Posap city(working title)

         The storm was the worst the old city had seen in many years. The streets were already filled with just under two inches of bone chilling rain water, and still water continued to fall from the blackened, afternoon sky. The storm was not severe enough however, to get rid of the shady figure standing at the end of the dark, narrow alley. He'd been standing there for nearly two days wearing the same solid black suit and trench coat. He also wore a pair of aviator sunglasses to conceal his eyes. The man looked to be around thirty years old. His pale white face contrasted strongly against his black, clean-cut hair. The only movements he had made since having positioned himself against the alley's wall were to light up another cigarette, which he had done every third hour on the hour. His head never moved, his eyes were transfixed on the graffiti covered door which stood about a football field's length away from him.
         On one side of the door were the busted up remains of an old barber pole, and on the other side were a couple sheets of plywood mounted to the brick wall. The wood was covering what had clearly been the large window which had showcased the old barber shop in its heyday.
         A flash of lightning lit up the sky for a moment and was gone, the subsequent boom of thunder shook the battered old city like an earthquake. The storm was actually getting worse, as if demanding that the man leave his position to hide inside of one the two multi-story hotels which surrounded the alley.

         The young boy was sitting in the beaten up old barber chair wearing the thick warm clothes he'd stolen from a nearby department store a few days earlier. His mind wandered to the day in which a group of men in suits entered his house telling him about his parents sudden disappearance. He had only been twelve years old at the time. The group of men had then told him to gather his belongings and come with them. He remembered the fear that consumed him and how the men gave him a bad feeling. Then as always there was nothing, his brain had blocked out the events that followed. The next memory he had was of him riding his father's motorcycle and his hands were covered in blood.
         A clap of thunder shook the building bringing his mind back to the current situation. It had been four years since that day, and now here he sat staring at the same old motorcycle which had been built by his father. The bike was his only true possession and companion.
         What are you going to do now Ethan? he asked himself. What can I do?. He continued to sit and weigh his options for a few minutes. After about ten minutes he stood up and headed upstairs to the apartment above the shop, which he'd been staying in for nearly a month.
         He walked across the room passing the stacks of dusty old cardboard boxes labeled "Dad's stuff". He thought about the pictures which lined the walls of the shop downstairs. The pictures were of the same old man cutting the hair of various shop patrons, each photo having a date written on it, ranging from 1978 to 2024.
         The boy continued through the dark abandoned room till he reached the front wall. He then peered through a small gap in the dust that covered the small window which over looked the T-intersection below. The rain was now pouring down so bad that he couldn't tell if the suspicious looking man was still standing in the alley up the road. It didn't matter though the boy hadn't eaten in three days and the rain water that he had been drinking from leaks in the ceiling was making him extremely ill. "I have to go now." he said to himself, "I'd rather risk dying at the hands of that creep than in this rundown old building."
         A few minutes later and he was sitting on the old motorcycle downstairs contemplating his decision to leave. He decided it was now or never. He then thrust his foot down and the engine let out a roar then sputtered and died. Once again he kicked his foot down this time nothing, "Don't do this to me now." he said to the bike. He started to worry about whether or not the sound was loud enough to be heard over the sound of the storm outside. "Third time's the charm." he muttered with little hope in his voice.
         The motorcycle roared to life and Ethan sighed with relief. He revved the engine for a moment then took off raising the front wheel up as he accelerated and used it to smash down the front door which snapped off its rusted hinges with ease.
         He let off the accelerator to allow the front tire to fall to the ground. Then as the front of the bike began to fall back to the ground his brain went into overdrive and it were as if time stopped. Above him a spider web of lightning filled the air. Out the corner of his right eye he saw the barbershop door falling to the ground. In front of him about thirty feet away was the man in the black suit sprinting toward him. To his left, filling his vision, was a bright yellowish brown blur. Searing pain shot through his skull and a moment later he was unconscious.
         
