Capítulo 52: The Call of the Warlord (V)
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<Fallen Angel at an unknown secluded house>
July 10, 2054. 11:06 pm. <Orlando, FL >
Death. Ecstasy. Pleasure.
"The sweet smell of the living." Fallen Angel shuddered in excitement. His hand twitched from Tourette's. This was a high he would never ever get tired of. It was the most intimate moment with him and death. The harsh summer night made him sticky with sweat. Already the stuffy air made it slightly difficult to breathe.
He had personally watched every last second and made sure her eyes meet his like two embracing lovers. She lay dying on the floor with a knife protruding out of her chest. Her light brown hair was pasted with red, her pink sweater punctured with holes as blood pooled out in front of him. Her ballerina dress was sprawled out and pink ballerina shoes bloodied. Swirls of ruby red painted the checkered floor from her struggle.
As he noticed her body shudder, her chest heaved one final time as her life escaped from her. Slowly bending over to her face, he inhaled her last dying breath: the breath of life. He shivered with pure glee. This was the highest point of ecstasy, a pure sick pleasure he could not get enough of.
Throughout the hour he had watched her die slowly from the punctured knife wounds in her lungs. He made sure that no one was going to visit her today. No unforeseen circumstances, everything meticulous planned to the exact minute.
He was a grim reaper for hire. In the afternoon in Georgia, he completed the deal and slew the mother and child. The wife that supposedly killed her family from the custody war had hired him to slay the family for a price. She wanted to die with her child in her arms. The many gifts she wanted to take back with her in death. She didn't have the heart to kill her own children, but knew what she did ate at her soul at the end. He scoffed at such cowardly people. It was his legacy to silence the people who asked to die with his own hands of destiny. He was the best in his field.
He gave her exactly what she wanted but made sure to add a flavor of his own twist. It truly was an exciting day. A true live art that he had painted, he personally called it the birth. He had gutted the mother and placed the dead child in her stomach. It was a harmonious picture. He could remember it perfectly, every detail, every memory. His photographic memory was one of his best gifts; he could always go back to and relive that moment.
Today he was going to create another work of art, one just as beautiful as yesterday's or even better. These jobs were easy to do, and cleaning after was not hard, but not leaving behind evidence was a bit of a challenge. Technology had grown to the point of making it difficult to hide, but it had not stopped him. No matter, he had been doing this for thirty years now from the age of six. He was a pro. The last kill was a statement about his his love to death. Each killing had absolutely no correlation to one another except for money.
He needed to live somehow, and this was his gift. Everyone had something they were good at. With his work done, he stepped back from his art. The dead girl was in a position as if she were doing her last dance. One arm above her, the other over her heart, her right foot pointed, and the left against her right. Her hair dyed in blood and her eyes closed eternally in its sleep.
The ballerina.
He sighed with content. He was a gentleman. He did not let anything spoil her composure. He made sure to take care of her. Not a single drop of blood dirtied his red collared long sleeves and his black jeans. Nor did it get on his black leather gloves, or on his black tie—he had rolled his sleeves back so none would get on it, but it wasn't necessary. He kept his light brown hair slicked to the side with gel, his white pale skin was spotless, and he kept a silver cross around his neck. His gray eyes were clear as sparkling moonlight, his face chiseled and clean from any stubble. On his neck a single black drop-like tattoo decorated his neck.
It was truly an irony: after every job he completed he would sit down and pray. His left hand would not stop twitching uncontrollably, his emotions would spike making it a bit difficult to breathe, his thoughts would run rampant until he stopped and went on his knees to pray. It brought peace to his soul.
No more did his emotions fluctuate: his mind was clear and his hands were still. He got up from his kneeling position and put on his Alive gear that he took out from his pocket. His next mission would soon be sent through this gear, a personal app that been downloaded specifically to receive coded messages for his next mission. It was not hard to send and receive messages, nor was it difficult to find illicit ways to use an otherwise beneficial technology. Everything had a double side to it; it was how people used it that made technology feared.
