Gordon had spent what seemed like a life time in journalism. He had seen many of natural disasters, both natural and social. He had walked through the muck of less fortunate countries and had seen war up close and how it effected the men and women fighting them. He had developed a keen instinct of navigating through crisis to what he always wanted - the truth. Be good or bad, he had always followed that path knowing he would find and share the answers that many sought.
It was the weekend when he recognized the number ringing his phone. It was his editor. It was an unexpected call, so it perked his curiosity. Gordon answered as he always had, letting any caller know that it was indeed Gordon Knott on the phone. His editor did not return the familiar connection. The tone of his editor sounded worried, saying two names that would change everything Gordon had known.
Charles Trask.
The spoken name sent a chill down his spine as the small hair on his neck would rise with an uneasy fear. Gordon had not known Charles personally, it was better off that he didnt, but he knew of Charles Trask and his FBI dossier. Charles Trask was a serial killer, one that made many of forensic psychologist question how dark a man's soul could go. Reportedly, Quantico had opened up its own course regarding the man and his actions.
Gordon had come across a few of Trask's kill locations, seeing the bloody nature of what a true beast could accomplish. Gordon had spent days in warzones, experiencing the gunfire up close and it still did not come close to what he saw was the work of this killer. Gordon had written once that Charles Trask was Ted Bundy on steroids. When he was captured and eventually receiving death by lethal injection, he assumed the world would be a better place, and figured it would be the last Gordon would ever hear that name.
Gordon knew his editor did not take the task he was offering Gordon lightly, but he offered it none the less. Charles' family were all dead, by Charles Trask's own hands and so it left his belongings and estate open for critiquing and leaving the question of who really was Charles Trask. It was a road of questions, the answers on the other side of it. Right or wrong it was there to be discovered, and as everyone knew, Gordon Knott was the man capable of finding those answers.
San Francisco was a commercial and financial center of the state of California, able to withstand many regime changes that governed the county and city due to its diverse population in economic, technological, and educational sectors. The pinnacle in health and educational advancements, the needs of the people took priority for all residents and visitors alike. The shinning light of the West Coast attracted many, unaware of what was hidden under the veil of misdirection.
#I_Love_SF
Occupied Zone
In 2007, a Citizens Occupied Zone was established in the sector of Bueno Vista. Becoming fully autonomous, the OZ stayed with more Occupied Zones appearing in the city over time. By the year 2012, the entire city was an Occupied Zone unknown to the people outside its boundaries.
With complete control of executive power, infrastructure, and social media companies within its borders, the city is able to hide the truth of the savage nature of its city life once the sun sets. Anarchy at tis finest, the chaotic nature of human existence reveals itself from the shadows and into the streets. No visitor is safe as the only rule is that there are no rules.
If you make it to sleep, one awakes to the monotony of life only to run from it night after, night with everyone living as the night did not happen.
The only true safe haven from the Occupied Zone is Alcatraz, where all routes are difficult no matter the time of day.
#Survive #BeAfraid
Security
When the Occupied Zone appeared, a security surveillance was established by the city council to understand what was happening in the Zone. The network gave the city capabilities of mass surveillance to better coordinate resources. As more Occupied Zones appeared, more surveillance appeared until it blanketed the city and until the Occupied Zone used the already established security as a way to identify and coordinate attacks when needed.
Police enforcement is standard training with other authority covering the ports and airports. During the day, standard citations are handed out, by night, they may be part of the purge
#WeSeeYou
Rules
Rule 1: No destroying San Francisco. No relocating San Francisco. No isolating San Francisco. Damage is welcome, and preferred, as no one will ever know it really happened in San Francisco.
Rule 2: Please sell the vibe of the city if you visit, work, or live there. At night its anarchy. During the day the people are more or less in a malaise. Police reports go on deaf's ear. New coverage highly censored.
A complicated game is being played between good and evil. The entire world is their game board. All the players aware of what is at stake. Make the wrong move and you can be taken out. Permanently.
