Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Vendetta Theory ❯ Chapter 2

The boy obeyed and swiveled to face his opponent.

 

The man was dressed in a long tan trench coat and white collared shirt with a matching pair of tan slacks and boots. A hardened face with pure white hair and shockingly blue eyes made the man, however old, frighteningly intimidating.

 

The boy's eyes however were drawn to the man's hands where he held a large 7 clip semi-automatic rifle, the barrel menacingly pointed at the boy's chest in his right and a letter endorsed by the Government simply reading:

Death Warrant

He shuddered as his read his name under the menacing font.

 

“I believe,” The man said in a grave voice, “You'll find the long arm of the law has a very long reach. It doesn't take to kindly to criminals, however small. You run fast my dear child, but you can't outrun a tracking device.” He gestured to the wound were the bullet had hit his shoulder. The boy ripped the top of his shirt open and studied the wound. His hand moved methodically over the wound and when he examined his hand rather than blood there was only red smudge. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. It wasn't as thick as blood Suddenly it dawned on him he wiped more of the red substance away to uncover a small black device.

 

“It was paint.” The boy said dully, unbelieving he`d been caught.

 

“Brilliant, boy brilliant!” The man noted sarcastically. “A concoction known as a blister pod dart. It uses a concoction of paint, and powerful pain inducing poisons. For a few hours the unaware subject will really believe they have been shot. Of course by the time most of them find the bug it's to late. That little device is simply excellent for hiding things like recorders, tracking devices, and cameras. Of course for self defense purposes they are rather,” He paused to find the right words “less than satisfactory.” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

 

He had been tricked. They had finally outsmarted him, caught him like a mouse. His captor was only toying with him, taunting until the inevitable.

 

“Now, they didn't know about the weapons,” the man said matter-of-factly. “They couldn't know, but then, they were expendable, barely out of training. That whole `red hand' thing was merely for psychological purposes. I had a man paint it to the back of their necks while they slept. When they awoke they were already in the van taking them to your apartment. When some see the mark of the Red Hand the battle is already half over, many give themselves up to us without a struggle. Then there are those who choose the hard way of course,” He threw a withering glance in the boy's direction before continuing “as sad as this little tragedy might seem they'll be remembered as the brave men, who helped account for your death, a wanted and dangerous criminal. They'll be honored, surely! Don't get me wrong! Maybe a, plaque or something.” he shrugged again. “Of course I'm forgetting my manners. I haven't properly introduced myself.” The man paused to add a dramatic flourish. “I am Charles James Peter Edmund Christofferson The 3rd, head of the C.G.A.'s elite Red Hand unit. And you are?” He waited patiently for the boy's answer. The boy was oblivious to the majority of what Charles had said. Instead he focused on the interesting tidbit about the two men he had most certainly killed.

 

Tears streamed down the boy's face in gushes. Those two men, had they settled down with friends, or even started a family? Did they have children? Oh God, Did they have children! Had their existence been erased over a couple thousand dollars, had lives been ruined through a suicide mission? Was it all been his fault? No! He thought. It was not his fault! The situation had called for a kill or be killed mindset. It was this man in front of him who was to blame. The agent's equipment, their faulty intelligence. He had put blood on the boy's hands and there was but one way to cleanse them. Charles James Peter Edmund Christofferson The 3rd, had to die.

 

“You sniveling worm,” The boy charged. His rage overcame him. No thought was given to the fact that his enemy held a firearm cocked and loaded, and permission to kill. “you set me up, I'll kill you!” He roared.

 

Charles sighed, swung his weapon from his side and clasped the clip at the bottom with his other hand his weapon and tightened his finger into the trigger.

A brilliant flash erupted from the end of the gun. The firearm's tremendous recoil threw the gun back into his shoulder.

 

The boy felt strange. He watched the bullet travel in a beeline towards him. Suddenly an incredible burst of energy filled his body. He closed his eyes and threw himself forward. When the boy opened his eyes he found himself standing beside his assailant.

 

Charles whirled around. Veins popped and eyes bulged as he screamed, “How did you dodge that!” Even the boy didn't know. He held the same incredulous look on his face. His foe went absolutely berserk. He went wild, firing the gun in all directions trying desperately to hit the boy. Bullets broke fragments off of the brick siding of the ally and enveloped the combatants in a thin cloud of dust. The boy had done the seemingly impossible avoiding every bullet shot at him.

 

His energy was insane. He moved faster then the human eye could follow. He felt only what could be described as a bloodthirsty calmness. Anger cloaked in fluidness, cloaked in tranquility.

