Citizen's Demise: Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Typhon's Stand





         The endless skyscrapers pierced the heavy cloud coverage that had just that morning taken the sky hostage. Several windows let off an effervescent glow and the air was as clean as ever. Virtually all fuel emissions were solved, then outlawed, and any disobedience led to a fine. Instead, all vehicles were replaced by electric/cold fusion BitCars, which have the basic body of the car excluding the fenders, but the tires had been replaced by 24 inch tall drill bits, resting sideways on either side of the car, which allowed for faster transportation and fuel efficiency. As for motorcycles, they got to keep the modest ,but much loved invention of the wheel, but the fuel was cheap. Cold Fusion Base was one of the most nauseous but abundant gasses on earth. The streets were the same minus the graffiti, the terrible indecent language, and the litter on pavement. The people in New Prynne, and all over the nation of Neo America, seemed like a silent flock of sheep since Taiverius Palmer had taken office. He had eliminated any crime what-so-ever in the great nation of America by gaining a foot hold in virtually every crime related party. So a group of Anarchists causing mayhem was said to not last long in the least bit.

         "Edan?" said  a familiar female voice in the back of his head. Edan looked up to see FoxTail (Crescent Rage) walking in their direction. She was an all around beautiful woman. She owned medium length black hair with long bangs that fell to each side of her face, and she almost always seemed to have a smile on her face. In fact, she almost  always had an animated facial expression. Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of green and she was relatively thin. " Typhon‘s squad…lost their lives, Fireous. Typhon‘s alright though, and the rest of the insertion party." Her eyes shifted to Edan. Cres put a hand on Edan’s shoulder and bent down to see his face. “Edan, how’s your day going?”  She sprung a sudden smile on her face as she shifted her 50. caliber Beret sniper rifle over to lean against her left leg. For the first time in a long time, Edan smiled "I‘ve been better, but …can’t complain. How about you?” Edan said as their eyes met. She smiled, eyes glistening, and biting her bottom lip a bit. “You are doing a terrible job of supporting his spine, Fireous…A stretcher might be helpful? Just maybe?” she said raising her left eyebrow, looking up at Fireous.

          “Hey, he was conscience and moving. You wana’ carry a stretcher up 4 flights of stairs? Let me take him back down and give ya’ a try.” Fireous responded tired and fatigued. “Calm down, calm down…just telling you the regulations.” she said concentrating on Edan’s well being more than Fireous’ smart remark.

          There were many police and S.W.A.T. vehicles covering the streets and Edan, Fireous, and Cres were on their way to the ambulance. They stepped off the curve and made their way through the labyrinth  of vehicles and law enforcers. Cres kept one eye on Edan to see if he would ever fall but instead, she would make remarks like" Hey, your limping a bit better now."

         Once they reached the ambulance, a medic slammed the doors open as if a fire were inside and nearly tackled Edan to the ground. "We need to get him in the truck NOW!" screamed the medic. Another medic emerged from the back pushing out a gourney to the concrete sidewalk. "I could lay down by myself if its no-…" Edan was taken by the arms and thrown on the gourny, nearly tipping it over, arms thrown limp on each side. All at once the medics picked up, lifting on each side, and practically threw the bed into the van, but instead, accidentally hit the bottom bumper spilling Edan into the ambulance…minus the bed. "Ow! What the hell is wro-" The medics closed the doors and sprung into the front seats. The engine started and the drill bits started to spin. It took 5 more seconds, then they accelerated leaving pavement crevices all down the street.

         "Nice…" Fireous said tired and battle worn, feeling a bit sarcastic. "So, I‘ll sign in with HQ and file this crap, and…you can go home and wait for me." said Fireous with grin, saying the last part a bit faster hoping for the best. "You can do that…and I‘ll…go to my house? …where I won‘t see you ‘till tomorrow." she said in a calm preoccupied voice as she started walking toward their supply truck. She passed up a police car and made her way down the yellow line toward the truck. "I‘ve heard some of the black uniforms say that the bodies couldn’t be identified?" Fireous said, using a more serious tone of voice. They passed another police vehicle. "I knew some of the men in the Bravo unit, Fireous. I only hope Typhons alright." Cres commented, looking down at the yellow lines blinking by, her gun heaved over one shoulder. “Cres, I know you‘ll never get over it, but we‘re in the CIA. You knew full well when you were a child that you would lose friends left and right.” Fireous said regretfully, emphasizing the letters in ‘CIA‘. “We four our the exception.” she turned and said easily to Fireous. They reached the truck in a matter of seconds.