Sanctioned to monitor metahuman activity around the globe, the organization is split into two divisions: White and Black. The White division specializes in intelligence gathering. The Black division charged with operations. After an operation gone wrong, Sasha Bordeaux, now the organization's Black Queen, recruits Tom Tresser (Nemesis) to assemble lesser known heroes and vigilantes for one time missions.
Though the roster constantly changes, the mission is above all else.
As the Black Queen, Sasha would know about Waller and her Task Force X program - thus the inspiration
As heroes that dwell in the spy game, the team would act in shady areas in the mold of Cry for Justice JL, Extreme Justice, or Task Force - it just would have a heavy rotating roster to not consume dibs for other series, thus the expectation of releases would be always be fluid. It would be a team that does the things that need to be done - especially those missions not optically suitable for the Justice League. Its almost an anthology team series, but no Superman to bail them out and far less consistency than Outsiders.
The type of deep darkness that only lives in the depths of space. The only difference is that there are no stars to guide ones path. In this darkness there is no up. There is no down. One reaches out into the nothingness only for despair to grasp the hand you can no longer see. When it does touch you there is not much one can do. It is like an infectious disease that can spread deep into ones soul and shatter it into a million pieces. One just has to cling onto who they are as a person and hope it is enough.
"I am Will Magnus."
There was a muffled explosion. It was faint due to the distance but Magnus could instantly smell the nitramide and rubber they used in the C-4. He never much cared for it since it always left a funny taste in the back of his throat. His eyes adjusted to the green laser streams that made their way down the corridor he once remembered. His star had finally appeared.
"Sir, we have live one," a voice shouted as his mounted light made Magnus guard his eyes against the pain.
Another light appeared, then another, as the sudden intensity made it feel as Magnus was gazing into the sun. Magnus' eyes slowly began to adjust as someone stepped forward.
"My name is Rick Flag," the man said as he slowly reached out to the guarded Will. "I am part of the United States military. We are here to get you out."
"I am Will Magnus."
"It's nice to meet you Will Magnus," Rick replied. "Can you walk?"
Rick shook his head in his weakened condition. Rick draped Magnus' arm over his neck, instantly noticing his fragile condition. The clothes that adorned his body dangled two sizes too big. There was a low groan caused by the weight of his now long matted head and facial hair adding what felt like a ton to his lithe body.
"Kurt!" shouted Rick. "Tell command we need to EXFIL now with a medical plus one."
"Gotcha, boss man. A couple of birds coming our - what the..."
The sudden loss of words from his colleague made Rick turn as now dozens of lights flooded the room Will occupied. At first glance the team thought the remains to be body parts - arms, legs, skulls, chest cavities opened with rib cages protruding through them scattered everywhere. Upon closer inspection the extremities were not human but made of metal, a robotic graveyard.
"Who are you?" Rick asked with a concerned look.
"I am Will Magnus," he said once more, not wanting to take a look before him he uttered his next words with shame. "What have I done?"
---------
"Did the ancient Mesopotamians speak to people from another planet? Where their artwork and advancements aided by extraterrestrials?"
-click-
"In late game heroics, the Gotham Knights pulled off a late fourth quarter drive to get their winning streak to five games."
-click-
"As we see from the monitor we have a massive cold front pushing from the North that is going to stall over the region and bring some unseasonable weather to us for a few days."
-click"
"Show me the money."
"I couldn't hear you Jerry. I gots to feel it.
"Show me the money!"
-click-
BREAKING NEWS
"Hello, I am Bethany Snow for Channel 2 News. News from the Pentagon is that a joint military operation in Yemen discovered an American hostage in one of the raids conducted by American Special Operations. According to sources, the American hostage is named William Magnus. Not much is known about William Magnus since the day he disappeared ten years ago from his home in Hoboken, New Jersey. There are millions of questions circulating everywhere from how Magnus got into Yemen to what happened in the ten years between him missing and....
-pzzt-
"The news can be quite annoying these days," a familiar voice rang from the door of Will Magnus' hospital room.
