Th Last Decree of Honour: Prologue

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PROLOGUE
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ZONE: 22 ALLEYROAD
CHRONOMETER: 2200 HOURS LOCAL TIME


Alleyroad stands in the midnight glow of the city; silent, quiet as always. It was as though it harmonises with the illegal trade occurring down there. The hissing of steam pipes and ventilation vents are simply adequate to contain the vocal transmittance from the ears of the righteous. Dark and dank, only few knew what was going on there; almost no one travels to these alleys at this point of the night.

It is such a paradox that the alley was actually the road behind the largest police plaza in the city of Region Seven. Also known as the Regional Police Metroquarters, it stands 62 stories high. It is not a surprise to the citizens if this scenario is reported. Who reports the wrongdoings of the police these days? The papers are paid for their suppressed silence, the media greatly controlled by the police. An irony; the police themselves play ignorant to a massive gridiron of delinquent criminals the Seraphim . As impartiality lies comatose in the morally decadent city, the sorry state of the country continues to rot.

Two brusquely-looking men sat at their plastic chairs respectively in the dirty alley of 22 Alleyroad. There were a few packets of white powder on the table, lined neatly, contradicting their behaviour. It was Trixate. An anti-depressant used by many drug addicts these days. Its main selling point is that it comes cheap, 20 Units per kilogram. The dim lights covered their grim faces as customers approach; a group of three teenagers in baggy jeans and rocker T-shirts. One of the two men pulled out two 9mm automatic pistols.
“Don’t sweat it Mike, it’s just kids. Your first time on the job eh buddy?” one said.
“Just in case.” The other replied, rather monotonously.

The three teens closed in on the table.
“How much will it be boys?” one of the men at the table asked.
“Three packets ‘ll do matey. Now whats with those guns huh? We’re just doing business as we always do. I’ve got my clients, you’ve got your job to keep. No scuffle and lets be done with it okay?”
The man named Mike just smiled sinisterly. He took three packets and handed it over to the boys. “It will be 130 Units for today,” he snorted.
One of them grabbed the bag and another boy handed the notes to Mike. Business was done and transaction was made fast, just the situation what was wanted. Everyone wanted to get home safe without getting lead bullets in their skulls. The teenagers walked off with their purchase and hurried across to the other side of town.

“Didn’t I tell you Mike? It’s just business as usual. No shooting needed.” one said.
“I said – it was just a precaution you numbskull. All I want to do is get the stuff over to the man and be done with this job, alright Joe?” Mike hissed.
“Take it out, let me see if it’s all right.”
Mike reluctantly dragged a wooden box underneath their table. It was heavy – very heavy. It was a horrendously heavy metal plating.
“What in the Jeebus name is that for?”
“I don’t know, but it sure is thicker than your numbskull.”
Both of them laughed heartily before being stopped by the blue-red lights of the MetroPolice Mobile.
“Shit! I thought they never patrolled this area?”
“Hush. I dunno what this freaks might be up to.”
The vehicle approached closer and two uniformed MetroPolice stepped out. Their uniform was the MK13 Standard Assault Suit. Every cop wears the MK13 these days. It is made from a rigid material fashioned out of carbon nanotubes, but thinner and lighter than the standard Kevlar bullet-proofed vests. This one instead was an entire suit itself though certain parts are not bullet proofed to capacitate free-movement along the body’s joints. It nevertheless proves to bring fear to the public, signifying an invulnerability in the MetroPolice force – just like the fear the thugs at the table felt right at this moment.

Both of them were carrying a 12-gauge semiautomatic pump-action firing riot gun and they approached nonchalantly towards the pathetic thugs.
“We’ve arrived for the delivery item you have there.” one of them said and he gestured with his shotgun to the wooden box under the table menacingly while the other cop held the double barrels facing Mike. Joe was in cold sweat but Mike had a defiant disposition locked onto his face. Nevertheless, he pulled out the box.
“Are you the guy we need to give the box to or are you trying to be an idiot to take this metal junk away from us? It’s the Seraphim group who gave this to us.” Mike said.
“Look here rat. I’m the guy the this Seraphim blokes are supposed to deliver this to. You’ve got a problem, I can shove this stick up your smelly asses and blow your brains to kingdom come.” The police officer replied ominously.
“Look here man, I’m just freakin’ verifying. That’s all. You can take that box now, pay us and get out of our faces.” Mike retorted.
“Alright then. Lets be done with this.” The other officer replied, speaking for the first time.

Both the officers dragged the wooden box and fitted it into the MetroPolice Mobile and started off.
“Hey! Where’s our 5000 Units?” Mike shouted his top.
The menacing officer pumped his shotgun and walked out of the car again.
“Sorry mate. Here’s your pay.” And with that a thunderous shot was released, the feet of Mike in a bloody mess. He shouted in agony as he bled profusely from his mashed leg.
“Ah, you’re welcome.” The officer replied and walked off to his car.
Joe, entirely shaken tried to mollify Mike, “Hey, mate, you okay? Does it hurt?”
“What does it look like, huh?”
Mike swore silently.

Meanwhile as chaos broke down in the small alley, a tall, dark figure stood above at the rooftop of one of the fraying closely-connected buildings opposite the Regional Police Metroquarters. His eyes was green and was staring right down at the MetroPolice Mobile as it rolled away from the scene. It went opposite the way it came from – out of the alley. The figure slid his long left sleeve from his hand, revealing a small, flat panel on the top side of his arm just above the wrists. He waited, soundless like a grim substance of death. Just as the automobile was about to exit the alley the dark figure depressed two buttons on the panel.

