred to it.

CRACK!

I kicked it open.

A dimly lit hallway.

Leading down the length of the house.

I heard the hummer rumbling to a stop in the front lawn of the ranch. The engine cut off. Four pairs of footsteps. Four slamming doors.

I panted.

I blurred down the hallway.

I came to a junction of three doors.

I opened one.

Empty. Dead end.

I kicked open another.

Another office. Cluttered. Maps of Las Vegas on the wall. Crates full of crumpled papers. Dormant computers.

I turned.

There was another door. Straight ahead of me.

It had a heavy lock around the knob.

Footsteps on the front patio.

I took a deep breath. Lifted my right hand. Concentrated. Meditated. Spilled smoke into the lock. Filled it. Jiggled the tumblers-

CREAAAAK!

The front door opened.

Grumbling voices.

Snap!

The door unlocked. I pushed it open….and found myself staring down a long flight of stairs.

Too long.

I blinked.

The steps went down further than any normal basement would allow. The deeper the flight went, the more rickety and splintery the wood appeared to be. The walls turned from solid walls to almost medieval paneling. Like a French tunnel build during the Resistance.

I raised a confused eyebrow.

Voices. Footsteps.

I spun around, Myrkblade raised.

Breathing gently.

What am I running for?

I could go into stealth form.

If I'm careful, they wouldn't even know I'm here.

But……

I gazed over my shoulder and down the awkward passageway. The stairs led down to a glowing, amber-orange light. As if cast from flickering lanterns. An eerie kaleidoscope. Unseen. Hidden.

I have to learn more from this house……

I took a deep breath and crept towards the top of the underground stairs.

Besides……

I thought to myself.

It's not like the ranch is going to stand up and walk away-

"How much C4 do we need to blow this place anyways?"

I froze in step.

I glanced over my shoulder.

Blinking.

Another voice answered the other thug: "We've got more than enough. There's the barn to attend to as well."

"I'm just saying! They built this place to last! How can we expect in a single blow to—"

"Shut the Hell up. I didn't bring you along so I could hear your shit."

"….now just a damn seco—"

"Eh, let him be. Pffft. Freakin' loser."

"Go to Hell. Christ, I've got such a headache."

"Let's just get this over with."

Footsteps. Closer.

A body walked through the hallway-

"!" I flattened myself down against the first descending steps of the stairs. Cautiously posed, I peered up over the top steps at floor-level at the thug. I held Myrkblade firmly….ready to dash into the occasion if need be.

Can't beat these punks up.

Not yet.

Must……

Listen.

The man paced back and forth along the hallway some, staring point blanc at the walls and doors. He was middle-aged. Not too young and not too old. He was dressed in a suit that screamed 'casino bouncer'. A dark black coat eclipsing a white vest and dark slacks below. He had on even darker shades and a cliff of short, greasy-spiked hair. For all his ornate appearance and attire, I could easily surmise that he was nothing but a well-dressed nobody. An underling.

Jacob Anderson's?

He paused finally at a doorframe, held up a plastique with a detonator, and placed it firmly—beeping—on the wooden structure.

My lips parted.

And why are they blowing Shepherd Plain's ranch up?

Today of all days……

"I'm gonna miss this place, ya know….," the man smirked and walked back towards the other half of the ranch. "Especially the fun had downstairs."

"What do you know of that? Pfft….you're such a poser."

"Hey! The boss told me lots about it!"

"Yeah, then you'd be dead. He doesn't share that crap with ANYONE! Save his closest associates."

"Then how come you know so much?"

"I'm privileged."

"Heh."

"Say…is there anything special here that we need?"

"Yeah…there sure is an awful lot of shit lying around."

"Don't worry. Everything else we need has already gone to Pompeii. Much better facilities. More central to Vegas."

"All spared no expense by you-know-who, huh?"

"Luthor's a generous man."

"Heh…yeah….when he's got the panic button hidden way up his ass."

"Ha ha ha ha! Say, don't we need to put some of this crap downstairs too?"

"Just a second. I want to check the second floor."

"For what? Left some of your illegitimate children lying around up there?"

"Heheheh."

"God, don't you ever shut up? I just need to make sure no riff-raff, bum freaks broke into the place since we were here last."

"Yeah, good incentive."

"Ugh…my head. HURRY UP!"

"All right, already!"

Wandering footsteps.

Through the ceiling.

The foundations of the ranch house.

"………," I stared down the hallway. A beat. I looked at the C-4 stuck to the doorframe in the distance. "…….." I slowly turned and looked down the flickering-orange passageway beneath me.

A beat.