 

The boy looked down and saw the stomach lurching sight of the ground 3 meters below his feet. Right now though due to adrenaline, the fact he was floating didn't really bother the boy and he slowly descended to the earth. His sneakers clicked as the met firm pavement.

 

“I don't know how you're doing that, but I do know you won't dodge this.” A sly smile replaced the agitation on Charles' face.

 

He raised his gun and fired, but this time it was not at the boy but at an air conditioner unit next to him. His bullet ruptured a hole through the sheet metal of the container. The boy barely had time to cry out before a powerful blast of air and gas threw him off his feet into a dumpster causing one of the sides to cave in and garbage to spill everywhere in a flurry.

 

His foe's raspy laugh echoed throughout the narrow area. The boy could feel blood pounding in his head, not of pain but of excitement. He rose surprisingly easy after an impact that should have shattered his back. He twisted his neck and was rewarded with a loud crack. He was superman on steroids, inhuman to an extreme.

 

He advanced as if a cat, slowly tracking his prey, slow and with a killer's intent. His footsteps echoed through out the dim alley. The boy's smile would have frightened a Grizzly Bear. It was a strange, aggressive smile, nearly bordering on psychotic. He had let bloodlust take over, and may God have mercy on this man who stood in his way.

 

Charles raised his gun again. “Your empty!” The boy predicted.

 

Click! He pulled the trigger. Click! Click! Click! Click! He franticly tried to shoot, in a panic now hitting and cursing at the gun.

 

“Your empty!” the boy repeated in a lower, tone. “Beg! Beg for my forgiveness and I'll kill you quickly!” The boy commanded.

 

“I don't beg.” he responded in a quavering voice that turned the bold statement into a meek reply. The gun fell with a clatter. Charles looked down his hand. It was shaking from dread. Sweating uncontrollably, drenching his hand in fear's tears. Charles took off his trench coat and threw it into a heap by the wall, pulled a pistol from his waistband and cocked it.

 

“Wrong choice.” Was all that the boy answered. He raised an outstretched arm his open palm in a `high 5' position facing his enemy. Charles pulled the trigger once. Twice. Three, four, five, six. Seven times he brought metal to the handle. The boy now held a clenched fist over his chest. He slowly opened it palm down. Six spent shells fell to the ground gyrating upwards once before finally being laid to the concrete by gravity.

 

“Only six?” The boy questioned in astoundment. He looked down in disbelief and saw one bullet lodged deep into his shoulder. Blood ran like a river out of the open wound and flowed like a locust swarm down his chest.

 

The boy then did the unthinkable. He reached two fingers into the open wound. and pried the bullet out of his chest.

 

“Christ that stings!” He winced in pain and shook his fist in pain. “Well will you,” His voice faltered from pain “Will you look at this?” He stated examining the brass bullet. “A .35 caliber? I hope it isn't standard issue. That side arm couldn`t bring down a arthritic old man. Maybe they'll give you guys something with more punch after your corpse is uncovered.” He pointed a long finger at his opponent's chest and declared “I won't die, I can't die! I'm not going to lie down for any power on earth. I'm too determined to breathe my last breath. Not on this day!” He paused and sucked in a breath before roaring “I will not die today!”

 

Now Charles, options and bullets spent, tried running, looking frantically for an escape route but each way he turned the boy appeared. His speed was beyond comprehension he almost teleported to cut the agent off.

 

“W-what are you?” His entire body was shaking now knowing his time was nearly up.

 

“Have you heard the legend of Pandora's Box? Inside all the world's demons are held prisoner, sealed forever. But more than anything, more than anything in the world they want to get out , and once unleashed you get Apocalypse. The end of existence. The lid is easy to pull off but damned near impossible to put back on. You`ve released my demons Charles, and they aren`t going back into their box until your dead.”

 

He jolted forward and punched Charles in his stomach. Hard. He gasped and groped for air, but the beating was not over, hardly.

 

The boy now picked him up by the scruff of his shirt with his left hand and hammered him with his right. Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham! The blows rattled the older man leaving him looking dazed. Bruises covered his face in a purple veil. His appearance turned deep red as his nose broke drenching his face in blood. He did not break Charles's chin or cheeks not out of compassion but of bloodthirstiness. A solid hit to the chin would knock him out and he hadn't yet served his punishment and cheeks more often broke hands than the other way around.

 

He threw him to the ground like a rag doll and put him in a wrestling style arm bar. He twisted and stomped on the area connecting till it hung limp. Again he picked the man off the ground to his feet.