He was surprised that this Alive gear was pretty high in security, constantly upgrading and updating. There had not been a single breach in personal information. Each Alive gear had its own unique code. Just like a fingerprint, the code was difficult to reproduce. All data was either stored or permanently deleted weekly or when it was full. Not a single trace of data was left behind. The creators of the Embryo gear could not access the data of Alive gear, unless the owner uploaded it into the internet.
He made sure that security around his Alive gear was personally updated and protected, a simple code that he got from his superiors. A message appeared in front of him.
Devil's Quest: Art of Ballerina has been updated.
Art of Ballerina has been completed. A life has ended and a new one has begun. A constant cycle of beginning and end. A black stain has been written in the history. No reward was given. Infamy has risen.
He was surprised he got a Devil's Quest. He hardly considered himself a devil. A grim reaper, yes, but a devil was a bit too far-fetched for him. What he did not understand was what this Devil's Quest was for. He had heard that there were normal quests out there that were given to the people, but this was a first. It was his second Devil's Quest that he was given in a row—not that he minded, but it interested him.
What ripple effect he could cause by doing these quests, he wondered but he did not care. In reality he thought he was doing the right things for the world: taking out the weeds in the best way possible. These people were simply not needed any more, and so he removed them.
Quickly going through the menu he deleted the files. No fool of his caliber would leave such evidence behind. Every day he manually cleared, saved, or kept the files in his personal chip he kept literally in his body at all times. The chip was a size of a small raisin. Protected, hidden, and kept safe: his pride and his joy. The amount of data it could store was immeasurable.
All data pertaining to the Devil's Quest: Art of Ballerina has been deleted permanently. Please give it a couple of seconds for it to be completed.
He was surprised that this gear created these so-called real life quests. It seemed to pick up what he wanted to do most. A mind reader possibly, but highly unlikely. If it did, it seemed it only picked up the bare minimum. He knew the Yami Hikari Company sold the basic model of the Alive gear, and personalizing it was left all to the buyers. In the last months there were an explosion of new apps and upgrades for download.
He did not completely understand how it worked. What mattered was to make sure his identity and personal information stayed anonymous.
In the past two days, he made sure everything in the house was in its exact order. His memory would make sure of that.
A coded message appeared through his Alive gear.
Two new messages have been received
To:Fall3nAng3l
From: TigerOne
Meet with BlackStar. New Mission: Romeo and Juliet.
x6x1x1
Devil's Quest: Romeo and Juliet.
Meet with BlackStar. Romeo and Juliet has been initiated. A new art has been initiated.Difficulty Level: Unknown.
Reward: None.
Notoriety: -1000
Angel chuckled. A new mission. A new art. A joy he would not give up any time soon. Not that it mattered if he had another Devil's quest. It was all the same to him. A game. The hunted and the hunter. He scrolled through the inbox and opened another message.
To: Fall3nAng3l
From: unknown
A package for the future. A Seed. Let your chaos bring forth justice, chaos, and the future. Welcome, child of the Fallen. Let us stain the world jet black.
"A seed? I don't need to grow plants." He ignored the message. A couple of seconds later, his screen turned pitch black, making it difficult to see. A fuzzy gray dot appeared in his Alive gear. It grew larger and larger into a small, raisin-sized seed.
Small roots erupted out of the seed as it grew in size and frame. It expanded and covered his glasses. Swirls of green and black danced fluidly with one another as it created more shapes of leaves. A beautiful dark flower fully bloomed. Its petals were pitch black with a reddish tint off the leaves. The screen statics and the plant disappeared.
Angel stared at the screen, wondering what just happened. He was not used to the new up-to-date technology graphics. At times he found it distracting during work, but it was something completely new for him.
Reaching over to the power button on his right side of his Alive gear, he turned it off. He left the scene whistling and twirling his silver cross keychain. Hunting season had begun.
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