I've flirted death before.

There's still time……

Slowly, I got up and crouch-walked down the stairs.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

The wooden floors and walls were replaced…

With Earth.

Rock.

Stone.

Craggy, yellow desert bowels.

I slowly paced down, holding Myrkblade high.

I rounded a bend…and walked straight into the flickering aura.

And…

I slowed.

Blinking.

Staring at the scenery.

Beneath the unassuming, two-story ranch was an underground world of carved tunneling. And wedged between the yellow walls were obsidian, gothic metal slabs for doors. A secret chamber of sorts.

What kind of chamber?

Dare I ask?

I had very little time to speculate.

For as I rounded a bend in the rocky passageway, I glanced left into a torchlit alcove.

And I inevitably frowned.

The earthen wall was lined with metal nightmares.

A chair with its seat, back, and armrests lined with sharp, scythe-sharp spikes.

Another chair tilting up to face an array of metal, robot arms…each equipped with such hideous entities as a splitting knife, an axe-half, a hook, and a buzz saw.

An iron maiden that closed in quarters at the head, torso, abdomen, legs, and ankles. Each compartment with drill-like, spiraling spikes.

A wooden rack with leather straps. A headpiece with sharp, bone-piercing screws. A serrated stake positioned at a spot sinisterly between the leg fasteners.

A wall of hooks where dangling blades of various metal shapes and sizes hung in the flickering torchlight.

And everything. The chairs. The metal. The spikes and the blades.

They were all stained a rusted, permanent, red-brown.

And I could smell it.

The smell of torture.

And not just torture.

But another smell. A smell I had borne witness to during my early travels when I happened to traverse through the seedy, promiscuous parts of town.

My metal fingers clenched.

I slowly paced around the torture devices.

I stared down at the stone floor.

The yellow earth was splotching over with dried red.

Crusty and dull.

Rank…

I breathed it in anyways.

My teeth grit beneath my lips.

I fumed.

I looked about.

Across from the torture devices was a lush cheer with red padding. There was an open robe drenched over the back of it. A table next of it held a round tray with an empty champagne bottle and an unlit candle.

"……"

I turned and gazed at the end of the underground tunnel.

I saw three metal doors.

There were tiny, open grates at face-level within the metal slabs.

I walked over to one door.

I leaned up.

I gazed through grate.

Silence.

"……"

I grumbled mutely.

I closed my eyes.

I took my shades off.

Black optics naked, I opened them once again to the dark interior.

…..and wished I didn't.

I bit my lip.

Bile rose to the back of my scarred throat.

I shuddered and stepped back.

Exhaling.

It's been a while……

I looked at the next door.

It was slightly ajar.

I walked towards it….barely registering the sounds of footsteps upstairs in the ranchhouse.

Creeeeak!

I pushed the door open.

I gazed inside a tiny, dark room of rock.

"………"

There was…..more in there.

But nothing alive….if it even deserved to be 'alive'.

I closed my eyes momentarily. Meditated…swallowed the bitterness down….and turned towards the last door.

A pair of frightened eyes through the gate widened and disappeared with a gasp and a rustling sound.

"…….." I blinked.

A beat.

I took three heavy steps towards the door, lifted my leg, and-

CLANG!

I kicked the metal slab open. Torchlight immediately splashed inwards.

I stood in the doorway, frozen.

My lips parted and my dark eyes curved.

Two thin, shriveled figures scrunched desperately into the corner opposite of me. A shivering teenage boy and a middle-aged woman with brown, splotched hair. Wide eyes froze on me, and they shivered against each other. Skeletal limbs draping with red-stained, scrappy-excuses for shirts. Barely enough fabric left to cover their private parts.

A breath escaped me.

The teenager's eyes brimmed with tears. He mutely gasped and hid his face in the woman's bony shoulder. She shook more and more as I stepped into the room and stood over them.

"N-No nos lastime….," the woman trembled. "Haremos cualquier c-cosa que usted

pide. Por favor….no nos lastime…."

"…….," I stared down at them.

They shivered and huddled against each other.

I looked at Myrkblade in my grasp. I looked at them. I instantly sheathed it. CHIIING!

They jolted.

I held to hands up, crouching. My face round. I gently approached them and mouthed in English: 'It's okay. It's okay.'

They merely clawed against the wall as if to get away.

A lump formed in my throat.

Then….

Foosteps.

"Damn! This place smells!"

"Come on. Quit whining."

"What sort of shit goes on down here!"

