Saturday, April 23, 2011

Flood of Darkness


...three months ago...

Jack Hanover watched under the moon from the shadows of the rooftops. He had followed a trail he spotted on the road uptown. And now lay perch on this old city age-stone building. The cement curves produced a protective shell of shadow. Jack prepared his attack.

"And so you have finally chosen the path of the hero..."

A voice stood out behind him. Jack snapped around and there was his Sensei. He turned his back on his mentor; and refocuses on the gang banger that shot the innocent woman he could not heal on the street. "I have yet to decide. Is my training over?"

"I have no more to teach you, Philip"

Jack looked up at the old Asian man. That word stung his ears. That name he could not bear.

"I am going to kill this man when I find him." admitted Jack.

Sensei walked to the back edge and pulled something from the shadows. "Before you go...take this..."

He brought a cloak over to Jack. "Inside all of us there is a darkness. Most learn to keep it at bay there entire lives. This cloak brings fortune down around you, but protects you with dark camouflage." Sensei attached it to his jacket. The cloak blended into the jacket; fusing together with it, becoming one.

Jack felt a warmth over his shoulders, as the cape came over the jacket and the Kevlar vest it forged the three into an uncanny suit. The warmth became fire and bode too much to bear for Jack. The spirit of the cloak had now passed into him, finding a home deep inside Jack's heart. The spirit in itself was not bad, but in its destiny was to only attract the bad of luck and life. On one knee he fixed his suit and stood back up. Under the moonlight he was reborn. He knew one day he would have to call out the cape and use its powers of good overcome sinister fortune, defeating its own legend. But for now he utilized it for its raw powers.

Jack jumped off the rooftop. The cloak caught the air and restructured, becoming sturdy around the edges and parachuting in the middle. He landed off a five story jump with ease. The cape restructured loose.

Sensei watched from above, as Jack went for the car parked in front of the hideout; the same car that the gang-bangers used. He hid around it and jumped the driver as he rounded the car's corner. Jack grabbed his head, turning his forward momentum down, thrashing his head into the car door, and then snapping his neck. The poor dumb ass went for his gun instead of plying Jack's arms off his neck; a fatal mistake.

Jack pulled the pistol for him. It was a desert eagle .50 caliber silver finish with an ivory-white handle. Its clip was full. Jack checked the dead thug's belt. He had an ammo clip next to the holster for the gun. Probably jacked off a dead cop. Jack stole the attachments for his own utility belt. The only proof of this gun was lodged in his own back. He adjusted the holster on his hip. Ready for battle.

Jack kicked the door to the hideout in. Twenty men pulled on him from two open floors of warehouse. Jack turned in his cloak and vanished, teleporting into action. He appeared behind a guard in the corner of the second floor. Shooting him where the spine comes into the hips, breaking him in halves. Jack put his pistol away and grabbed the AK in the dead gangster's hands. He unloaded over the railing, a hip-firing spray that demolished half the upstairs.

Jack dove behind a column and reloaded the AK with the dead man's ammo. He slid the gun over the top of the railing and peered behind it. Through the iron sights he could not see anything without putting his head in danger of getting shot off. But when Jack closed his eyes. Using all his other senses to graph and track the remaining gangsters, Jack sprung up and drained the entire second floor of life, other than his own.

Nothing but sounds next. An AK drops on the floor. 2 Uzi's are swiped. A door opens on the first floor and the door closes on the second floor. Thunderous gunfire erupts the warehouse. Jack teleports into the center of the floor. Bouncing erratically through the air, collecting all the gunfire but none of it landing. Instead the bullets keep traveling across the warehouse into the bodies of fellow gangstas. They put themselves down like animals. Jack stands up with the silver DE in his hand. One gurgle comes from a survivor, Jack pauses. He looks back and disappears. Reappearing behind the last hitman standing, and putting him down with a shot to the head.

Ridding the world of the Dec Dawgs, a gang of thieves, murderers, and drug dealers, Jack gathered what ammo he could, leaving the weapons that were already used, except for the Desert Eagle. He drags a gallon of gasoline empty across the entire warehouse floor. Before he leaves he lights the gas with his Zippo and burns the hideout down. He walks out of the fiery wreckage unseen by any camera or witness. He leaves no trace behind.