Magnus turned, shocked to match the voice with a friendly face. It belonged to a tall, dark haired man with a wiry mustache as it had on the day the had first met. "Thomas Oscar Morrow?!"
Morrow smiled as he took a seat next to the few men he recognized as an equal. "Williams Maxwell Magnus!" He found it odd to hear his entire name said aloud. Few had done it. Even fewer knew of it. "How are you old friend?"
"Dr. Morrow," Magnus stammered. "How did you find me here?"
"Tsk. Tsk. I asked first."
Will leaned back on his bed, trying to choose his next words carefully. "They think I have lost my mind."
Morrow's smile straightened as did his gaze on Magnus. "Have you?"
"I...I really do not know." It was the truest answer Magnus could give as he gazed out his window view. "They say I was missing for ten years, but I do not remember any of it."
"That is no reason for people to assume you are crazy," Morrow said. "Men like you and me have always been misunderstood. Our vision is what elevates us from many."
"Can you tell that to the soldier posted at my door?" Magnus urged as both chuckled. "So how did you find me? I have been stuck here for three days with wires everywhere and guards constantly standing at that door. If anything is driving me insane it is the damn guards everywhere." Magnus grabbed his empty urinal with disgust and threw it in the direction of the guard. "I know you can hear me!" He shouted with disgust.
Morrow looked at the military stand firm as he was taught. Morrow reverted his attention back to his friend trying to calm rising tempers. "Many things have changed in ten years Will."
"Yeah! Like what?"
Magnus was beginning to vent and Morrow totally could sympathize for his former colleague. Though he had been missing for ten years, the sudden rage flares brought back many memories of the man before him. He remembered Magnus isolating into his work but there were many times frustration took the better of him. Many did not see those days since he bunkered in his laboratory for days, but Morrow was quite aware of the side of William Magnus that many did not. "Well for starters I work for the Department of Defense."
Magnus' brow furrowed, waiting for the punch line of the joke. "Thomas Morrow works for the American military-industrial complex?"
Morrow himself tried to refrain from laughing aloud at the notion. When he was the age Magnus is now he would have never imagined the thought. His joyous smile straightened as he thought of the things that led him to the very moment he was now. "Things happen, Magnus. Stuff is out there that needs explaining and when it confronts you in the face one either runs or grasps the moment and concur it. Which one do you think I did?"
Magnus didn't answer immediately out of admiration for the man. Morrow had visions of building a technological Camelot, and he himself was a chosen member. If Morrow went to work for the US government than he would trust he did it for good reasons. "I think you did what was best."
Morrow shook his head in appreciation and wanted to return the favor as he knew something Magnus did not. "Congress wants to debrief you in a closed door session, Magnus."
"Congress? For what? I was essentially cleared by medical upon my return. They say I can go home by the end of the week."
"That is when Congress would like to speak to you," Morrow huffed. "Your disappearance have some worried. They never wanted a Robert Oppenheimer in the hands of terrorist. Sadly, you were found in a terrorist headquarters."
"I never worked on anything on the scale of Oppenheimer."
"Not ten years ago," Morrow replied. "But then again you cannot recall the past ten years of your life. I know you as a colleague and a friend and I have to admit your story is something out of a sci-fi fantasy."
"You think I did something?" Magnus asked.
"I don't know if you did. All I'm saying is that when Congress summons you into sessions that I will have your back."
Magnus appreciated the sentiment. Morrow was right about his situation. He was surprised men in black suits did not come and yank him off to some forgotten dungeon. He was unsure of a lot of things but at least knew someone was in his corner during this time. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Of course," Morrow said.
"What is twitter?"
Morrow snapped his head back and started laughing. "That is something that definitely isn't worth your time." Both laughed as friends do. If Congress wanted to question Magnus then he would be ready for them
He continued into the town, hearing the cries of the dead innocent from years long gone get louder the deeper he ventured. Ghastly phantasms continued to cross his path, revealing the evil that had succumbed all its residents. He managed his way through actions of murder and insanity, all of which he had seen over the centuries, very rarely though is such a confined location. The smell of death lingered heavily in his throat, his senses being bombarded by the stench of sin.