I spun. I stood up straight. With a single breath, I tossed my shades back on, flew to the door, shut it firmly closed, and bounced back towards the two prisoners. The boy tried to scramble away and the woman let out half a weak shriek. I swiftly grabbed them both, hoisted them close to me, covered their mouths with a metal and flesh hand, and extended a cloak of invisible smoke over all three of us. I pressed us back into the hiding place within the shadows as the figures of the two thugs shuffled in through the thin slit of the metal door's grate.

And I listened….observing…..hiding the two….

"Damn! Look at this place! It's like a scene out of Braveheart!"

"Take one last look at it while you can."

"What is this place?"

"Jacob Anderson's 'private underground villa'. Or at least the former one. He's moved up a bit."

"What's he do down here?"

"More of a question of 'who' does he do down here."

"Excuse me?"

"You know all the 'special forgery' Anderson's always asking us to do? Editing missing persons reports?"

"Yeah…we do that all the time."

"Well, those missing persons came down here."

"What for?"

"Mr. Anderson's what you call…..erotophonophiliac."

"Say what?"

"Heh. He gets off by seeing people murdered. And I do mean REALLY murdered."

"Wow. No shit. Look at these things."

"Pfft. I'd rather not. It was enough Hell as it was trying to work in those damn offices upstairs with all the screaming going on at times."

"He'd do it while you guys were working?"

"Anderson does whatever he wants all of the time! Man…two months ago he had this one little brat. Cute as a button. Sheesh. Thought she'd never shut up."

A mean face peered into the chamber through the door's grate.

The two prisoners trembled.

I held them still.

Staring invisibly back.

Frowning.

A second face loomed behind the other one. "Whatcha lookin' for?"

The first pair of eyes narrowed. "I could have sworn Anderson had some more playthings down here."

"Really?"

"Yeah…some dumbass immigrants or something. But no matter….heheh….," he planted a blinking plastique explosive on the stone wall besides the doorway and motioned to the other thug. "Come on. Let's find the other two and get the Hell out of here."

The other shrugged and followed. Their voices grew more distant as they wandered up the stairs. "Kind of a shame to blow this place up. Won't Anderson hate it or something?"

"Nah. He's got all his new stuff at the new place. Or at least, I'm guessing so."

"Oh….besides the fighting arena?"

"Yeah. And I hear there's a match tonight!"

"Kickass! Who's up?"

"Well, there's this guy from Bludhaven….."

Silence.

"……….," I craned my neck. I sensed no disturbance in the light or shadows from the other side of the door. "……"

I took a deep breath.

I stood up, losing the cloak of invisibility.

I shoved the metal door open.

CREAAAAK!

I stared out.

The dungeon was empty.

"….."

I turned my head…and got a nose full of plastique.

I winced from the proximity of the blinking light on the detonator.

I took a shuddering breath.

Sweating a bit.

I swallowed.

I stared back into the tiny room.

The two prisoners were still hugging each other. And they were still staring at me. But…for some reason…

They weren't shivering anymore.

"……..," I smiled painfully. I gently stretched a flesh hand out towards them….and motioned towards me.

There is something special about today.

But……

I still can't put my finger on it.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

"So…like….do we have the bombs on a timer or something?"

"Nah. This is gonna be done remote. There's no way in Hell I wanna be ANYWHERE close to this dump when it goes."

"Let's take off, already. The fight's tonight."

"Take it easy. I'm just giving the place one final look over.

"Nnnngh…."

"Jeez…we're gonna be here FOREVER!"

I crept up into the hallway.

I had Myrkblade in one hand.

I extended a field of murk with the other and felt around the corners.

With spatial sense….

I realized the men were safely far away in the front of the parlor.

I took a deep breath.

I looked over my shoulder.

I motioned.

Trembling, the middle-aged woman and the teenage boy hobbled after me. Pale cheekbones. Nervous, round eyes. Eyeing the bright walls and breathing quickly…like dying squirrels.

I walked ahead of them, motioning them to take it slow.

I peered around a corner.

I saw a cluster of the men in the foyer, their backs to me.

"……."

Not a good time to engage them. Not when they have their fingers on exploding the entire ranch house.

I looked behind me at a room I hadn't explored yet.

Or when I have innocent lives to attend to……butchered as they may be……

I slowly opened the door to the room behind me.

There was light inside, filtering through a rear window to the opposite side of the ranch house from the front lawn.

I smiled.

Good Noir……

"Hey! You hear that?"

My insides froze.

The two victims shivered.

"Shhh!"

"Listen….."

I bit my lip.

Silence….dreadful silence….

"It's a motorcycle…."

"?" I craned my neck.