         Cres took off her Foxtrot Kevlar vest and put it on a hook on the side wall, then her sniper rifle in its case, then her UZI in her duffle bag. Typhon seemed to be emotionless, just sitting on the edge of the bumper, staring lifelessly at the black gravel street, bottle of water in his hand.  "Typhon, is there anything you need?" Cres stated as sincere as she could. Fireous put his S.M.G. into its case, followed by his Delta vest. Typhon didn’t move his head to face her. He sat still and shook his head a bit in regret. "Its not that. I was a wreck today, and this… the events of today rest on my shoulders.” Typhon said as he bowed his head letting his long brown hair fall, blotting out his face. "Have you ever done something that you thought was right, but deep inside you know that no one else…would ever understand." Typhon says while scuffling to a standing position. "Today I’ve committed 8 men to a mission that’s ended their lives. To society, they will never be known again." Typhon took off his Bravo vest and laid it softly on his bag. He then picked up his duffle bag and started to walk toward his car. Cres and Fireous leaned against the truck expecting an explanation before he reached his car. Knowing Typhon since the beginning, the deciphered version of what he meant was going to spew out in the next few seconds.

         Typhon then turned back, grim expression, and looked at Crescent, eyes meeting instantly. "This is going to sound weird, but I need you to tell Edan this. Everything you know will change in just the next few days. Tell him, as for right now, he’s okay, but don’t trust anyone but you two. I also want you to tell him… even the tamest of hearts may rebel, but a heart is always in search for a worthy cause...Cheesy as hell, I know…but I feel if the world turns to a burning methane cloud anytime soon, I‘d go out with a little theatrical demise." Typhon said exhaustingly. "Typhon, why would the world turn into a burning methane cloud anytime soon…?." Cres said in a worried sarcastic statement. It seemed he didn’t notice. He just kept walking to his car. He opened the door and yelled out, "I’m not resigning or anything, but…Fireous…could you sign me in at HQ?”

         Cres and Fireous finished relieving their equipment. "Yeah, sure, Typhon…Don’t say thanks or anything…“Fireous said in a sort of sad manor as he put his combat knife on the top of his S.M.G. case and walked out from behind the truck to see Typhon’s bit car drive off. The four of them had been together since the beginning of the torturous, downright diseased times of training. Several days locked in cells, weapon training fit for marines, measuring cables to an exact distance from an elevated position to the ground, and then gaining the courage to jump before you were pushed. Torturous times indeed. Cres shut the right door to the truck and began to look teary eyed as well. Fireous began to shut the left door when he realized there were no Bravo vests in the truck, not even Typhon's. He had his vest with him. His dessert eagle was missing too. Right as they began to walk away from the truck, teary eyed and broken hearted, Cres stopped in her tracks. Her head slowly moved up as if surprised, then turned to a more confused state. “Fireous…Typhon didn’t lead Bravo for the mission. I don’t even think he got here until you guys were in the tunnels.” Fireous turned to Cres, sarcastic look in his eyes. “Typhon’s weird like that. Don’t worry about it Cres, he’s been like this before and he’s lost teammates before. He did lose his entire team today, so…he may be just venting.” Fireous stopped and looked at the ground for a second. "I saw a business card from Faction Defiance on the floor in the station. Contrary to what we previously believed...Tameheart's Anarchist's and Faction Defiance do not fight side by side." he turned to face Cres. "I don't know if thats good or bad, but it does mean that backstabber in Defiance has nothing to do with this."



                                       Sub-Chapter: Typhon’s Stand



         Typhon reached his apartment complex past the curfew in this section of New Prynne, but wasn’t fined on the account of his government status. He got out of his car and instantly looked up at the sky to see the clouds slowly flowing where ever the wind desired, a puppet of a much greater power, something unworldly about it. The wind had a sort of vapor in it, but still no rain.

         He grabbed his duffle bag out of the trunk of his Logic 360 all terrain car and closed it. He then walked through the parking lot to the gap in between the two sections of the buildings to his room. He pulled out his keys as he neared his door when he heard a voice yell his name. "Mr. Steel, how was your work today!" yelled a child maybe five or six years old from behind. "Hey, Kyle! What’s up little man!" Typhon yelled back as the little boy nearly took him to the ground. "Do you wana’ play football?" the child said while smiling. Typhon suddenly put Kyle down and earned a grim look on his face, sort of confused out of the quick observation from the kid. "I want you to go home and stay there, you hear me? No staying up tonight, I’m serious. Go home, go to sleep." Typhon said as stern as he could. He finished opening his door and walked inside. The child walked backwards looking sad for several seconds before he turned and ran to his apartment on the building opposite his.