The sun began to set on the town as he stopped in front of one house. Physically it was no different than any of the other run-down dwellings on the street - mold and decay had claimed it long ago, but something had visited this home. It was faint to his senses, but it was there. It was something ancient. It was something familiar, but unnatural to this plane of existence. He just couldn't quite place it.
His body went immaterial, passing through the laws of physical matter which was the door to enter the home. He was greeted by a still skeleton near the foot of steps, the fracture on its skull revealing blunt trauma and probable cause of death.
"Who is she?" a voice screamed from upstairs. "Who is she?!"
He turned to gaze upward looking for events to unravel. The skeletal remains at his feet faded away as history engulfed the present as yesteryear began to reveal itself to the Spirit of Vengeance. The rot and soot beneath vanished under his feet as the woodened floors appeared brightly as ever. The same happened to the walls as the colors on the wallpaper that had adorned its halls popped vibrantly. The banister began to slowly web together spindle by spindle as he made his way up the stairs until the destruction was made whole once more.
"Answer me!"
The Spectre had reached the second level of the home as he witnessed the young woman unleash her anger upon her dead husband. Her voice became loud pitches and shrieks of anger, revealing the darkest corner that he had known in much of humanity. She continued the assault, her hand grasping and ramming the dead body on the bottom corner of the wall as blood and brain matter began to spray onto her and through the Spectre's body as he hovered over both. This was the anger of a woman scorned. Even though her husband’s limp dead body remained motionless the attack continued. The body at the door entrance his mistress. He thought many humans denied the existence of the evil corner that lurked deep inside everyone. He knew all it took was a certain trigger to ignite such a beast. For this household it was the revelation of adultery.
There was a sudden quake in the air which appeared like a ripple effect cascading through space and time. The sudden quake brushed away the actions of the past and forced the material present to manifest around the Spectre again. He found the experience interesting as his curiosity peaked. His attention shifted to the tarnished window down the hall. Even through the caked dirt and stain upon the window, he could see a light in the distance. He could see the fire flutter like an exotic dance attempting to lure his own dark corner. He recognized it as a courtesy. An invitation to reveal themselves to each other. It was also something he had to answer.
Time passed differently for the Spectre. Things from the past and the present all blended together before his eyes until he decided otherwise. Now was one of those times, ignoring the phantasms of the past and focusing only on the church.
He passed through the giant wooden doors, now noticing more candles being lit within the sanctuary. A woman scantily cladded was easily seen upon entering. The tattoos which laced every extremity of her body an outside representation of what she represented now that they were in such proximity of each other. She remained seated on the alter steps with her legs crossed, her arms extended while her head rested back on the top step. She was young in body, but he could sense she was ancient. As old as he was yet this was the first time they had ever truly met.
"You are her?” the Spectre asked. "The Jezebel who would tempt Vengeance itself."
Her head rose, her gaze sternly fixed on him. "How do you see me?" she asked.
It was a simple question yet his post-cognitive vision jumped feverishly on request. Her face revealed nothing now, just a blank emotionless shade. Her clothing did change as different eras she had ravaged cascaded through time upon her slender frame. She arose with a devilish and approached, slowly tracing her finger along his cloak and eventually down the side of his face.
“What did you see?”
The Spectre barely moved. “I saw an abomination wandering aimlessly through time. I saw the dust of Babylon at your feet. Civilizations and nations have fallen when you make your presence known. It is much like a plague.”
“Have you not done the same?” She sat her head upon his chest, her hand caressing his chest. “I do recall it was you that went through Pharaoh of Egypt. I spent weeks enjoying the cries of the city.”
“I am the Spirit of Vengeance. I am bound to the divine law,” he said with disgust as she attempted to equalize the two. “I extinguish the fire of the damned. Your deviant spark ignited the fires of Nod or need I remind you.”
