The Bloodless Read online

  He woke later, not due to any massive sounds, but to the lack thereof. He strained his ears for anything, but instead his ears were bombarded by a chilling silence. A strong sense of foreboding corrupted the air around him; silence in these situations was never a good thing.

  The sun was beginning to set and burning beams or red and orange sunlight busted through the slotted blinds covering the windows. The walls appeared to be on fire. That’s when a loud *BANG* sounded from the front of the house. Justice sprang from the bed and started to frantically search the room to find any sort of weapon. He figured since the owner of the house had that shotgun there must be more firepower somewhere in the house. Sure enough he found a silver gun case stashed away under the bed. He opened it to find a revolver and a very well maintained custom Desert Eagle.

  Up to that point in his life, he had only ever operated a firearm once before but in a very controlled environment. Luckily for Justice it was a model very similar to the Desert Eagle he had in front of him. He probably took too much time examining the gun because before he knew it he was attacked from behind, the guns flew from his hands. He was hit a couple times in the head but he fought back and eventually rolled on to his back to face his attacker. The sight was unnerving; the thing attacking him was a very normal looking teenaged boy. There were no discernible disfigurements about it, the only odd characteristic he noticed was an orange glow in its listless eyes and that it smelled just awful. Determined to kill this thing he fought hard and eventually extracted himself from underneath it and even managed to knock it down. He picked up the guns and ran from the room.

  Justice made his way downstairs and hid foolishly in a hallway closet. He heard the upstairs floor gently creak, as if the thing was moving slowly to give itself enough time to think of what to do next. He was like a sitting duck. All it had to do was throw the closet door open and there would be no chance of raising either gun let alone get a shot off to defend himself. The only option he had left was to go face it and attempt to kill it that way. Like a man kills something. Face to face.

  He listened for any more sound in order to gauge where the bastard was before rampaging out like an idiot. He had seen enough movies to know at least that much. But no sound came, it had gone eerily silent again. Did the thing finally die? Maybe it left without making a sound. He had to go and make sure, he had to do something. Sitting there waiting to die wasn’t an option, it was time for action.

  The closet door creaked open and he slowly crept out on high alert for any hint of a movement or a whiff of that thing’s stench. He made his way towards the staircase and moved around the wall carefully, trying to keep his eyes everywhere all at once. Since he lacked any professional combat training, he was unable to do so. For the second time the attack came from behind and he was knocked back to the floor. This time was different, the thing had Justice pinned well beyond his ability to escape and he was surely about to die. It beat him severely and then it reared back to deal the killing blow. But no such blow came.

  A weight was literally lifted from his back and then, with a thud, a body fell next to the ground by his side. The rancid smell reached his nose once again but there was no breath on his face. He strained to move but his cracked ribs made it incredibly difficult. “Are you okay,” a voice emerged from behind him. It was friendly and human. He felt sheets of relief fall over him and he slowly rolled over and looked up into the face of his savior. But there was no face to be seen, instead, he looked up into a high-tech mask. The person wearing it reached out a hand to him and gently helped Justice to his feet.

  “Who are you?” Justice asked through a grimace, clutching his ribs.

  “Call me Fox.”

  CHAPTER 6

  His Name Was Merton Chaucer

  “Wake up!”

  Blood dripped lightly from his nose as he came back to consciousness. He could feel it dripping into his mouth but he couldn’t wipe it away because his hands were bound, tightly, behind his back again. His legs felt like perfectly cooked al dente noodles as his feet scraped over rocky ground. Justice struggled to open his eyes to get a look around but his strength was waning. The door creaked open as his feet knocked against stairs and then he was inside a room. The events of the past twelve hours slowly crept back into his mind and started replaying, like an old film projector starting up:

  He had just set up in a bar in a town called Springfield, it was a dive bar of sorts but the perfect location for the type of people he was looking for at the time. He felt his team to be incomplete, three wasn’t nearly enough if he wanted to actually take down the things that attacked GoD Labs. He had some good members but he really needed someone to give them that tactical edge. Just like his other scouting trips, he wasn’t sure what he was looking for but he knew he would recognize it when he saw it.

  The bar was small, but most bars were those days, back when they still existed in that region. This bar was actually about average, relatively speaking. One small, rough wood top bar ran along the back of the building that only seated about six or seven people, depending on who was wanting to sit. Then it was just an open floor apart from that with some rickety pine round tables with mismatching and worn chairs. There were a couple make-shift windows bracketing the front door. The walls were bare and made of rusty sheet metal, or what at least appeared to be rusty sheet metal. Not much in the way of lighting, a few bare light bulbs were strung from the ceiling and glowed feebly giving off just enough light that Justice could at least see where his mug was when he tried to sip his drink.

  Word of his intentions had apparently spread because most of the people in that bar kept their distance from him, as if he was infected. He didn’t mind though, it was a good way to filter out anybody who wasn’t willing to fight. Towards the end of his search it got to the point where he didn’t even need to go recruiting; people came to him.