I saw the back of all four thugs' heads. They peered out through the sunlit parlor windows. I couldn't see much in the front lawn…save for a cloud of dust kicking up in yellow glory.

"…..," My black eyes narrowed.

"The Hell?"

"Who is that?"

"One of Anderson's freak friends?"

"Bad news….that's what he is."

"You know him?"

"No. Not like I care….," the leader of the group whipped out an uzzi and turned the safety off. "Get ready, guys. We'll smoke him and toss his body into the exploding crapheap if we have to."

"Right behind you…."

A rumbling sound increased, then came to a stop. I saw a corner of what looked like the front chassis of a Harley-Davidson outside. Then…a pair of black boots. A shifting….and then the boots marched towards the front of the ranchhouse.

The four men faced the door.

The leader walked over, opened the entrance, and stepped out onto the shaded porch. He disappeared beyond my sight, but could still be obviously seen by the other three, nervous thugs.

"Hey you! Off limits, pal! Turn around and head back to casino country!"

Silence.

I blinked.

I looked down my hallway at the two victims.

They glanced at me, nervous.

I motioned for them.

They shivered and hurried to my side.

I gently pushed them into the sunlit rear room behind me. I closed the doors gently—but not without holding up a finger and mouthing: 'Wait here!'

"Hey! Did you hear me?"

I crept back to the passage to the parlor.

I stared out at the half hidden unfolding. Holding tight to Myrkblade.

"I said….turn back!" the voice of the leader said outside. The three continued watching, gripping their uzzis.

A beat.

"Yo! You deaf or something-hey! Hey hey hey! SHIT! Where did you get that-"

BL-BLAM!

Gunfire. But it wasn't an uzzi.

My lips parted.

A shotgun?

WHAM! SWOOOOSH!

The thug leader's headless body was shoved violently back into the parlor from the outside by a blue streak of limbs and denim.

The other three screamed and cursed. They raised their uzzis and took fire.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

RAT-A-TAT-TAT!

The blue stranger had a shotgun in his hand. A shotgun that suddenly….disappeared.

There was a silver spray of light as the figure leaned back, and soon he was blurring something cold and metal in his hurried grasp like a fan.

CL-CL-CL-CL-CLANG!

The bullets deflected and flew into the walls.

Everywhere.

The thugs gasped and tried to reload.

A silver light.

The blue figure took a breath and pounced forward. He dove between two bodies, flickered silver, rolled on the ground, and stopped on his knees with two pistols suddenly in his hands and aiming at the back of the two bodies upside down and in reverse.

B-BANG!

The two thugs jolted, red liquid spraying.

Guns tropping to the floor.

The woman prisoner hiding in the room was screaming at the chaos.

Nobody heard her or nobody cared.

One of the shot bodies stumbled to the floor, convulsing.

The other lingered, wheezing and gurgling on his feet.

The blue figure stood up. He was dark-haired. Young. He twirled-

A flash of light.

The pistols disappeared.

A spinning thing of silver metal.

SHVVVVVVV! THUNK!

The spinning breezed through the man's neck, lopping his head clean off. His body fell wetly to the floor.

The last thug stumbled back, murmuring. Struggling with his gun.

The blue figure turned. Glared. Marched towards the man.

"G-Get back!" the thug struggled, stumbling backwards.

I watched from the hallway.

Breathless.

"GET BACK!" the thug shouted.

The figure's hand flashed silver, turned empty, flashed again, and suddenly held a shotgun.

The same shotgun as earlier.

Without hesitating, he lifted the shotgun one-handed and took out a meaty chunk of the thug's shoulder.

BLAM!

"AAAAH!" the man slumped back against a wall lining the hallway.

"!" I ducked out of view. I sat on the floor—hidden—holding Myrkblade up. My back was to the wall…and I felt the vibration of the wounded thug's shuddering body through the foundation as he slumped against the edge of the parlor on the other side. He was panting. Hyperventilating. Bleeding.

There was a silver light.

Then that same kiss of spinning metal in the air.

SHVVVVVVVvvvvv-Clack!

The metal locked into place.

And…..a beat.

The thug's shivering still vibrated through the walls.

I took a deep breath.

He hasn't been killed.

The stranger is sparing him……

"Wh-What do you want from m-me?" the thug murmured.

The stranger had a voice.

Low and breathy.

Like it could explode from exhaust fumes at any time.

"The Herculean Vault. Tell me where it is. Now."

I blinked.

The thug shuddered through the wall. "Who in the Hell are y-you!"

"Tell me where the Herculean Vault is. Now."

"I-I can't….I c-can't tell you that!"

"…………….," very well.

SWIIIISH-THUNK!