         The man in the black suit came to a sudden halt, he extended a foot out to stop the motorcycle as it skidded on its side toward him. He stared for a few moments at the boy's body lying motionless on the ground a few yards away. Once he was certain that the boy's chest was still rising and falling he directed his attention at the two men standing next to the doorway.
         The man on the right was a gangly, ragged looking man who appeared to be just short of six feet tall. Although the weather was cold and rain was pouring down by the bucket, this man was wearing only a dirt stained white t-shirt and a pair of tattered old blue jeans. Most noticeably however the man was not wearing any shoes.
         The other man could be more easily described as an ogre. He was over seven feet tall and must have weighed at least four hundred pounds which was all solid muscle. An old pair of army pixilated gray pants tucked into brown combat boots, and a black wool skullcap, were the only things the man was wearing. In his left hand was the handle of the baseball bat that had just shattered upon impact of the boy's head.
         Who are these men? the man thought.
         "Who do you think you are?" the smaller of the two men said with a raspy voice.
         "Agent Durus Valentin." he replied in a faltering voice.
         "Oh yeah, for what agency?" asked the raspy voiced man.
         "That's none of your concern. Who are you two is my question?" Durus responded.
         Another flash of light filled the air followed by a crash of thunder that shook the ground under the men's feet. The white shirted man apparently saw it as an opportunity and charged forward.

         Where am I? What happened? How long have I been out? Am I even alive? these questions were swimming through Ethan's head.
         Even through the thick cotton of his gray hooded sweatshirt, he could feel the coarse, unforgiving asphalt as it dug into his back. He felt the inches of ice could water all around him and could almost count each of the hundreds of raindrops that were slamming into his forehead which felt like it had swelled to ten times its normal size. To his left only a few feet away he heard the sounds of men fighting. He slowly opened his eyes and stared into the dark clouds above for a moment. He could hardly see, it was as if he were trying to see through a cloud of black smoke. He turned his head to see who was fighting but all he could see were the basic shapes of the men. The largest was slow moving and didn't move around much but the other two were obviously well trained, their movements were quick and graceful. Then his vision faded out and his thoughts began to weaken and die away.

