Hey friends! I hope you're weathering the holidays as best as possible. I am trying out something new with this story. It's a shorty that can stand by itself, however, there will be a sequel, maybe two that I am currently working on. Consider it a 2-part episode. The first part being lots of H + C. Myself and several other people have been having lots of technical difficulties with this site. I have found that contacting the admins helps a lot in resolving those. I wish you well and hopefully we will all have a hiccup free experience again soon!
Early Season 2 (Mike, Steve, Devitt, Haseejian, Condon, Jeannie )
Act I
The smell of blood was so rich and thick, it threatened to choke him.
Surrounded by a cloak of oblivion, he was powerless to fight the demons that surrounded them, ambushing them from every corner.
Their voices were unrecognizable, disguised by plastic masks that covered their faces, hiding dark eyes that showed no humanity.
They'd be next- that much he knew; adding to an ever-growing list of victims that fell prey to senseless violence.
Off in the corner he could hear snickering, followed by the sickening noise of wood splintering across a human body.
The groan erupting from the terrible deed was enough to make his heart ache.
In a night that saw no stars, where even the moon had been a disfigured grimace hiding beneath a thick layer of clouds; they'd canvassed the streets, following a fresh lead like a bloodhound on point.
It would have wrapped up their case nicely, slapping on those cuffs, serving the final act of justice before the case would be brought up in front of a judge.
Several week's worth of bloodshed, promising leads, sightings, forensic evidence and miles upon miles of walking the streets would have finally come together, ending a reign of terror that had frightened every resident on the northwest side of town.
But that's not how the cards had fallen this time.
The scales of poetic justice had weighed against them for the first time in years, leading them down a fateful road that ended in some filthy alley along Geary, in the heart of the Tenderloin, ambushed and terribly outnumbered.
Cornered between brick walls, two overfilled dumpsters that reeked like the city landfill, dirty asphalt that was covered in soggy cardboard and an assortment of discarded drug paraphernalia; their odds of survival had been a longshot at best.
And oh, how they hated Mike.
As if the lieutenant's sheer presence represented something they were adamantly against; the gang singled out the seasoned police officer like bees going after a honey-stealing bear.
Despite the threat of Mike's drawn .38 special, five of the distraught youths had circled him, never even hesitating when he fired at one of them, killing him instantly.
Instead, the others seemed to feed off the bloodshed, using the moment of distraction to their advantage, turning into an unstoppable wall of defiance; too many to kill before they'd reach him.
With pipes, bats and anything else that could be found lying around, they'd attacked Mike, beating whatever exposed flesh they saw until their victim collapsed to the ground.
There'd been a degree of evil following these teenagers around, weaving through their actions like a crimson thread. It was beyond the poor decision-making that came with the foolishness of youth. Oh no, these had been vile, hate-driven acts of murder and destruction that defied human comprehension.
And now that very evil had been bestowed upon them.
The agony of Mike's cries of pain was drowned out by the bullets that escaped Steve's .38; striking two more of the youths.
In the darkness of the alley, it had been but a futile attempt to slow down the vicious attack by killing one more assailant instantly while fatally injuring another.
But Steve knew that time was a resource about to run out, having used up most of it to fire deliberately, then, at the eve of an impending attack, randomly, until a bat striking him in the side of the leg took him down to the ground.
Even as he collapsed, crashing temple-first into the side of a dumpster, he managed one final pull of the trigger, sending a bullet above the heads of the attackers and straight into the window of the liquor store across the street, initiating the burglary alarm.
Several agonizing moments later, he laid in a puddle of his own blood, the pounding in his ears nearly drowning out the groaning and heavy breathing coming from his partner; muffled cries for help that barely made it past his quivering lips.
Half a dozen footsteps could be heard running away from them and down the deserted sidewalks, leaving behind an assortment of bodies and a certain young inspector who hoped and prayed that help would arrive in time for his injured partner.