A violent thrust through the walls.

Then a shaking scream.

"AAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAUGH!" the thug bellowed. He whimpered. He trembled through the ranch house.

There was a shuffling sound as the stranger knelt down.

His voice hissed: "I'm going to give you a choice now. Either you tell me where the Herculean Vault is…or we'll find out if your other testicle is just as bloody as its former brother."

"Nnnnghhhh-Jesus!

Please…I'll tell you….mmrphh…..I'LL TELL YOU!"

A nasty, grating sound as something sharp cutted deeper.

The wall vibrated in an agonizing convulsion.

"I'm not….hearing….an answer…..yet…."

"Mrmmmph…Pompeii. POMPEII!"

"Too simple an answer. How do I know Anderson has the Vault at his new casino?"

"Nnnghhh! I swear! He's got it! T-T-Top floor next to his o-office! Next to the hidden hangar b-bay! Nnngh….it's there, okay! The Vault is THERE!"

"And the fights I've heard about?"

"Yes! YES! H-He's going to open the Vault t-t-to give away the—nnnghhh—reward!"

"……………"

"Mmmrphhhnnnghh!"

"……………."

Slkkk!

A retracting jolt.

The wall shuddered.

The thug panted…panted…panted…

His lungs somehow refilled.

A shuffling of feet as the stranger stood up straight.

"You've been most helpful…."

"M-Most helpful?" the unseen thug panted. Shuddering in pain. "D-Do you have any god damn c-clue how screwed I am! Anderson's going to kill me now!"

The stranger breathed: "No….he won't."

A flashing aura of silver.

A cocking sound.

Half a beat, then—

BANG!

The wall exploded barely half a foot from my head as a single bullet sailed through and impacted a doorframe on the other side.

I gasped mutely. I looked to my right.

Warm blood seeped out from the bullet hole in the wall beside me.

On the other side: "…..Anderson isn't the only one in this world entitled to…..pleasure." Monotone.

The sound of someone blowing the barrel of a gun. A flash of silver….and then swiveling, shuffling footsteps.

The ravenous stranger left through the door from which he came.

"……..," I slowly craned my neck. I crept stealthily around the end of the hallway. I peered into the parlor. "……."

Four bodies lay.

Two missing heads.

Blood.

"…….."

I looked left.

What was left of the last thug lay on his side. A rainbow streak of blood arched down to where his leftover cranium rested on the floor. There was a great deal missing from his shoulder and crotch.

"…….."

I gazed up through the parlor windows.

I held Myrkblade and nimbly crouch-walked over the bodies till I had a good hiding place to stare out from….

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

The stranger walked to his motorcycle. A simple, non flashy motorcycle of faded…industrial metal. It looked like it needed polishing. It also looked like he didn't care.

He was young. Barely past his teen years, and yet adult in the glare of his eyes.

Stone-hard, blue eyes. A royal, bloody blue. A compliment to his blue denim jeans and dark blue undershirt. He had a black, leather jacket thinly veiling his torso. Rusted chains hung from his belt-waist. There was a constant glare about his face, topped with short-short black hair. Like someone back from some military service for about two weeks.

As he walked to his bike, he let out a breath through is nostrils and flicked a pair of silver-tipped fingers.

Flash!

In a silver flash of light, a key appeared in his grasp. He instantly saddled the bike and stuck the suddenly-existing key into the ignition. Vrmmm-Vrmmm-Vrmmm!

He didn't wear a helmet.

He gripped the handles and seemed just about to take off down the road when—he stopped. His head jerked towards the ranch house.

"……"

His hard blue eyes narrowed.

As if seeing something through the walls.

"…………..hmmph….."

He braced himself on the bike.

Leaned his torso back and up.

Extended his hands.

And….

Flaaaaash!

Silver pinpricks of light fluttered over his shoulder, like swarming metal butterflies. And as instantly as the light appeared, everything solidified hard and real into a bazooka.

He squinted one eye, clenched his jaw, and—

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

"!"

My black eyes exploded under my shades.

CRUD!

I spun around.

I leapt over the bodies in the parlor.

I blurred into the hallway.

I burst into the room.

I swept a pair of gasping prisoners with my arms.

Trailing smoke, I zoomed straight towards the windows.

I dove—

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

SHOOOOOOOOOOOOOM-PHWOOOOOOOOOOOMB!

The rocket-propelled-grenade flew into the heart of the Shepherd Plain ranch house and exploded in a brilliant fireball. Flames flew up into the bright desert sky for a peaceful moment of oblivion until the flames inevitably consumed the C-4 entities scattered within the blaze of Hell and—

BOOOM-BOOOM-BOOOM-BOOOM-BOOOM!