         Memories of over a decade of training in hand to hand combat and martial arts filled Durus's head as a massive fist was coming toward the side of his face. There was nothing he could do, his hands were already tangled with those of the raspy voiced man. The fist collided first with the man's glasses which were propelled into the air revealing his bright, pale blue eyes, the boulder like fist proceeded to clip the man's cheekbone leaving behind a large gash in its wake. The impact of the hit dazed and disorientated him. A second fist drove itself into his lower ribcage with enough force to lift his feet an inch off the ground.
         A groan of pain erupted from the giant man's mouth who stared at his now busted hand with an expression of pain on his face mixed with a look of confusion as to what had happened.
         The steel plate in Durus's bulletproof vest may have protected his ribs from breaking but the powerful impact felt like he'd been struck by a battering ram. He released his grip on the gangly man then staggered back a couple yards. He took time to recover and catch his breath as the white shirted man inspected his colleague's now swollen hand.
         After a few moments fussing over the hand the large man seemed to block out the pain and a look of rage appeared on his face. He grabbed his associate, who was still inspecting the hand, by the back of his collar and spun him around to face their opponent. With a mighty thrust he shoved the man toward Durus.
         Yet another flash of lightning spread through the air followed by its usual thunder. A glint of lightning reflected from Durus's hand as he lunged toward the gangly man who was stumbling toward him, their movements slowed by the still rising flood. As the lightning faded from the sky the two men collided and Durus's hand swept past the man's head and into the air. A spray of blood shot out of the man's neck joining the rain in the air. Durus wrapped his arms around the gurgling and sputtering man, and lowered him gently to the ground. The man whispered a few brief words into Durus's ear then his breath stopped, his pupils dilated and he lay motionless.
         The painful vise like squeeze on his shoulder informed him the larger man had approached from behind. He knew it had been foolish to not only have dropped his guard but even more so to have turned his back on his enemy. The taking of another man's life was however, always too difficult for him to keep his focus. The pain in his shoulder intensified as the large hand tightened its grip. The circulation left his arm and the small blood coated combat knife made a small splash as it fell from his hand.
         He didn't even have a second to think of a counter attack when he felt yet more pain radiate from his shoulder. There was a grinding sound of bones rubbing together as Durus's shoulder was yanked out of its socket. He felt his feet leave the ground as he realized the large man was hurling him backward with colossal strength, into the air. He felt his chin slam into his sternum as his head flopped forward due to the sudden force. Durus's limbs flailed about as he flew through the air ten feet above the ground, the large man grew distant as he soared away from him.
         With a sickening thud Durus's body slammed into the brick wall of the barbershop. He felt the old unstable bricks shake from the impact as he slid the remaining foot and a half down to the sidewalk. Warm blood trickled from the back of his head and down his neck. His ribs throbbed with every gasping breath.
         He was drained of energy. Pain had consumed his entire body and he could feel every raindrop like they were tiny balls of lead falling from the sky pounding into his aching flesh. Get up Valentin he repeated over and over in his mind, but his body wouldn't move. He just continued to sit on the sidewalk, which was beginning to flood, and stared at the giant man who was on his knees mourning over his ally.
         The storm raged on round them lightning filling the sky and thunder shaking the rundown old city every minute. Time dragged on and Durus began to hope that the other man was done fighting. Then, as if the large man had heard his thoughts, he reached his hand into the water then stood up holding Durus's combat knife in his right hand. The man turned around and began walking toward Durus.
         "Don't do this." Durus said, attempting to stall his impending doom, "Nobody else needs to die here. Just walk away now." he continued with a hint of confidence in his voice. His words had no affect on the man who had approached and was now reaching down to grab him. Memories of a lifetime of martial arts, self defense and hand to hand combat training flooded Durus's mind and before he could think of what to do, instinct took over and his knee raised into his chest then his foot lifted off the ground.
         A roar like that of a lion's released from the large man's gaping mouth as he stopped in the middle of bending over to grab Durus. He swayed on the spot as pain shot up his leg. Durus's foot had shot forward into the man's kneecap and the large man's leg snapped backward with a stomach turning crunch.
         Durus saw the moment of weakness and took his opportunity to attack. He reached up and grabbed the man's wrist and forced the knife weilding hand downward into the thigh of the man's unbroken leg. Another roar of pain released from the man's mouth as he swayed even more. Durus reached up again this time to grab the man's belt and pulled with all the strength he could muster.
         The man lost what little balance he had left and crashed face first into the brick wall. The decrepit mortar that had held the bricks together for nearly a century crumbled away and the man's head tore through the wall like a wrecking ball followed by his bulldozer like body, Durus rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding the man's massive legs. The hole in the wall got larger and larger as bricks continued to fall on and entomb the fallen man. The creaks and groans, of the barely standing building, were muffled by the still pouring rain.
         Durus slowly lifted himself to his feet using his one functioning arm. He then grabbed his dislocated right shoulder and jerked it back into place, his body was numb from the severity of the pain surging through his body. As he started to walk toward the unconscious young boy he heard the sound of more tumbling and grinding bricks behind him. He looked back and the oversized man whom he thought should be dead, was standing in the hole in the wall gripping the remains of the wall to keep his weight off his broken leg. Blood was seeping from protruding bones and lacerations all over his body.
         "I'm not through with you!" the nauseatingly mutilated man yelled, followed by blood and broken teeth falling out of his mouth. Then, as if triggered by his voice, a web of lightning spread through the clouds. The man's face went blank as the usual thunder rocked the city. For a brief moment Durus's eyes met those of the other man's in mutual understanding, another moment later and the large man was gone, buried under hundreds of pounds of brick and debris that had been the old barber shop.

To be continued. 

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