The Black Skull Returns

The suit I was wearing was worth more than my last paycheck, twice over. The jacket was cut a little loose for my tastes, a necessity for this job. My gear was tucked into a pouch under my waistcoat, and the looser fit would hide the bulge in the small of my back.
The papers got me through the door, an engraved invitation I didn't bother to read for an event I didn't know about what. Just that evening dresses, tuxedos and elaborate masks were in abundance. I pulled out my own mask, specially modified for this job. The matte silicone was topped with a thin ceramic covering, giving the mask a sheen like obsidian. I tried to suppress the sharp intake of breath as it clung to my face. I'll never get used to that.
Velvet ropes lead the way to the ballroom, and I was stopped cold on the way by a stunning sight. Her hair was worn up, leaving her neck bare save for the clasp of a necklace and the halter strap of her dress. Her shoulders and back were also naked, her spine leading a scintillating trail to a criss cross of white ribbons in the small of her back. As I passed, I saw that the bodice of her dress hung daringly low. It was highlighted by a necklace of glass crystals set in silver.
Though of the same material, the necklace didn't quite suit her mask. The silver wire glided along the ridge of her nose, lining it in a slight beak. It swept up, under and around her deep brown eyes with a wing like shape, the tips curling past the corners of her eyes around crystals. As it was silver wire, it did little to disguise her features, but did much to highlight her lovely eyes.
Which then looked right at me.
I looked away and marched on, cursing myself for the indiscretion. I was supposed to be invisible, and stopping to gawk at the ladies isn't helping. I didn't look back as I entered the ballroom and swept my eyes over the crowd looking for the target. Or tried to. My mask's satellite connection proved spotty, and the facial recognition software failed as a result. A glance into the corners of the room told me why: signal jammers were set up. Not uncommon for these kinds of parties, where cell phone use was restricted to outside the event area. I reached to scratch my ear and clicked off the external connection.
As I looked around, I figured the party would make facial recognition useless anyways, and started wondering what intel genius planned this op. Maybe I should have read the papers. I pulled them from my jacket pocket and started with the invitation: An Evening Incognito: A Romantic Rendezvous to help fund the fight against cancer. Right. Because cancer fears Zorro.
There was a photograph of the target, an average looking white guy with more salt than pepper in his hair, and a smile that looked more bleached than a Hollywood blond. He made a presidential bid once. It was a testament to the voting public that it never went anywhere, and he gave it up almost as soon as he started. But then he started selling secrets to the Chinese. And when your company has several exclusive contracts with the government, that can't be tolerated. Of course, we don't have any hard evidence. Yet.
I folded the photograph and tucked it back into my pocket, scanning the crowd once more. I declined an invitation to dance from an attractive blond in a black lace mask, with a dress to match her emerald eyes, and she went back into the crowd to look for a new partner. When I felt the bare spot on my wrist where my watch was, I changed my mind and decided to take her up on that dance.
I passed by the target on my way to her, recognizing the industrial strength gel that shaped his hair, and a plan quickly formed in my mind as I tapped her partner's shoulder and cut in. With the surprised look in her eyes, I was afraid she might refuse, but my wink seemed to defuse her fear. With my hand on her waist, I lead her around the dance floor near my target and whispered instructions into her ear. She was hesitant, but I said she could keep the watch, and whatever spoils she could get from him so long as she did as I asked.
She nodded, and after savoring another minute or two of dancing with her, I set her loose. His partner had just ran off to the ladies room when she ran into him. She flashes a coy smile, and batted her eye lashes at him. Poor sap never stood a chance.
I watched them take a turn around the dance floor, and as the song came to a close, she whispered in his ear. He flashed her a grin that could have sold a million used cars and followed her through the double doors on the far end of the ballroom that lead to a balcony. After a minute, she came out alone, missing the sash from her dress, but using both hands to keep the clasp on her small clutch purse from popping open. We traded smiles, and I walked through the doors while she made her way to the exit.