There was a small explosion and the horrible sound of metal screaming against the tarred road. The rear wheels were completely damaged, its suspension splintered from the force against it. The vehicle had turned on its side from the blast. It was immobile and the two cops clawed their way out of the wrecked vehicle. The figure darted away from his hiding position and above the buildings towards the car. It appeared as though he was gliding. Against the dark skies, he was invisible to the prying eyes of others.

He was vertically above the two MetroPolice officers, 6 stories above. Then he took a leap an landed right on one leg and the other knee grounded with his right hand flat on the ground for balance. He straightened up. He was standing right in front of the two officers. They could clearly see him now. The figure looked like a grim reaper. He had a macabre-looking black cloak encompassing the entire person inside it and a hood covering most of his face. The green glow from his eyes are already dissolved. There was only blackness inside the hood.

The atmosphere was tense, so tense it could be sliced with a knife. The grim reaper figure nonetheless stood still, unmoving, unspeaking. Infuriated, one of the police officer pumped his shotgun and aimed at the grim reaper figure. As his finger retracted to pull the trigger, the grim reaper figure’s leg swung right out of the cloak in front of them. It swept the shotgun to the ground just as he fired the shot, missing the target loosely. While he was clutching his hand in pain from the kick the other officer pulled out a 9mm semi automatic pistol. Too tardy. The figure’s right hand hammered into the officer’s solar plexus and he dropped to his knees grasping his chest for air as the figure dealt another blow to the first assailant, his heels landing hard on his kneecaps, dislocating it permanently. He fell to the ground helpless. But the figure was callous. His right hand emerged from behind his cloak again and grabbed the kneeling man at the neck, carrying him up then he threw him to the wall, making him stand, forcibly. The hand revealed a metal gauntlet it extended beyond his elbow, ending in a sharp wedge.

Their rage transitioned hurriedly into fear. It was clearly shown on their battered faces.
“What d..do you want ?” the one on the ground asked.
“What were you transporting?” the figure spoke for the first time. His voice was inhuman. It was a deep-metal sounding and hollow voice. It sounded pitiless and horrifying but accompanied the outfit very well.
“It’s a metal plating!”
“For what?”
“I can’t tell you you bitch! I’ll lose my job. What kind of costume freak are you?”
For a moment they got their courage back. One of them punched the figure hard in the face. He staggered back for a moment. The other officer reached for his shotgun, but the figure drew a double-edged knife and swung it hard into the officer’s wrist, cutting the bone halfway. The knife stuck horribly into the bone. The figure depressed a button on his hand-panel again and the knife exploded with the officer’s hand.

Another shot rang out in the night. It was a 9mm bullet fired into the figure’s back. He bent over, but it was not the result of pain. His leg shot out like a gun to execute a back leg thrust kick on the other man’s crotch. As the officer doubled over, he drew another knife from inside his cloak and sliced the neck of the officer. Another swing sliced the other officer’s neck, right though the vocal chords. Both fell – as dead bodies as blood gushed freely out of their necks.

“Looks like your bullet-resistant suits are not defensive against melee strikes. I wouldn’t have to kill you if you hadn’t tried to do the same to me.” He gestured a finger, pointing at the bodies as though they were still alive. He looked at his Chronometer on the hand panel. It was already 0143 hours the next day.

Meanwhile, the two drug-dealers earlier on were astounded from what just occurred before their eyes. They had been looking ever since the explosion wrecked the MetroPolice Mobile. The guy that wrecked it had to be smart, they thought. Those MetroPolice Mobiles were bullet resistant. He hit the weak spot instead; the wheels. Even Mike’s pain in his bloodied leg seem to have dissolved with the adrenaline of the excitement. They cheered at the two officer’s death.

He sauntered toward them slowly, as though savouring the moment of the two deaths.
“Hey! You’re the Seraphim Elite aren’t you?” Mike, always the bold one said, but rather welcomingly this time.
“No, I’m not.” The figure replied, rather monotonously with the same voice. Their smiles fade. He drew out another two knifes. This time, their smiles were entirely gone and their face, a picture of revulsion. But the knifes’ sharpened blades did not meet with their body. He shoved it instead into the wall of the Regional Police Metroquarters.

They were puzzled by his actions. The wall where he stuck the knifes into was actually the wall of the Metroquarters armoury room. He made no intention of proceeding further, this made the two drug-dealers fear no longer.
“Don’t worry. I mean no harm to you.” The voice reverberated from the blackness of his hood. He continued, “In fact, I need an army. And I’m recruiting now. Don’t forget, I’m paying you to work for me.”
They were astonished.
“All I just need to know is how the metal plating was sent to you and who sent it.”
“Well, I accept you invitation as a member of your Halloween party mate. But if you want us to give information, you’ll have to ensure we have protection. After all, we’re dealing with the Seraphim vigilantes.”
“Agreed”
“We too are Seraphims you see, but just the lower level of the organisation. We are supposed to wait here at eleven at night to send this to someone. A person will drive his pickup truck into this alley to give us the metal plating. He’s a Seraphim Elite however and he will be making trips here to keep giving us the stuff. He will even be coming tonight.” Mike spat out everything willingly, still clutching his bloody leg, but the pain had subsided; he used the Triaxate.
“Thanks for the information.” The figure said. But it didn’t stop there. His right hand smashed Mike’s head into the wall, breaking the skull from the immense force. His right elbow then strike hard backwards into Joe’s heart, the elbow wedge piercing the right atrium through the ribs. Both drug dealers collapsed, unmoving, dead.

“A brief moment of silence. How peaceful.” The man inside the hood smiled cynically to himself and walked away, silently.

That figure, whatever is was, was a killing machine, it was unstoppable and it felt no remorse.