Army of Sin - Season 2 - The Gathering

Episode XII - Karma's Kiss

Location: Eighteen months ago… Plymouth, England

He travelled lightly, powerful legs executing ground-eating strides with military precision as he trailed the four men ahead of him; their most recent spoils clutched in fists, unaware of the danger to come. They had never seen him, large frame casting shadows as street lights fell across his shoulders. Countless years of tormenting others having dulled them to the concept of karma, to the concept of danger… For in this district; they had carved up and carved out their own reputation. Now as he followed the two legged animals back to their den, he flexed his large fists, ice pouring into his veins, sharpening his focus.
Their latest victim was a woman of humble beginnings – the last he had seen of her was his mentor draping a jacket over her shoulders, eyes red-rimmed and wide from the shock as she clutched the other man’s hand. Today however, would turn out to be her lucky day, for she would soon find herself the benefactor of a million pounds as well as a house in her own name. Tonight ironically, was the most fortunate of muggings.
He heard them whooping and hollering as they nudged one and other, high off of the success; his mercy plummeting to sub-zero in response. Exhaling deeply, he moved deeper into the shadows as they rounded the corner leading back to their hideout. The door slammed loudly, the force of their reckless abandon leaving the door wobbling on its already rusted hinges, while calls for champagne and drugs were made, the stolen belongings laid atop the counter. It was no more than three fistfuls; made up mostly of costume jewelry and sparse trinkets of family heirlooms the woman had been on her way to pawn.
Now the hunter slid over the low wall and into the cluster of trees to the left of the yard, squatting down to wait, and his eyes just below the tips of the leaves around him. He waited for the adrenaline to leach out of their bodies, waited for the smell of the drugs they were preparing to engage in to reach where he lay in wait.
He had waited for more than a year. What was another hour?

The hour passed achingly slow, no sound of crickets or other night creatures reaching his ears. He had slept in the silence, closing his eyes for a power nap until the sound of broken glass had them snapping open. In this part of the neighborhood, such sounds were commonplace; rows of mostly abandoned houses in need of a touch of gentrification. Laughter followed shortly on the heels of the broken glass.
Time to hunt, he said to himself, straightening from his position, stretching his slightly stiff legs before making his way up the length of the driveway. Cracking the knuckles of each hand, he rolled his neck before lifting his hand to knock on a front door that had seen better days. Curses reached him from the other side of the door before it was yanked open, bringing him chest to face with one of the inhabitants.
The thief looked up, swallowing reflexively as his bloodshot eyes got a look at the man standing before him, “Yea?” He slurred through tobacco stained teeth.
“Looking for Donny?”
“Who’s doing the asking?” the shorter man asked.
The hunter shot an arm out, first catching the thief in the solar plexus before wrapping his fingers around the pale throat in a vice.
The other man gurgled, slapping at the arm around his neck; bloodshot eyes bugging out as he was walked backwards, heels holding no purchase as this stranger with dark grey eyes marched through the house, each step quiet atop the carpeted floor. Over the hulking man’s shoulder, the door slowly swung closed.

                           ➖➖➖

He exploded into the room, keeping his first victim in front as the remaining occupants in the room gave shouts of surprise. Having observed them for some time, he already knew they carried only two guns amongst the four of them – one on the hip of the man that had answered the door; a revolver that now lay in the bushes. Now it was simply a matter of neutralizing the other, he thought, scanning the room for the leader of this merry bunch. Squeezing even harder on the neck within his grasp, he felt no compassion for the squeal that escaped past bruised airways.

To the right of the room, the leader, James, stumbled out, his gun drawn as he attempted to pull up his jeans with his free hand, his body bearing several lipstick prints as well as the evidence of a quickly fading erection. The split in his attention was a fatal flaw, preventing him from firing off a round as his brethren’s body sailed across the room towards him, taking them both to the floor.
James flailed, trying his best to get a now unconscious Emry’s body off of him as the attacker, built like a professional rugby player, strode across the room towards where he lay. James spat curses, silently praying his older cousins really did pay their hideout a visit as they said they would.
The last image he remembered as the big man came over him was a fist, big enough to block out the light coming to his face.

                           ➖➖➖

He struggled with the urge to strike again, looking over his shoulder at the two conscious occupants as they sat frozen on the couch, “Don’t you move!” he ordered coldly, the promise of violence bright in his eyes. He dragged the two men from the ground to dump them unceremoniously unto the couch.
“What the fuck!” James shouted, regaining consciousness as a slap was administered to his lax face.
“Hello James.”
“The fuck is you?” James asked, teeth red as he spat on the ground at his feet.
“You don’t remember me do you?”
“We never met before brav.”
“Of course you would say that, after all, I didn’t look quite like this the last time we spoke.”
“Do you know who you messing with?” the leader sneered, his confidence beginning to leak into his peers seated at his side, making the others sit up straighter as they recovered from fear’s paralysis.
“You stabbed me once,” he offered.
“We stab lots of people brav!” James replied, drawing a laugh from his companions.
The laughter died as he pinned them with a stare, before pushing to his feet, “We were never formally introduced,” the intruder with the Russian accent spoke. “My name is Alesky Oranioff and it seems you are the one I am to thank for this scar,” he continued, lifting the hem of his black long sleeved shirt to expose a scar over a now well defined abdominal wall.
“And so what, looks like you survived. What? Did you bring dear old daddy with you?” James asked, standing up as he drew a knife from beneath the couch’s cushion.
“No,” Alesky replied with a smile, “He is only here to watch.” What fun it would be to take all their weapons away? None at all, he thought to himself.
The heat of the bullet burned him before he heard the roar of the gun going off behind him…




TO BE CONTINUED…