“Do not bring up his name. I escaped from him long ago,” she said with trepidation. “I have a name now.”
“What else shall the Spirit of Murder be called?”
She closed her eyes, sniffing the power before her. “They have come to call me Rose Tattoo.”
With her introduction, Rose grasped a hidden blade from her side and shoved it through the Spectre’s chest with lightning speed. A torrent of spiritual force ravaged the sanctuary sending Rose and everything near them flying. A concrete pillar stopped her travel, indenting a large crater within the wall.
The Spectre huffed loudly as he clutched at the exposed site. Rose could see the effects of the attack affect her victim, smiling with glee as she licked her blood which now dribbled down her lip.
“You are quite powerful,” she said loudly as she appeared grasping two blades now. “I can tell though you are restricted from all of your power. Are you having daddy issues?” With speed that rivaled her opening attack, she flipped the blade in the air until her fingers grasped its blade and sent it darting toward the Spectre.
Aware of the threat before him, the Spectre raised his hand forcing the projectile to slow its trajectory until it was drained of forward momentum. The blade fell to his feet as both combatants focused on each other.
“You are an obscenity to this existence,” barked the Spectre.
Rose smiled again as she flung her other blade with greater force and speed as the previous attack. That blade too was halted, but Rose used that distraction to leap in the air toward the Spectre. Her attack would have been a fatal blow to most, but the Spectre dissolved into the floor as her knee made contact with his cloak.
Rose looked around, looking for the next possible attack as the Spectre’s cloak slowly melted into the cracks of the floor. Many had fallen by her hands throughout time. Many had fallen by just the mundane objects in the sanctuary alone, yet she knew the Spectre was more than any subject she had killed before. The excitement alone made her spine shiver.
“You dare try to strike down Vengeance itself, Rose Tattoo!” The voice was clearly of the Spectre, but it resonated from every direction, as if he was the church itself. A shadow began to expand from behind her as she quickly turned to see no one. Her attention shifted to the main church glass mural above her position. Where once a cross with random patterns of reds and purples formatted the design was but a memory to Rose as only the green cloak of her adversary formed the design upon the mural now. Slowly each other mural in the church contained images of the green cloaked Spectre. She tried to stay focused but with every instinctive blink the images changed until they all pointed at her.
A sudden explosive force filled the room as all the glass murals shattered, sending thousands of shards of glass downward. Rose sought cover from the falling debris as her arms guarded her face. The shards continued to fall as if they were rain drops from a storm. Across the sanctuary a pile of glass shards began to take form of the Spectre. The hooded form’s cowl arose as his eyes locked once more with Rose. His hand rose, her heart skipped. He summoned a giant shard from the ground and with a gesture it hurled itself at immense speed across the room. She turned to defend herself as the shard imbedded itself into her back. He clenched his hand shut commanding the wooden bleachers to crash into each side of Rose. She snarled at the attack only for it to be snapped into a small scream as three more shards impaled her body. She could not defend herself as she noticed now that the glass shards were dancing in the air at the command of the Spectre. Another shard sliced across her leg as he dropped to a knee. Another shard pierced her achilles tendon forcing both knees down to the ground. Each attack were small cuts but they came with no end. Each slice tearing a piece of skin until only muscle showed and continued until nothing but a skeleton remained in a pool of her own blood.
The shards of glass stopped their attack with a command from the Spectre. He walked upon the remains of his adversary, his post-cognitive vision gazing upon the skeletal remains before him. His vision was different this time as the face of the woman he had just battled revealed a life not connected to what he had encountered. The battle may have ended as her body had failed yet the spirit itself continued somewhere else. He would meet this spirit again. He could feel it, but it would not be tonight. Tonight, only the Spectre remained.
EPILOGUE
The day had ended like most days for Charles Neubert. He exhaled a sigh of relief as he finally made it home. His mind was focused on just pure relaxation to recover from his exhausting day. He had envisioned himself jumping into his sofa, kicking his feet on the coffee table and just vegetate on hours of Netflix binge watching. As he entered the house he was greeted with a fresh aroma of burgers and hotdogs originating from the kitchen. He followed the enticing trail to witness his long-haired beauty await him.