He was standing by the railing, blindfolded with a long white sash. He was reaching up to his face when I pulled out a bundle of cord from under my vest, grabbed his wrists, and bound them around his neck, drawing tight enough to prevent more than a few startled gasps. Taking out a flashlight from my pocket, I clicked it three times into the air and a harness dropped down from the roof.
I buckled him in as he was gasping from the lack of air, and tugged on the rope. We were then hauled up onto the roof where the team was waiting. They asked, and I told them we were going with option five. One of the black clad soldiers whistled. Must have been a new guy. They dragged him onto the helicopter, and one of them pulled off his blindfold handing the sash to me. They were all masked, it wouldn't matter if he saw them.
Draping the sash around my neck like a scarf, I grabbed the cable and they lowered me back down towards the balcony. I was twenty feet up when the doors below opened, and I flashed a signal with my light for them to stop. Beneath me was the woman in white with the silver mask, and following after her was a guy in a white tuxedo. He had a Zorro styled mask in hand, and they were talking animatedly. The wind only allowed me to hear snippets of what was being said, but with how her arms were waving, I could tell it was an argument.
He pointed a finger toward the balcony doors, then back to her. She replied by ripping the necklace from her throat and throwing it at his feet. The tinkling of the glass crystal breaking was clear even from my perch above them. He shouted a vulgar epithet at her, picked up the remains of the necklace and stormed back inside as she turned and leaned against the railing. I spent a minute or two admiring the moonlight reflected against her shoulders when the cord above me gave a violent start, and I was sent plummeting the rest of the way down.
In my report, I'll say I landed as gracefully as a jungle cat. For the moment, I was sprawled against the floor, with what I was pretty sure was a decent sized cut on my chin. I heard a voice ask if I was alright, and I explained that I had tripped. She gave me a dubious look that seemed awkward with the tears fresh on her face. As I got up, she pointed out I was bleeding. I looked up at her and pointed out the same, seeing blood seeping from the scratches around her throat from when she ripped off the necklace. She started to reach for her neck, but I stopped her, drawing a clean handkerchief from my pocket. It wouldn't do to stain her gloves, after all.
I asked her permission, and she hesitated. I insisted I wasn't a vampire, which got a laugh out of her at least, and I applied light pressure with my handkerchief over the scratches. As I tended to her, she drew a tissue from her purse and dabbed it against the cut under my chin. With the bleeding stopped, I said she should probably go back inside.
She didn't want to face everyone out there with the scratches on her neck. Thinking a moment, I took the sash from around my shoulders and handed it to her. She tied it loosely around her throat, covering the scratches, and letting the sash trail down her back. She gave me one more smile before facing the doors and taking a breath. She held her head high as she entered. I hope the night improves for her.
As I reentered the ballroom, I kept my head down and walked to the exit. I met the target as he came out of the elevator. He looked bleary eyed, as if he had woken up from a nap, his hair tousled, and a distinct smudge of lipstick against his collar. I pointed it out to him, and he snapped awake, making a dash for the restroom. He IS a married man, after all. Though with the type of stuff the interrogation team uses, he might be dreaming of that blond later.
Knowing myself, I might be dreaming of silver mask. Whoever she is.

Moose and Squirrel

It was a cool night, unusual for this time of year. The shops were closed, and with the lights out I could make out a decent smattering of stars above me. The surf crashed onto the beach, and pulled out again in it's regular beat, echoing from somewhere beyond my sight. I walked out in the opposite direction, between two rows of darkened storefronts.
The buzzing from my phone jolted me out of my idle daze, and I fumbled for a moment inside my pocket for it. The gruff voice I found on the other end wasn't the most pleasant thing in the world to hear, but it got the message across. I was supposed to think like a thief for this job. Easy enough. Most likely scenario was a quick smash and grab, but the alarm sticker on the window of the jewelry store made that unlikely, especially after closing. All the jewels would be in the safe, which would take too long to crack conventionally. Explosives would make too much noise too.