The ground practically vomited lava from a brand new crater.

The earth shook.

Thunderous concussions sailed across the desert ravine beyond and echoed for a full forty-five seconds.

The stranger stared at all of this with not even a flinch. His eyes merely narrowed from the cloud of burning dust.

"………..," he sighed. He pivoted the bazooka launcher in his grasp and tapped his silver-tipped fingers against it.

Flash!

A dance of silver.

And it was gone.

He gripped the handles of the bike again.

Revved the engines…

And screeched away from the flaming holocaust.

Westward along the dirt road.

Towards Las Vegas.

VRMMMMMM!

And all that was left behind was…

Destruction.

……..

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

I was nestled on a craggy ledge just below the dip into the ravine.

I hugged the shivering bodies of the woman and boy to me. Keeping them safe. Keeping all of us from falling down the length of the sloping ravine into the valley below.

I was panting….sweating….shuddering from my last ditch exercise.

The all-too-exhausting act of blurring out of an exploding building with two helpless bodies in my grasp.

As light as they were.

I took a deep breath.

I climbed up onto the level ground, facing a cloud of smoke and the not-to-distant plume of flame and ash that was once the ranch house.

"………."

I stared up at the clear sky.

The smoke and dust climbing.

Red and yellow.

There is something special about this day.

But it doesn't seem to matter anymore.

I turned, knelt, and hoisted the other two up.

They stood by my side, mute, trembling in fright.

They stared at the burning remains of a former realm of nightmares.

It was just long enough for me to zip open my backpack and grab a water bottle for them…

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

That night.

November 18, 2004.

7:06 pm.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

"Looks like a concussion. Let's get him checked out. The glass cut and sprained leg can wait. We've also got a dog bite to take care of. Those take priority."

"Yes, doctor," a nurse nodded. She took a clipboard from him and shuffled across the Emergency Room of a busy hospital in Eastern Las Vegas. Hospital beds surrounded by blue drapes muffled the voices of those moaning in pain…being treated to one by one at the hands of physicians and paramedics bustling about the place.

The doctor—a young man of Indian descent wandered out into the waiting room and gazed past the seated figures at a pair of automatic doors. A dark, desert-eclipsed City flashed chaotically outside.

"Dammit…Martha? Where are you?" he took a moment to grumble and rub his temples. "We have these sort of duel shifts for a reason."

Then the doors….

Schwiish!

A gasp.

"Doctor!"

He looked over. His lips parted. "Mother of God…."

Nurses suddenly flocked around, gasping, as I lead the two weathered, limping souls in. They hobbled…leaning against me. Faces spent with pain and anguish…yet laced with something else. Something warm. Their gangly, thin limbs shivered under blood-stains clothes.

The doctor rushed over. "What happened to these people?"

"Someone grab some wheelchairs!"

"No! Stretchers! Stretchers immediately!"

"Here…easy…easy….," the doctor and a few nurses came over and took the limbs of the two.

I quietly handed the two over.

The doctor took a close look as other spare paramedics swarmed in. "Multiple, aged lacerations. Internal trauma. D-Dislocated shoulder?" He looked up. "What on Earth happened to these—"

He blinked.

"Sir?"

He looked around.

"M-Mister?"

I was gone.

The two prisoners soon found themselves in very capable hands.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

9:08 pm.

Las Vegas Boulevard.

The Mid-Strip.

Lights glittered.

Cars drove in swarms.

People in thicker swarms.

Families and tourists in energetic droves.

Wandering past the fountains and antique spectacle of Treasure Island.

The pale and beautiful architecture of The Venutian and its artificial, glittering streams.

The frothy, fiery fountains of The Mirage. A huge, Technicolor volcano vomiting joyously into the desert night's sky.

People paused to take photos. Pointing, laughing merrily.

"….."

I stumbled through it all like a zombie.

My breath cold.

My body colder.

An ice pick in the desert.

I stared away from the blinding lights to my black eyes and glared at the sidewalk panels beneath me.

Maybe I was weathered by the horrors I had seen that day.

Maybe I was just simply sick inside.

Maybe it was that constant, gnawing feeling that distracted me like everything else.

Something about this day……

The spectacle in front of the Mirage exploded again.

I looked over.

I shuddered.

Seeing instead a fiery plume in the middle of the desert.

Where the smell of rust and blood still filled the air.

Jacob Anderson……is a man doing evil things………underneath all of this?

A family passed by.

A mother and father arguing about directions.

An infant asleep in the stroller.