  However, at this point, he was still trekking across the land looking for the best of the best and having to settle for people with a score to settle.

  “So you’re the guy,” a confident voice came from behind him. Justice turned around to see the most beautiful sight he had seen since his wife died.

  “I-I’m sorry,” he said, a little flustered.

  “You’re the one going from town to town recruiting people to fight with you,” she said as she took a seat at his table. Her face had a permanent mild scowl on it, but her eyes were what he first noticed. One eye was a dazzling blue, the other a rich deep brown. He had never seen a more beautiful example of heterochromia in all his life. Her shoulder-length red hair was a bit untidy but so were most people’s those days. She looked so familiar but he had no idea why.

  “Oh, y-yeah, that’s me,” Justice definitely felt a little nervous and intimidated. She carried herself really well, confidence exuded from her every pore.

  She reached out her hand and introduced herself, “The name’s Abigail Crist. I want to talk to you about what you’re doing.”

  The name set off a couple more familiar bells but he couldn’t quite decipher it yet. He had encountered her type of introduction before. “Look,” he said, a tinge of annoyance flitted through his body, “I’m not forcing people to join and yes, I’m an asshole scumbag GoD employee.”

  She didn’t respond right away, she just smiled simply, almost knowingly. “Catching a lot of flak on your travels?” she asked as she took a flask from the inside of her long brown trench coat and took a pull off it. The bartender looked right at her as she did it but quickly turned his head, as if he didn’t want her to catch him.

  “It hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park,” Justice said and was surprised when she laughed at what was apparently a joke.

  “It never is anymore is it,” Crist said as she sat her flask on the table. She gave a quick glance over at the bartender before continuing. “I’m not here to give you shit about who you are, what you’re doing, or where you used to work. I’m here to help.” She sat in her seat and just stared at him for a few
moments. “Don’t you remember me at all,” she demanded. That’s when long lost, extra dusty synapses fired deep down in a long-forgotten crevice of his brain.

  “Abby!” he exclaimed as he finally remembered where he knew her from. Abigail Crist was one of the premiere, if not THE premiere weapons designer in the entire world. He had met her years before at a weapons convention where she was a speaker. He had watched her that night rapturously; she had given a tremendous speech about the role of weapons in maintaining peace and continuing humanitarian missions across the world. Really, the speech was mostly a bunch of fluff that was meant to keep investors invested and peace lovers placated.

  Before her speech Justice was actually able to talk to her. They didn’t talk long but she did leave quite the impression. But that was years and years before their second encounter and a lot of lifetimes had transpired in that time, so it’s no wonder he didn’t remember or recognize her right away.

  “Got there finally,” she said with a smirk on her face.

  “How have you been?” Justice asked readjusting in his chair. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  “It definitely has been and times have certainly changed.”

  “Still think weapons are an important part of a peaceful civilization?”

  “I think my point is proven more and more every day, don’t you?” she asked as she took another pull from her flask.

  “What have you been up to?” Justice asked not really thinking about it. He then realized it was quite a stupid question when he saw her reaction on her face. “I mean, besides trying to survive,” he quickly added.

  “I’m surprised you’re still around these parts,” Crist said, ignoring his ramblings, for which he was grateful. “I would’ve thought you’d be long gone by now, everything considered.”

  “Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind. Hell, I still think about running, but I don’t because this is something I feel compelled to do.”

  “Maybe it’s because you assholes caused this whole mess,” she said with a slightly aggressive inflection.

  Justice was a little taken aback by her harsh comments, but they were not unexpected. “Yeah, but it’s something more than that,” he tried to explain, “it’s almost as if some kind of external force is pushing me towards this, almost guiding me.”

  “What’s your drink?” Crist asked him. It was weird talking to her, it was if she wasn’t listening, or maybe she was but she just didn’t care.

  “Um,” he started, a little thrown off, “my drink?”

  “Yeah. You know, what do you prefer when you want to kill brain cells?”

  “Vodka I guess, if I had to pick something. Alcohol doesn’t actually kill brain cells though…”

  “A vodka man, huh,” Crist said with a smirk on her face. “Don’t see many of them around these days.”

  “Is that a problem? Should I man up, you think,” he said, a little defensively.

  “Settle down now,” she said as she motioned for a waitress, “nothing wrong with Vodka. Now, if you’d’ve said tequila, we’d have a problem.” The waitress came over and Crist ordered a couple drinks.

  “Don’t you already have one,” Justice said, indicating her flask that was still on the table.

  “I do, both drinks are for you.”

  “Both? Are you trying to get me drunk?” he asked, flirtatiously.

  “Don’t flatter yourself lab coat. You need to relax, you’ll get more inquiries if you’re relaxed,” Crist said as the waitress set down drinks in front of them. Crist picked hers up and set it down in front of Justice. “Drink.”