Start with the point of entry. I walked around, casting a glance down the pier to the security booth to ensure the guard posted was still dozing. Then I checked for handholds, finding a giant lobster on the restaurant next door very accommodating. Once on the roof, a quick glance revealed another point of entry, a glass skylight, wired of course, with the alarm box hidden under a panel by the latch. I knew that because she traced her fingers over the glass and then the panel before clicking it open and entering a code.
Slender, bare fingers. Unusual for someone in this line of work, but she seemed careful. I ducked behind an air conditioning unit when she glanced around, and satisfied she was alone, climbed down through the skylight. She was hanging from the edge, and swung her feet, building up momentum for a jump. When she let go, she landed on a desk at the far side of the room. Impressive.
But she didn't know that the owner had shut the internal security off earlier in the day. When she went into the back room, I jumped down the skylight after her. I knew how to land, having practice at being a sneak, and made minimal noise, hoping to get the drop on her. Soft steps, and I was at the door, edging it carefully open.
She was knelt down in front of the safe and I finally had a good look at her. Lithe, a little too willowy for my tastes, and the boyish haircut didn't suit her. I didn't go for blondes either, but she had skill. She traced a finger around the front panel of the safe, and after a moment stripped off her dark denim jacket. It was then that my hunch was confirmed.
The scarring on her shoulder was partially covered up by a tattoo, a circuit board angel wing. It didn't cover the thin line trailing down her arm, and into the palm of her left hand. Her right index finger was the one doing the tracing, and I'd bet my hat it had a magnetic implant. What came next was new to me.
She pressed her left palm over the digital control pad on the safe and with a squeeze of her fingers, it started to beep. There was a faint vibration on her skin, and another beep from her hand had it stop. She entered a set of numbers into the keypad on the safe, and it popped open. Empty.
"It was emptied earlier today. The owner was concerned by the recent thefts and had wanted his security tested. Guess it needs work."
She whirled around at my words, and pulled out a small handgun. I already had a knife out, but just twirled the blade between my fingers.
"Let me guess, some kind of ultrasound implant? The magnet was pretty basic, using it to trace the wiring on the security system was clever, but THAT," I gestured to her hand with the point of my knife, "I wasn't expecting."
She cocked an eyebrow, and raised the gun up to my face. I shook my head.
"You're obviously a pro, so you know better. Come on. Let me buy you a cup of coffee. Someone like you must have an interesting story." I offered.
"Are you serious?" She asked, incredulous. With a sexy accent like that, of course I was serious, and nodded.
"I'll even throw in some donuts." I smiled, hoping to be charming. She returned the smile, and lowered her weapon.
"Vhy not?"
I turned and unlocked the rear door for us. Mistake. I felt the handle of her gun crash into the back of my skull and my vision went red as I fell to my knees. Foot steps clattered beside me, and I made a blind grab. I heard her fall, and then a splash as something small hit the water. I pulled her back by what felt like her ankle, dodging a kick as my sight came back.
She struck at me again with her foot and I caught it, quickly standing. That caught her off guard, enough so for me to drag her back inside. I didn't want to hurt her, but my arms were getting tired with the bucking wheel barrow maneuver. I was still able to tie together the loose laces of her shoes around her ankles, tangling her up until I found a pair of industrial strength zip ties.
It took fifteen minutes for the cops to arrive, and I made sure to give them a copy of the stores security feed. She had called me all manner of names, some in a language I didn't understand, but before they hauled her off, I had one last thing to say to her.
"Say moose and squirrel. Just once."
She glared at me. And in the purest American Midwestern accent, said "Moose and squirrel" followed by another string of vulgarities. The cops laughed. I shrugged, and waved as they drove off in the squad car. Coffee would have been better. And as the sun came into my eyes, I had to admit, I knew she was faking the accent the whole time.

The Black Skull

My footsteps echoed in the cloisters, beating a regular march as I walked through the courtyard. The place was a testament to it's Spanish roots, yet more gothic elements garnished the rooftops of the church.  Across the stones on the ground and past the aisle of the cloisters was a balcony.