I gazed. Smelling and looking like a ragged, cross-country bum.

All of this is a disguise. For Triangular. And at the same time……for the sick perverts that Triangular hires. What is Luthor doing here? Or Dagger?

I scanned the glittering horizon all around me.

The carbon monoxide bloodstream of Las Vegas Boulevard pumping north and south.

Where is this 'Pompeii'?

The Herculean Vault is there. No doubt a site of interest for other……gifted fighters besides myself.

And Anderson……

Once I found Terra, would she also be subjected to the horrors I had seen?

A sharp chill ran through me.

And…..surrounded by people who didn't recognize my filthy self.

I hugged my own body to me.

Sighing.

"……….."

"I know what you're thinking….," said a warm….warm voice behind me. "Something has been lost today."

"…..," I blinked. I turned around and looked.

The Messenger smiled at me. His hands in his pockets. "Something special and sacred and precious that you can't seem to remember."

"………..," I stared at him.

He stared back at me. A smile on his face. A broken but honest smile.

Silence…..

……..

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

Several minutes and quite a long walk later…

We sat on a bench just outside the front pavilion of New York New York. A synthetic skyline of skyscrapers and the Statue of Liberty stretched tall behind us.

"I was there, Noir," the Messenger softly spoke. "Invisible. Watching with the only eye I could spare….at Robin's funeral."

I took a deep breath. My arms crossed. Staring down past my feet as a cold November breeze dipped down into the desert valley and teased us.

He had his fingers touching...almost meditatively. He sat cross-legged next to me in a fashion that was so cute that I wanted to punch his damn face in.

"There were many people who were at Robin's funeral, Noir," he said with a gentle smile. "Many of them moreso in spirit than in any other form." He looked sideways at me. Those chocolate, almond eyes and the tiny spikes of green hightlights shifting lightly in the wind. "Not everyone can afford to be there physically. But that doesn't mean they aren't sincere."

I took a shuddering breath.

My black eyes shifted a bit from underneath my shades and I gazed eastward momentarily. Towards where the land sloped down into gentle, starlit plains. A house. A barn. A blue-eyed blonde with a cape.

"All I am….all I'll ever be….," the asian Teen gently spoke, "…is a humble messenger."

I took in a sharp breath, looking away from him.

"I tried to warn Robin. I did," he spoke. "But all of that is in the past now. And I am not about to say that the Boy Wonder was foolish. He was never foolish. Never folly in any manner. He knew that which needed to be done….and he did it. His death was just part of a long list of deeds that needed be done to help preserve the Balance of Morals. Otherwise….you wouldn't be here."

"…….," I finally mustered the strength to look at him.

He smiled. "For you, Noir….Robin isn't entirely in the past……now is he?"

"………"

He pointed: "His contract. His purpose. His very drive….lives on inside you. That is something he would have been so, immensely proud of." His smile faded a bit to gentle solemnity. "Especially when so many others of his comrades have…….lost hope…."

"………."

"Where does your hope lie, Noir? What drives you to do this? To cross the country so gallantly in an attempt to save a girl you never even knew….much less know if she still stands in one, stony piece?"

"……..," I gazed back down to the floor.

He placed a hand on my shoulder, smiling again. "It certainly isn't all thanks to the mere words of a redeemed journalist, is it?"

I looked at him again. Lips parting.

The Messenger nodded. "Glover……he has done his part well. He has found his purpose."

"……," I blinked.

"I interceded on his behalf a long time ago. And though he was touched by many others….he worked out in your benefit in the long run. It was what I required of him. Because I knew that when it would become crunch time—and Zeus almighty did it become crunch time, Noir—he would do the much needed job for me. And he did. The message was delivered. Much better than I could ever deliver it. Terra is only days away from saving."

I leaned my head to the side, staring at him.

The Messenger took a deep breath. With a sudden shadow over his face, he stood up, dug his hands into his green sweatjacket's pockets, and paced to a stop away from the bench some. "………Glover…..Glover reached the end of his life, much the same way he reached the apex of his enlightenment."

I blinked.

What?

He turned and looked at me. A painful smile. "He's dead, Noir."

My heart fell.

"Red Aviary took him."

I gritted my teeth. For suddenly my left arm was shivering. I clutched the metal wrist and panted.

The Messenger swiveled to face me directly. Lights and enthused tourists passed to and fro behind him for city blocks on and on and on.

"And I have been too busy as of late and too occupied with the crazy currents of things to have been there for him. But nobody can be in every place at once. Your heart stays with the Titans—I know—but you must be here. And you know what, Noir?"

