บท 165: Not Another Enemy Raid I
●●05:31 A.M. - Burger Joint●●●
"At exactly eight o'clock, Kubrick and Gordon will roll down the alley behind the apartment and secure our escape route."
"Inside the storage room, too?"
"Yes, Gordon. Every wall in and out. By eight-o-ten, you'll be dragging your ass through the fire escape and trying to reach us at the rooftop."
●●08:01 A.M. - Gordon Walker●●●
He crouched down low, tracing the wall as he came upon the backdoor exit of the apartment building.
Marked with a red exit sign and two large dumpsters, the alleyway was large enough to be behind the old movie theater and a liquor store. Their car, a blue-green 1993 Chevrolet Camaro whom Gordon bought at a car dealership when it first came up–he had found a large stack of civil war coins from a vampire nest which he exchanged for contemporary bills–was hidden inside the alleyway.
The car would act as a barricade for lookie-loos and security guards while also being their exit strategy. He had modified its engine to run at all times once the key was inside the ignition.
Kubrick was behind him, the crazed parishioner acting as a lookout as he picked open the lock and slid the door ajar.
Richard had already told them to not worry about the security camera above the door, having already destroyed the security room on the second floor.
Gordon took out a sleek black monocular and pressed into the night-vision lenses and peered into the room.
A green hue tinted the vast room where wooden boxes of varying sizes stacked with some reaching as high as the ceiling. He soon found the door that led to the inner office area where Brown's campaign was in full swing.
While the rolled up campaign banners and opened containers filled with dozens of campaigning paraphernalia was normal for such a company, it was, however, intriguing that three rectangular containers of differing materials were haphazardly fitted everywhere that had space.
What was even more peculiar was that there were engravings within the containers, some glowing with an unnatural light. Gordon knew this to be the work of some kind of voodoo or a magic of the pagan gods, even without the warning of Richard.
"Hey," His concentration was shattered by the blonde man behind him.
"What, Kubrick?" He answered gruffly, zooming into the strange metal box nearest to him. It had an almost hypnotic pattern along its length and Gordon nearly gave in to its powers when Kubrick spoke up again.
"I heard that Winchesters talking about this weapon," Kubrick showed the Angel Blade with a reverent look in his eyes. "They called it an Angel Blade. Is that true? Is that just a-a nickname or an eponym?"
Normally it would inwardly annoy him to be asked such an inane question when there's much at stake, but Kubrick's questions shook him up. His world had turned upside down following the ordeal with the angels.
Sure, he had swallowed the initial reaction down and had since been spitting it out in the form of monster eradication–constantly disobeying the cardinal rule of Richard to leave the monster corpse in one piece–yet even being reminded of that day brought him to a standstill.
He checked his watch and saw that three minutes had passed. He slammed his back into the wall beside the door and slumped down.
"Kubrick. I'm not going to tell you the answer because it'll just distract us from our job," Kubrick silently hung to his words. "But Richard will tell you everything you want and need to know. This is a test. Remember what I told you?"
"Yeah," Kubrick assented in a breathy voice. "He's going to revolutionize the world and we need to go along for the ride."
Gordon grunted and pushed off the wall, stealthily entering the door with his Angel Blade in hand. No sound was coming near or around the door to the inner office as he drew nearer the glowing box, stopping a few feet away in case a trap had been set beforehand.
He looked back to Kubrick and signaled with his hands. "Plant the traps."
Kubrick went to work. Richard had given them three kinds of paper talismans, each with different colors.
A red talisman, sporting Chinese letters and a gunpowder smell, was called an Explosion Tag and could be pasted along a flat surface. Richard had assured them that when detonated using the Detonation Tag, the Explosion Tag, as its name stated, would blow up like a pack of dynamite with an added magical flair. He didn't explain what the flair was, only giving them a stack of fifteen papers that were supposed to be planted along the walls and doors of the ground floor.
While Kubrick was busy with planting bombs like a homegrown domestic terrorist, Gordon inched closer to the box and let the tip of his Angel Blade graze the steel borders of the box.
Although he had been soft in his touch, the touching metal still leaked a string of frayed noises that greatly resembled the static of live microphones being near each other.
"What the fuck was that?" A voice echoed past the door that led to the inner office, startling Kubrick even more than the static noise.
Gordon cursed himself, reversing his grip on the Angel Blade and rushing towards the door. "Finish the bombs." He ordered as he grabbed a nearby box and slid it towards the door to prevent whomever was inside from opening it completely.
"What the–?" The door banged against the box and, when the person tried to open it once more, Gordon had already crossed the distance and slammed the door closed.
"You're good at this, Gordon." Kubrick said sarcastically as he plastered the fifth Explosion Tag right next to him. "Not fifteen minutes in and we're already compromised."
Gordon chuckled as he shrugged his shoulders, "Well, I was hoping for more action than planting–"
The box that he had previously touched suddenly began to shake and rattle, nearly rolling off the stack it had been on with the intensity. Two other boxes began to show liveliness, copying the first one before all began glowing with unnatural light.
"I think you're going to get one today." Kubrick remarked.
"Hey! Open this door. Can someone go around the back and check it out? Lawry, get me the keys." The authoritative figure behind the door barked orders after another, oblivious to the clattering mess in the storage room.
Gordon chuckled because knew he fucked up the mission, but at the same time, he was happy that his wish was coming true. He took out a long piece of green paper and ripped it in half, which immediately burned into ashes as he closed his eyes and thought out.
'Screwed up because of the strange, glowing, rattling boxes in the storage room. People know we're in here and we're only halfway done.'
The green paper was a Provocation Talisman, which could send out two sentences to the thoughts of a person within ten miles. With its name, Richard didn't have to explain that it was a psychological weapon, which was why Gordon had anticipated the arrival of a yawning demon whispering into his ears in its ancient guttural language.
"Disregard the next sentence, but good job because we fucked up, too. You will die falling on your own blade, Gordon Walker. Go to Plan B and, with my guess, that isn't boxes, so fucking leave. You are a monster that masquerades as a human hunter, satiating your thirst for blood with those of your kind."
Just as the demonic voices halted its whispering, the boxes stopped rattling, which relieved Gordon for a moment. It was then that Richard's words resurfaced in his memories.
"Let's fucking m–" The three boxes exploded into a shower of rain and blood before Gordon and Kubrick could move, sending both of them into a spiral and smashing their bodies into the walls.
Dazed and confused, Gordon tried to stand up from his slumped position, only to find his body resisting the call of his brain. Blood had seeped into eyes, itching his retina and preventing him from fully seeing the chaos of the room.
What he could see, however, greatly alarmed him. Coming out of the smoke and rubble was an unnaturally tall woman wearing some sort of ceremonial headdress. She yawned daintily; her calloused hands gently lifting up with an aura of grace and destruction.
"Husband, have we arrived~hwua~arrived at our destination?"
A powerful and tall man exited the bubble of smoke. His chiseled jaw ended on a goatee that dove past his chest. His gleaming silver eyes spoke of countless horrors yet, with a gentle smile, the husband spoke with a reverberating, deep and giddy tone.
"It appears we have and, look, my love… the sisters have brought us a welcoming meal."
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