“You read my mind, Hun!” He said as his stomach began to rumble from the smell. “I was starving.”
She leaned back against the counter, giggling as she tossed a hand towel at him. “I thought about going out for Italian tonight, but at the last minute I just didn’t feel the urge to get dressed.”
“I know that feeling all too well,” Charles snickered. “You ready to eat?”
“You can eat but I am still making my salad.”
“That sounds like a plan to me,” he replied as he took a seat at the table while preparing a plate. “I don’t really think I could have lasted another hour waiting in line to get served.”
“How about we go to eat tomorrow though?”
Charles merely gestured with a nod as his mouth was full of food. He closed his eyes with extreme satisfaction as he enjoyed every bite. Before he could swallow and take another bite, the sense of sharp metal raced across his neck. His eyes opened wide, as he could feel the warm sensation of his own blood race down his neck and his hands as he attempted to stop the bleeding. He fell to the floor, wondering what had just happened. He turned to see the woman he loved stand over him with the bloodied blade in her grasp.
It was something in her eyes that was different. Something almost inhuman. As he tried to cling to his own life he could tell this was not the woman he loved. She walked over his body as if the pooling blood on the floor was but a nuisance. His vision began to blur and then there was nothing.
She walked into the bathroom, grabbing a pair of scissors and began hacking chunks of hair off at a time. When finished she stared at her own reflection, her hair just gracing her ears in length now. She wiped her bloodied hand over the mirror, stepped back and just smiled.
“Hello Rose.”
EPILOGUE TWO
“My name is James Corrigan…”
“Anything else?” the officer asked.
“That is all I know,” He said with a desperate tone. He bit his bottom lip as his eyes were on the brink of tears. “I swear to you that is all I know. I could never do this.”
Two detectives watched the interrogation through the two-sided glass that separated the rooms. The man they stared at claimed amnesia. He was also the lone surviving man in the middle of human graveyard with blood covered all over him. He carried no identification and every database on the known planet came back with nothing on the man. Either this man committed their crime or the universe completely screwed him and placed him at the wrong place at the wrong time.
“How did you get there?”
He placed his head into his palm, his other hand trembling with fear on the table. “For the eighth time, I do not know. I just know my name. I do not know how I got there. I never do.”
The officer perked at his last sentence. “Never do?” he said aloud. “This type of stuff happens to you regularly?”
Jim Corrigan couldn’t respond as he could feel his throat tighten with the answer. He merely nodded the confirmation. The lights in the building began to flicker as his eyes opened wide, fear causing him to sweat profusely. Both his hands clenched his hair as he feared the inevitability he had witnessed countless of times. He would be flung from one part of the world to another, not knowing how he got there. He would get to a certain moment in a place and then it happened. Everything after a complete blank slate.
The lights flickered more intensely as the interrogation room went completely dark. It was two seconds but Jim Corrigan was gone. The two detectives looked bewildered. The man was in a locked room in hand cuffs and two seconds was all it took to vanish before them. The hairs on their arms began to rise while both of their spines shivered as if both sensed something unnatural. Something did move, something barely able to grasp a description from either of them. They knew something was there. Something definitely was there.
There was a time during the last century that the town was a stereotypical example of rural America. The town was filled with white picket fences block upon block. Everyone congregated to the local church and extended outside its halls into their houses. There was an aroma of apple pie in the wind and kids laughter scattered aloud randomly. For those that lived in Liberty Hills, Nevada, this was the American dream.
One day the sun had set in the town only for it not to rise again. It had become a fading memory to many. To some just a myth. Whatever happened to the town things were never the same again. No one had graced the town since that day. No one but the Spectre.
The Spectre walked into the dilapidated town, his green cloak dragging upon the streets that hosted many of parades and town festivals in its time. Disrepair and ruin lingered throughout as far as he could see. He came up onto a school playground where rot had eaten away at the seats of the swing set while rust had choked the metal chains that suspended it. He closed his eyes, ignoring the wretched noise of death when the wind blew upon the swings to only remember the laughter that once filled the seat.