  They continued to talk and indeed he did calm down a bit. They talked about the usual things that two people talk about when trying to catch up with each other’s lives. Of course they recounted the horrible ordeals that lead to the loss of their loved ones. She told him all about how the Bloodless came for her and her husband right away. This made sense seeing as both were world class weapons designers. Crist was married to Vladimir Romanov, a brilliant Russian-American weapons designer who basically helped pave the path for Crist to ascend the ranks of the weapons industry.

  It’s not like that, though. Crist could have ascended the ranks on her own but the world of weapons design was a total boys’ club and just about every woman who attempted to break into the upper echelon was met with unfair standards and expectations. Romanov saw the potential in Abigail Crist and hired her on as his apprentice and taught her everything he knew while also proving her legitimacy to the rest of the industry. Her meteoric success led to other companies putting women in prominent roles and opened up the entire industry to the opposite sex.

  Her talents weren’t the only thing that drew Romanov to Crist, as he had been known to tell those close to him that it was love at first sight when the two were first introduced. He was immediately attracted by her beauty but quickly fell in love with her spirit and the intelligence she so unabashedly exuded. He adored her and Romanov always assured her that the day they got married was the happiest day of his life, despite many prestigious accolades that were bestowed upon him during his career.

  The Romanovs were taken from their homes and Vladimir was killed right in front of Abigail. Tears trickled down her face as she retold the story and Justice felt terrible for her, he couldn’t imagine what he would’ve done if he was forced to watch the Bloodless murder his family. He knew they were dead, but at least he didn’t have to witness it and have that image burned into his brain. Listening to Crist he felt grateful, but then he felt bad for taking solace in her grief and suffering. More vodka helped erode that feeling as well, however.

  Crist was right too, about the effect of him relaxing would have on his recruitment efforts. Throughout the course of the evening, several people came up to him, more than usual, and asked him what he was trying to do. He would then explain it to them, in the simplest way he could and more often than not the interested party would recoil in fear and walk away swiftly. But every once in a while the person would seem open to hearing more and Justice would tell them more and when it seemed like he had another recruit, they would make up an excuse to leave or say they’d get back to him.

  However, the night was not a total waste. By the time Justice was about to leave he had at least recruited one person and he was satisfied with such a fine addition as Crist. He knew she would give him a huge leg up, especially when it came to arming the rest of the team but she wasn’t the only person he recruited that night.

  “So how did you escape from capture?” Justice asked, slurring his words a little.

  “That’s a good question and maybe I’ll tell you some day,” Crist said, “when you’re coherent enough to follow it.” Justice laughed and tried to convince her that he could handle it. She proceeded to assure him that he could not; obviously she was right.

  That’s when up walked a very dangerous looking man. Well-muscled with a natural mean look on his face. He had a confident air about him though, a gentle confidence, like a raggedy teddy bear. He sat right down at the table and without preamble started talking.

  “I’ve heard what you’re doing,” his voice was low and gruff just as you’d expect it to be. He had short brown, fine hair that dangled just in front of his dull blue eyes. As he settled into his seat he placed a large caliber hand gun on the table, a common sight apparently around those parts because no one flinched. “I want in,” he stated, “the name’s Tyler.” He smelled of gun powder, sweat, and brawn. He was a perfect addition to the team, as if a genie granted Justice’s wish.

  “Okay,” Justice responded a little taken aback, “what’s your specialty?”

  “Killin’ things,” he said simply.

  Crist laughed. Tyler did not.

  “So what’s your story, Tyler?” Justice asked.

  “My story,” he said with a laugh, “ya’ll don’t wanna know my story.”

  “Try us,” Crist said, slightly annoyed.

  “Fine,” he said as he caressed his
gun, “I’ll tell you.” He cleared his throat, “Now, let me start out sayin’ I ain’t proud ‘bout what I done, but a soldier follows orders, y’know?”

  “So you were in the Army,” Crist interjected.

  “Naw, not THE Army. Private army more like,” Tyler said, picking at his teeth. “Ain’t never had a desire to do government work, see. Naw, I was hired by some fat cat to be part of some mercenary group, but there were hundreds of us.”

  “Hundreds?” Justice asked. That seemed like a little much for a group of mercenaries.

  “Yup,” Tyler responded. “See, I’m good with my hands, huntin’, shootin’, and like I said, killin’. I’m a survivalist, I taught people how to survive in the wilderness. Seemed like a good idea considerin’ the way the world was goin’ at the time.”

  “Smart,” Crist said, “did you make any money doing it?”

  “Money was decent, not really the reason I was doin’ it but I had to eat, y’know,” Tyler said. The waitress came by and set a drink in front of him. He took a chug from it, “Soon the money wasn’t decent, ran into some problems. You can’t fight your way outta money problems. So I had to do somethin’. That’s when I was approached by a man in some fancy clothes who had heard about my lessons, asked if I wanted to make some real money. ‘Course I said yes right away after he explained what it was I’d be doin’.”