 

“Mercy, show me mercy.” He croaked.

 

“You had your chance.” he noted unmoved by Charles' pleading tone. He spat in his adversary's face and tossed him into one of the solid brick walls. The boy picked up the discarded pistol while the man was still dazed and stuffed it in his waistband thinking it might come in use later.

 

The boy walked over and picked the man off his feet pinning him against the cold, rough brick by his neck his other arm cocked behind his shoulder preparing to hit him again.

“I wouldn't,” Charles coughed “wouldn't do that if I were you.” He warned.

 

“And why is that? What trick did you pull out of your miserable sleeve?”

 

“Oh it's nothing, really.” He wheezed and coughed again before continuing. “Before I begin how would you describe your relationship with your mother? Bad? It was bad wasn't it? To push one to crime…” He trailed off.

 

“What have you done with her? Where is she? If you have hurt her,” He balled his fist to emphasize his point.

 

“My child it's not whether we've hurt her; oh put me down will you!” He snapped. The boy set him down and he continued “But rather if you want her hurt? I always hold the trump card my boy, you would do well to remember that.” Charles tried to bring his right arm to grab something from his coat, but it hung uselessly at his side. He grunted in surprise He was forced to reach across his body with his left arm. A small black remote was withdrawn from his pocket. “This remote is the ignition to a powerful incendiary device. Think of it as napalm. At my command the bomb explodes killing all in a one hundred and fifty foot radius. Most importantly evidence is promptly destroyed, liquefied if you will. It was attached to your mother`s body so there would be no survivors from that particular building.”

 

“You're bluffing! This is just a big trick isn`t it?” The boy probed.

 

“Oh I assure you it's no bluff, but if you choose to call my bet it is your mother's life you gamble with. Well it's your decision. Now my deal is this. I want you to come with me. No talking, no aggressive action. I want you to plead guilty in a court of law with of a jury of your peers. I want full credit for your capture, and you must never, ever speak of this incident to the press or anyone else asking funny questions. You got that?” The boy nodded dryly. The man had made his demands painfully clear.

 

He then set his brain to figuring out how to escape this mess. Perhaps he could grab the remote. He did seem to possess lighting speed. But he felt weak and helpless now longer possessing his energy boost. Finally he came to his decision. He gave in to the man's demands having lost his hope to live and his will to fight. They had walked about 30 miles of the long trek back to city limits before the boy had a revelation.

 

“Hey stop! Yes you! Press the button!” The boy commanded.

 

The man turned to face him very slowly amazed to what he had heard. “What did you say?” Each word was pronounced slowly and clearly through.

 

“Press-the-button.” He repeated as though to a small child “No really, go ahead! Press it! I dare you; no double dare you! The boy goaded.

 

“That's it.” He coaxed as Charles pulled the remote out of his coat pocket. “Now let's see who's telling the truth.”

 

Charles hesitated took a deep breath then depressed the black mound in the center of the device. It gave a small beep but nothing else.

 

“How do you now if I'm lying? You have no proof!” Charles asked.

 

“Oh but I do! You told me it was an incendiary explosive. One hundred and fifty foot blast radius, correct? Now a one hundred and fifty foot circumference blast of napalm would make one hell of a fire. Even from the ten miles away from the city as we are, a fire that big would be visible from twenty. We'll wait and see. Either way I'll tear you to pieces but perhaps, perhaps, you can have the last laugh. Come on! Lets keep walking! If I'm wrong you want to turn me in right? I mean no sense in no one getting credit. Why I`m sure if you play your cards right you can get your tombstone right next to the two you sent to their death!” The man sighed and trudged along next to now energetic teen.

 

“It's still nine miles,” The boy said gesturing at the road sign, “Maybe, if we hurry we'll get back in time for the 7 O'clock news. Then the entire country can see me kill you.”

 

Charles chuckled. Softly at first then gradually rising to a belly laugh. He doubled over convulsed in laughter.

 

This seemed perplexing to the boy who could have sworn that only a short time earlier his enemy was on the ropes. “What are you laughing about? A few minutes ago you were a dead man walking!” The boy asked angrily

 

The Man could not speak due to his hysteria, he simply gestured, with tears streaming down his face to the skyline behind him.

 

His bones froze, his blood turned to ice as a terrible chill fell over him. Slowly the unmistakable dark gray tendrils of smoke crept up to the sky`s open arms.

 

“No, no, no! It has to be another building! It must! I'm coming mother! I`m coming!” The boy took off at a sprint leaving Charles behind him completely forgotten. His only thoughts of his mother, of his city, of his life…