"Hello," a voice uttered. "You want to play?"
The Spectre opened his eyes to see the apparition smile before him. She was a young girl with pig-tails, no more than seven, with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. Her color in her cheeks solidified a deep red as if they had never left her. Others appeared on the playground laughing and screaming with immense joy on the playground, not knowing the fate that had consumed the town long ago.
"What is your name, little one?" Spectre asked.
"My name is Amanda," she replied quickly. "Amanda Johnson. My daddy is the mayor."
"It seems that you have plenty of friends to play with here, Amanda Johnson." The Spectre could see nothing but the innocence in the girl before him, which made what happened long ago a greater travesty. "How come you are not playing with the others?"
The young girl smiled. "My brother is in the nurses station. They said he was sick. I think he has a cold. He keeps coughing. I guess the others do no want to get sick, but I am healthy."
"How long has your brother been sick?"
Amanda shrugged. "He only got sick today. I thought it was my daddy that would get sick though."
"Why do you think your daddy would get sick and not your brother?"
"He hasn't been acting the same. Has not played with me in a couple of days."
"Does he play with you often?"
"All the time," she smiled.
"Can I ask you another question?" Spectre asked.
"Yes, sir," smiled Amanda.
"Have you noticed anything different in town?"
Amanda thought deeply, her face contorting to various different angles as she searched for an answer. "Nothing I can think of, sir. There was a new person that came into town though. She had these tattoos on her hand that looked like a flower."
"How long ago did this happen?"
"The same day my daddy stopped playing with me."
The Spectre smile vanished as he looked down the street deeper into town. It was as if the town itself was pleading for vindication. The school bell rang and as young Amanda Johnson ran back with her classmates, a piece of her broke off and fluttered away. Piece by piece would be blown away from them all as if they were made of dust until nothing remained of them but a memory within the Spectre. The children of the school all died from a strand of small pox. He could smell it the moment the apparition spoke to him. They had not caused the death of the town, but did succumb to its tragedy and the Spectre knew he would have to go deeper into the town to discover the origin of the calling.
"You were caught illegally crossing over into our borders," a stoic voice uttered. "Who are you and what are your intentions?"
Digger Harkness looked around the room as he dangled in the air from metal shackles which had encased his hands and wrists. "I told Rick that we should have made that bloody left at Albuquerque. One squabble led to another and the next thing we know we are crossing over your border. If it wasn't for all those soldiers with automatic weapons stopping us when they had we probably would have ended up somewhere like Afghanistan."
The interrogator arose from his seat, slowly moving toward Digger, grasping his chin in admiration. "You have spunk. That is easily seen." With a quick motion he unleashed a blow onto his prisoner's ribcage, followed by another and another. "That will not help you here. I will make it simple for you. We can start with your name."
Digger was easily effected by the blows, blood visibly trickling down his chin from the effects of the punches. "You couldn't have started with that," Digger huffed. "My name is Inigo Montoya. I am looking for the man who killed my father. He had six fingers on his right hand. By chance, can I see your right hand."
"You still jest," the interrogator said. He raised his right hand as per the request, showing it to Digger only to move it to a pair of frayed wires that extended from a car battery. The interrogator then grabbed a bucket which was filled with water and tossed it upon Digger. Digger spat out what he could, not being able to see the wires which had now made contact with his skin.
Digger screamed a roar of immense pain as the shock of electricity surging through his body shocked his eyes open onto his torturer. "Hello," Digger continued. "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."
The interrogator shook his head in disbelief as he made contact with Digger yet again. Once again Digger screamed loudly, his wrist now bleeding from the metal shackles cutting into clenching fist. "I can do this all day until you answer my questions truthfully or until you die. That is up to you."
Digger began to search for his breath as it was hard for him to talk let alone breathe. He dangled limp until he found energy for a mumble. "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."
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