I looked up at him. I swallowed a lump down my throat and mouthed: 'What?'

"When I tell you that you must be here….that is not insistence on my part."

"?"

He took a deep breath. "This….This is your journey, Noir." He smiled. "Your journey and your journey alone. I am only here….to help you this time."

"….."

"And not to force you along your way."

I tilted my head forward, eyes thin.

You mean……

This all isn't your grand, well-coordinated idea?

I often wondered if he was a telepath.

I learned to realize it didn't matter one bit.

"You come here to do a noble thing, Noir…," he pointed. "And now that I can offer my services. I'm here to help you. So you won't get lonely and all that jazz. Heheheheh."

"……"

"…..ahem….fine….so you can get Terra safely too. Happy?"

"………," I smirked.

"Million dollar shot!" he dramatically waved his arms. "Now….I've done my bit of research in this lovely city of sin. And I'm bet you're itching to hear all about it so you can go on to the next move."

"……," I nodded fervently.

"Well…..I just realized something," he pointed at me. "You're one sweaty, starving son of a gun."

I bit my lip.

He winked. "Not very dashing to sneak into Triangular's hideouts when you're smelling like Billy Bob Thorton's crotch. Here…." He flicked his wrist and tossed me something.

"!" I caught it with a jolt.

A hotel room key.

"Got a place for you….don't ask me how," he gestured. "I've got 'powers that be' in this place as much as in…..'the next'."

Yeah, whatever……

I turned the key over in my palm.

"Go there. And go to bed, Noir," he pointed. "Wash up, get rested…and sleep. That way, you'll be in the right mind and body for me to bore you to sleep tomorrow with all of my glitzy, ambiguous information."

I shuddered forth an anxious smile.

You got that right.

"And no….I'm not sharing the room with you," he stuck his tongue out. "Never on a first date."

I rolled my eyes.

Please.

I paused.

He was staring at me.

Silent.

He smiled: "You don't remember what day it is, do you, Noir?"

"………"

He shook his head. "It'll never cease to amaze me. That's one reason why I've always chosen to pick on you, Noir. And not some selfish, shallow dope…..like Speedy for example."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Just kidding. Anyways….you'll remember what this day is soon enough. Or else, my name doesn't start with an 'S'!"

I blinked.

Your name starts with an 'S'?

I looked at him.

But he was gone.

"………"

Just what day is it anyway?

I sighed.

I looked at the key in my grasp.

I blinked.

Beneath the room number, there was a word.

'Luxor'.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

11:37 pm.

Past the glittering Sphinx replica.

The obelisk.

The streaming beam of blue light piercing up into the desert sky.

I walked numbly, tired, confused and yet strangely elated all the same.

The Messenger……

Is he really here to help me?

Can things really be helped……if even his words couldn't stop Robin from……

Before I knew it, I had scaled the floors of the pyramid.

I glanced over the ledge of room doors into the check-in lobby below. The polished, ivory floor reflected electric lights back up at me. I stared up at the inward sloping rows of floors and hotel room doors.

I would have mesmerized if I wasn't so….

Superheroic……

I found the room number matching my key.

Fourth floor.

Pyramid room.

I slid the key into the lock.

This day……

I twisted.

There's something special about this day……

I opened the door and walked into….air conditioning.

But I just can't put my finger on it.

I closed the door behind me.

And.

I breathed.

Two beds.

A bath.

A t.v.

A sloping window, blue tinted.

Papyrus colors to the furniture.

A single lamp softly illuminating the first mattress and its covers.

And….

There was a folded package of tissue paper on the edge of the bed.

With a single scrap of paper as a note on top of it.

"……."

I walked over.

Dropping my backpack to the floor.

My scabbard.

My shades.

I stood in dust-covered, light shirt and pants.

I picked up the package.

I looked at the note.

And my heart froze momentarily.

'Happy B-Day, Noir.'

'Sincerely,'

'the Messenger'.

I took a deep breath.

That's right.

November 18.

I forgot……

I smiled crookedly. Painfully.

I'm……eighteen today…

A blink.

I looked at the package.

But how did he know?

I shook that off.

I lethargically ripped the tissue paper open.

I took out something heavy.

Metal.

With polished wood paneling-

I froze.

My lips quivered.

And though I didn't, something young and dead inside of me wanted to cry.

It was a harmonica.

I swallowed, bit my lips, and hugged the musical instrument to my chest.

A shuddering breath.

Thank you……

I gazed out the blue tinted window.

Strangely warm.

I know I will find Terra now.

I will find her.

My black eyes closed.

I shuffled over.

I collapsed into the bed.

An exhale.

I will………