         Typhon threw his duffle bag on his couch and walked down his hall to the bathroom. He turned on the lights and walked to his room just to make sure everything is as it should be, glancing at seemingly everything, just a memory that became a habit, something that he wished he could smile at, but the mood was entirely too tense. He went back to his couch to grab his duffle bag and returned to his bathroom where he took a shower, put on a clean tactical uniform, and his Bravo vest. He then armed his .50 caliber Desert Eagle and put it in his side holster. He tied his boots on and took one last look in the mirror. He was considered a hero to most, some for being an expert in the field of espionage and others simply for being there as a friend. A seasoned soldier who had been one of Palmer's greatest weapons against Anarchism, an instrument developed from the CIA almost strictly for it. He was now reduced to a man on his own side. A man who expected his end. He noticed a fly on the light above him in which he swung at. He watched as it flew behind him to his shower. He alligned his hands in a clapping position over the fly and slapped one more time. He killed it. "One more life before I go." Typhon said aloud turning back around. He looked in the mirror to see someone standing beside him. "Always one more…" whispered a voice. Typhon pulled out his gun and pointed it behind him as his back, hastily turned and followed. Typhon's heart beat sped to an uncontrolled state.

         He now knew, this was when he would be put to the test. He kept his gun up and walked slowly, tactically and strategically slow, but kept his gun held high and always at head shot position out into his hall. He began walking a little faster after he passed an outlet on the wall next to his room. Typhon took one last glimpse of his room, knowing his death was inevitable at this point. He noticed the pictures all his bed stand and desk. Edan, Crescent, Fireous, and himself. The Quad Fatale they called themselves, only having fun with it of course.          Lowering his gun for only the few seconds he needed, Typhon searched his many group pictures on his desk, looking over them all. Then he started to notice things. Cres was beside Edan in every picture except the ones of Wilderness Survival Training. Eight weeks of wilderness hell. Eight weeks of hell that Edan had missed because a slight concussion. That boy always fluked out because of his injuries.

         He closed his eyes and looked down at his feet, squinting his eyes close. He mouthed words of sorrow and love, hoping for forgiveness in another life. He said aloud, “Its meant to be.“ Just then he saw something move in the hallway out of the corner of his eye. He turned quickly, almost slipping on the laminate floor, to see that everything was the same. He looked on the ground to see nothing but his shadow.

         "What… in the…” Typhon said in his head as he looked down to see a shadow not his own. A shadow resembling someone of shorter stature and hands hanging in pockets was spewed across the floor in front of him. Typhon jumped backwards onto his bed and took several steps backwards as his breathing started to increase. It was the same again. His shadow had returned. He quickly sprinted to the edge of the bed and jumped into the hallway, slamming into the wall, sliding a bit again. He recovered in milliseconds and ran for the front door. He reached it almost instantly to realize nothing was really happening. This could all be a figment of his slowly deteriorating imagination. “Just my imagination.” Typhon told himself. Typhon backed up slowly, keeping his gun up again, and fell back, landing roughly on his black leather couch. “…but he told me it would be like this…”

         Typhon sat here twenty maybe thirty minutes and nothing still happened. The air outside was windy and crisp, but his apartment always had the opposite effect as outside. Darkness had long since came, and thunder was starting to increase in volume. He sat there several minutes until his mind was clear enough to make out the figure he saw in the mirror. It was definitely a man. He had thick glasses and very short hair. It was long enough to be called more than a military cut, but too short to be called anything else. He also had the signature sinister smile in which every bad guy seemed to have these days. He didn’t look really muscular at all. He was the exact opposite, if anything. His pants seemed C.I.A. issued, but were far more advanced, using knee pad integrated pant legs and Kevlar siding, resembling a type of biker pants. His shirt seemed military issued though. Not American, but a kind of Russian. It was long sleeved and had giant patches on the shoulders, but it had no color. In fact, nothing had color. His face, his arms, his hair, everything was as the color of static on a TV. His skin resembled what was said to be the only remaining signal of the beginning of the universe, static. He could see the figure perfectly now. Typhon's eyes began to drift side to side, closed to open. He was falling asleep and he knew it, but every few seconds the figure's image grew larger and more lifelike in his head. He sat still, legs stretched out, arms rested on his sides, for several more seconds before the image almost seemed real. This dream was almost too real…the figure seemed to be walking from his hallway towards Typhon. Typhon soon realized what was happening was not a dream. He didn’t move still because his muscles had already relaxed and questioned the truth that he so strenuously tried to prove. The man was walking closer and closer and his sinister smile was still stridden across his face. "Just stay asleep. Wake in hell!“ a voice screamed, but it didn’t come from the figure. His lips never moved. Soon, Typhon couldn't hear at all. Something else started to happen.

         The sound of rainfall had filled the gap between the two buildings and made a loud echo which destroyed any sound wave making an attempt to be noticed. It was hard rain. Really hard. Typhon finally convinced himself that he was awake and this was real, so he sat up a bit, dazed and eyes barely open.

He rubbed his eyes and stared at what was supposed to be his enemy. The figure’s arm lowered, steel blades pierced out of his shoulder.

