Chapter 8: Nightmare I
As the last remnants of daylight were extinguished by the night, Dante and Law emerged from the tavern, satiated from the chicken soup they had just consumed. They took a leisurely stroll back home, observing the townsfolk going about their nightly routines of returning home or frequenting local drinking establishments.
Knowing that the peace would soon be shattered by chaos, the two men hastened to prepare for their night of terror upon returning to the inn. They meticulously removed any trace of evidence from their room and checked out at the front desk before standing motionless in the street, waiting for the shadows to envelop them.
As a guard passed by, the two men acknowledged him with a polite nod before standing still and observing the crowds as daylight dwindled into darkness. Once the shadows had enveloped them, Law handed over his backpack to Dante without a word. Dante slung the backpack over his own and adjusted to the added weight, while Law received a suitcase from Dante, its latch replaced by a faded red button. Law's throat tightened as he accepted it, both men silently acknowledging that this might be their last encounter.
"Remember, to try your best to avoid any populated areas. We want to create noise but not harm anyone," Law whispered.
Law watched as Dante walked away, feeling a pang of guilt tightening his chest. He glanced around, taking in the smiling faces of the town's citizens, and couldn't help but frown. "I'll be the worst thing that's happened to this town in a generation," he thought to himself.
As he made his way towards the prison, Law's mind raced with thoughts of what was to come. He knew the risks of what they were about to do, but he also knew that it was necessary to achieve their goal. Each step felt heavy as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. As he passed by the prison cells, he could hear the faint sounds of prisoners talking and laughing. It was a stark contrast to the silence that would soon follow.
He paused for a moment, his hand instinctively reaching for the button on the suitcase. He could feel the weight of it in his hand, and the thought of what it contained made his heart race. But he knew it wasn't time yet. There were still too many people around, and he needed to bide his time until the darkness swallowed the streets.
Looking around, he spotted a dimly lit bar nearby. It seemed like a good place to pass the time and gather his thoughts. He entered the bar and took a seat at the counter, the worn wood groaning beneath his weight.
The bartender, a young woman with jet black hair and a bright smile, approached him. "What can I get you?" she asked, her voice filled with forced warmth.
Law hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. He wasn't much of a drinker, especially before a job but he knew he needed something to calm his nerves. "Just a beer, please," he finally replied.
The bartender nodded and quickly poured him a cold glass of beer. As Law took a sip, he could feel the cool liquid calming his frayed nerves. For a moment, he forgot about the suitcase and the weight it held. A smile crossed his face as he looked down at the beer; it was genuine beer and not the piss water he had received in the subworld.
As he looked around the bar, he couldn't help but notice the other patrons. They were a motley crew of prison guards, students, and other locals. He wondered if any of them had any idea of what was about to happen. He couldn't shake the guilt that was gnawing at his insides. His eyes fell towards the counter, as if it could solve all his problems. His thoughts were broken by the approach of the waitress.
"Are you leaving soon?" She asked, smiling at him. She saw his confusion and pointed down to the suitcase.
Law's eyes widened in recognition, and he forced a grin on his face, "Yeah, I am actually departing tonight. Finishing up on a job here and departing toward the next location."
"What exactly do you do, mister?" She said, leaning in closer.
Law looked at her, weighing whether this was genuine interest or a tactic to get a tip. He watched her eyes. A glint of childlike curiosity masked away by the dead eyes of adulthood. "Ah. Both," he noted in his head. She did not really care, but she knew that talking was the easiest way to pass time in this place. Looking over at the other patrons, it became apparent why she had found him interesting, as all the bar was filled with prison guards, students, and deadbeats. All her usual customers, but with him, he was foreign and different.
"I am a medicine man."
"Like a doctor?" She asked in curiosity.
"I do have some knowledge in basic first aid, but my expertise lies in creating different medications to alleviate pain and treat various ailments," Law explained. He then leaned in slightly and lowered his voice, "And between you and me, I was actually in town selling a special medication for a group of men who were experiencing some performance issues, if you catch my drift." He finished with a playful grin, feeling a slight warmth in his cheeks from the alcohol.
The waitress chuckled in glee, the dull eyes being replaced by that genuine curiosity. "Now this I gotta hear more about." She reaches over, grabs his glass and fills it once more.
Law stared at the drink and then up at her, what did he have to lose as the time had to be wasted.
Meanwhile, Dante prowled through the city's labyrinthine streets, slipping into shadowy alleyways and concealed nooks of the Institute. He quickly unzipped the backpack, deftly tossing the tennis ball to strategic locations. He carefully concealed the dimly glowing detonation device amid the scattered debris and trash. Dante's slight build allowed him to nimbly navigate the urban terrain. He waited for the cover of night, slipping into the stream of people moving through the city's streets. With his unassuming presence, he blended seamlessly into the crowds, disappearing into the shadows at will.
"That makes five." Dante whispers after planting his fifth tennis ball, pulling himself back away from the restaurant dumpster that he had stashed it in.
He turns to make his way out of an alley before hearing a voice call out to him. "Hey! What are you doing?" Dante feels a shiver up his spine as he turns and stares at a guard strolling toward him.
"Just throwing away some trash, officer." Dante replied, trying his best to suppress his fear. He turns away and tries to walk away, but hears the officer approach and scream at him.