         Then the figure made a swift movement and three hellish looking blades slid from out under his shirt and wrapped around his wrist. He wasted no time before he punched. Typhon thought fast, awakened completely, and dove off the side of his couch, knocking over a chair and somersaulting to a firing position, using the chair as a barrier. When he finally looked up. All that was visible, were the vast clouds of features from his black leather couch. He aimed his Desert Eagle for several seconds, leading from the hall back to his couch, just pivoting. He stood on one knee now and his legs started to shake. Tremble, actually. His fingerless gloved hands started to vibrate too.

         Out of shear fear Typhon fired of two rounds into the cloud just to see if he could get a reaction. Nothing. He turned to his left and realized his shadow was completely gone. He turned back to his right to see the living room light was clearly on, but there was no shadow on the chair he had knocked over. He turned around quickly pointing his gun at the emptiness of his T.V.. He then heard a set of footsteps. Fast footsteps. Then he heard a sort of unsheathing sound from blades. He turned quickly around just in time to see the blades. He fell to the side just a bit as the blade slid through his side cutting through his ribs and anything else in the blade’s path. Blood poured on the linoleum as the gash on his side turned his Kevlar crimson. He fell to the floor and turned around to see the figure was gone. Typhon took five complete and fast breaths and then all at once. "AHHHH!!!!" Typhon screamed in pain as he saw perfusions of his ribs through the gash. The blood was pouring now and there was no stopping it. The cloud of feathers now turned red. Typhon grasped for control to stand and walk. He saw the blades again. He ducked but there was no yielding this guy. He dodged it for the most part, but the bulk of the blade struck the side of his face and leading on through his ear, splitting it in half. "AHH!" Typhon screamed again but turned and fired several rounds still seeing the figure, but each one went through hitting his wall. "Ug!" Typhon shouted under his breaths as the blood started a puddle where he stood. He tried to switch firing arms, but every time his arm fell, he would hit a rib or two, and the pain would intensify.

         He looked closely at his surroundings, the feather cloud had eventually devoured the entire room, the blood stains left by him at every stopping position. Typhon knew he was not going to win this, but he was definitely going to try his hardest. He turned around to see his shadow back, but when turning back around: the blades. They were going straight for his stomach. He quickly dove foreward slicing through the back of his vest and caught a portion of his back and sending him to the floor in pain once again. He still saw the man so he shot twice more, both going through him and hitting the wall again. "Son of a bitch!" Typhon screamed again as his hopeless attempt was in vain. His back now seeped with blood as well, and he realized, this fight was already over if he didn’t run. So he did just that.

         He kicked open his front door spilling into the rain filled night. He fell down instantly in a water puddle right beside him. He rolled just in time to see the man and his blades again. They tore through the cement. Typhon pulled back and jumped to his feet dodging the blades completely this time and delivered a drop kick to the back of the figure's head throwing him foreward through the rain but soon vanishing to shadow again. Though the shadow had vanished Typhon could make out a figure in the rain now. He was no longer invisible.

         "This doesn’t change a thing, Typhon."  The voice echoed again between the two buildings making the rain seem faint for only a second. Typhon jumped to his feet and made a mad dash for his car. He figured he’d make a better stand in the thick of the rain. He jumped from the curb to parking lot only to be introduced to the blades again. His entire left leg flew in front of him as his body fell helplessly to the ground.

         He reached down in pain to the bloody puddle that was once his leg. The static figure kicked Typhon to turn him over on his back, and then grew a smile again. He was in plain sight now, yet it seemed the rain was falling through him. Behind him was a rain drenched figure…Typhon, having lost all hope, grabbed for his gun anyways. It wasn’t there. He was sure he put it up, but when he looked back up. There held his gun, the static figure, pointing at his head. His blood puddled in the cement crevices despite the vast amount of rain drenching and drowning him on the pavement. His mouth filled quickly and he would spit it out followed with blood. "You wont kill, Tameheart." Typhon said as dignified as he could laying on the pavement spitting up blood. "Yes…I will…” the figure replied, not changing his maniacal expression. “I don’t think we've been introduced properly." whispered the voice again, but not from the figure's mouth. He then mouthed the words, before they were said, "I’m The Stalker!" screamed the voice followed by the small click and the blast of a Desert Eagle. It seared over the sound of the rain for only a moment until its echo was cut short by thunder. The Stalker began to walk out into the parking lot.

         He was going back to his shadows when he realized, there was someone watching him. He turned to see a child standing in a puddle of water by his door step, drenched in tears and rain. He stood biting his fingers in heart ache, his pajamas soaked head to toe. A smile again appeared on the Stalker's face as he disappeared into the darkness from which he first appeared. The boy, feeling confused, stepped foreward just a bit to get a better look at the remains of Typhon Steel, his friend whenever needed. Suddenly, a static colored hand, forged itself from the ground ending the boy's life.