"Well this is a private dumpster, you can't just be dumping your trash in…" the officer stopped talking as he approached Dante and saw him, "You are that freak, I've been hearing about."
Dante froze and turned in both shock and confusion. Had this man truly just called him a freak to his face. "What?"
The officer grins slightly, before supplanting it with a deep frown, "Front gate talked all about the subworlder who walked in our walls. Hell, I've even been hearing the drunks talk about a little freak skulking about. What were you really doing, digging in the trash for food?"
Dante's surprise gave way to anger, and fear. This man wasn't just insulting him in his face, but attempting to intimidate him with the officer's hand subtly placed on his holstered gun.
"What? Is the little subworlder unable to talk? Cat got your tongue?" He pushes Dante backward with his free hand.
Dante stumbles but stays standing, "I had asked you a question, what were you really doing, Rodent?" The officer hissed the final word out of his mouth, stepping forward to show off their height distance.
Dante looked down, "Have you ever heard of the pale punk?"
The officer grins, removing his hand from his gun and placing it on top of Dante's head, gripping his hair and yanking it back, forcing him to look up at him. Staring into Dante's blank eyes, he responds, "No. Is that supposed to mean anything to me? Oh, don't tell me that's your little nickname. I prefer freak more."
Dante's eyes glean with fury, "It was my nickname while I was a part of the Iron Bulls." He shoves the officer back and stares down the man as he struggles to unholster his gun.
"What was I doing, you ask. I was busy planting explosives all across the city in order to cause a little havoc, but since you are in my way, I guess I'll have to do something about you."
The officer's serious demeanor dissipated as he burst into laughter, his gun shaking with each chuckle. "Oh, you're quite the fun freak," he said, still chuckling. "How exactly do you plan on..."
In an instant, Dante closed the small distance between him and the officer, reeled his fist back, and slammed it forward into the man's groin. The officer's knees faltered, and he buckled under his own weight, whimpering in pain. Dante acted quickly, grabbing the officer's pistol and yanking it from his grasp. With swift precision, he whipped the weapon down into the man's temple, knocking him unconscious. The entire event occurred in a matter of seconds, no more than ten at most.
Dante looks down at the crumpled, unconscious body of the guard and spits on him. "That's how, you piece of shit."
He grabs the guard by the legs and drags him towards the dumpster, placing him firmly in between the bags of trash that surround it. He looks at the dumpster, seeing the light red glow emanating off the metallic lid.
"Let that be your alarm clock."
Dante bends down, retrieving his bag, and resumes his task of scattering the bombs across the city. With each toss, he feels a sense of guilt as he imagines the chaos that will ensue. The memory of the guard and the townsfolk that stared at him tempered his guilt, and allowed anger to supplant it.
He throws the tennis balls into alleys, rooftops, and bushes, making sure they are well-hidden in and around abandoned research buildings, water pump stations, and public bathrooms. Finally, his task complete, he takes a moment to catch his breath and survey his work. Satisfied with his efforts, he begins to make his way towards the exit.
Approaching the towering gate, Dante stood within the red light that beamed down and watched as the gate slowly began to open. Once inside, he waited patiently as the gate closed behind him, trapping him once again in the metallic cube. He turned his head to the left, noticing the intercom, and waited for the voice to address him. After a few moments, a tired voice crackled out from the intercom, accompanied by the sound of a movie playing in the background. "State your name and declare any weapons you turned in," the voice requested.
"Dante. Uh, I had a handcrafted laser pistol." He spoke out, and the intercom went silent, a minute passed before the metallic clanging emanated from the walls, and a moment after a panel opened with his weaponry. He grabbed it, holstering it, and waited as the panel slid closed.
"Departure time is ten-fifty P.M. I must warn you that the gate entrance will not open till eight A.M. Goodbye, and thanks for visiting our fair city." The tired and monotone voice rang, leaking out every ounce of boredom the man felt. Yet it was unimportant as the gate opened, allowing him to walk forth.
Dante found his way back to their intended path, feeling at ease in the darkness and opting not to use his goggles. The cool night air gave him a boost of energy as he walked, and after an hour, he arrived at their destination. Looking up at the moon, he knew that their plan was about to come to fruition. He searched inside the gas station to locate where Law had hidden the weapons. As he traced the wall, he spotted a series of scratched lines that formed a crude drawing of an explosion, which led him to the stash.
Dante couldn't help but roll his eyes at the crude drawing of an explosion scratched onto the gas station wall. It was obvious that Law had stashed his weapons here, but he had at least tried to conceal them. Dante checked the area, his sharp eyes scanning the tiles on the floor until he noticed one that looked slightly off. He gripped it and lifted it, revealing the fabric of one of Law's bags hidden underneath.
With a sigh, Dante began popping off the neighboring tiles one by one until the two bags were completely free. He peeked inside each bag and quickly denoted which one contained Law's rifle and shotgun, and which one held his personal belongings. He slung the bag with the weapons over his shoulder and hoisted the other onto his back.
As he stepped outside, he looked up at the moon, which was at its highest point. He took in a deep breath, feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Digging into his bag, he retrieved a remote detonator and quickly inserted the batteries. He laid a finger on top of the button and took a moment to survey the outline of the city, the darkness providing cover for his actions. Then, without hesitation, he pressed the button.