Drawing the rifle from it's sling around my shoulders, I opened the bi-pod and propped it up against the railing. The church, more of a cathedral really, sat atop a sea cliff, overlooking a town that seemed as old as the hills. Or at east the 30's. Paint was faded and cracked, the flat roofs were dotted with cubicles made of chicken wire and fiberglass sheeting, radio antennas popped up every hundred yards or so. Cobble stone walks and archways were scattered sparsely throughout the town, vestigial remnants of it's previous life.
None of the sights were as striking as the crowd that formed up on the sidewalks. It seemed all the towns inhabitants were packed along the streets, lining a path that lead to a newer cathedral at the edge of town. Each street corner had the path further marked by police cars while outriders on motorcycles, which seemed to be old Yamahas from the 1980s, flanked the limousines streaming towards the gleaming church.
It looked almost like a wedding procession, save for the colorful little flags attached to the limos. And as the cars drove on, I saw a figure in white riding atop a customized truck that looked very different from anyone's ideal bride.
Motion stirred up on the surrounding rooftops, and I could see men in navy hoodies come up and sneak their way to the edge. Some were carrying rifles, Ak's by the looks of it. One or two started assembling rocket propelled grenade launchers. They were well beyond my range, so I just took in the show as black clad soldiers popped up from their hiding spots on the roof, surprising them. I expected a fight, but each of the hooded ones surrendered without resistance. No shots fired. That may well be my job.
As the figure in white approached my spot, I reached into my satchel and pulled out the mask. It had a black, non-reflective matte finish on the outside, but inside was shiny and slick, with ribbed striations leading to sharp metal tips at the edges. It had a particularly skeletal appearance that made the facehugger-like interior all the more foreboding. I hesitated, exhaled, and pressed it on. It stuck to my face like a suction cup, the lower edge grasping the top of my nose like a breath strip from hell. I could feel it pulse as the metal extensions slipped from their sheathes to slide along my scalp. They met behind my head and magnetically locked together, forming a slender cage that flexed and pulled tight against my skull.
The lenses flicked to life, and I read off the status messages and biometric information it collected, letting the sensors calibrate to my eyes. I blinked twice, and they displayed the town, marking the radio towers, highlighting the police, the black clad soldiers and their captives, even the limos. And the truck following behind with it's shielded occupant.
I lifted my rifle and checked the ammo. Each bullet had a second stage which included a plasma charge that burned hot enough to melt through a few inches of solid steel instantly. Just a little something to weaken the armor for the high density round that would come behind it. Seems like overkill for this type of mission. Somebody's playing a game, and I'm not sure I like it when the mission planners are feeling clever.
I set the rifle atop the railing, checking the scope. Standard optics this time. A bit old fashioned, especially with the bolt action, but the mask's HUD more than makes up for it. It highlighted the truck and the rider, encased in his polymer bubble, giving his benediction towards the kneeling masses as he passed. So far so good.
My HUD light up red along the edge, and I passed my scope over the crowd. It was hooked up to a satellite with a long range spectrometer. It picked up something, but I didn't bother checking the stats. Just the flash that was picked up by the mask's sensors as they were briefly illuminated by an infrared laser, coming from from a small window at the base of a building. Must have lead into a cellar or basement. I check the info from the satellite, seeing it found trace amounts of explosives and propellants. Another RPG.
At that range, the shooter would most likely blow out his ear drums if he doesn't burn himself to a crisp from the blast. Taking my aim, I had a different outcome in mind for him, but had only seconds before his target passed. I pulled the trigger and saw the blast mid-range from the second stage. The plasma charge burned through a corner of the polymer shield protecting the man in white, and the secondary round fell through the hole left behind. The lack of an explosion probably meant my aim was true. I clicked the radio twice, and watched as a few moments later, more black clad soldiers came through the crowd to investigate the building.
The man in white was a few blocks down, nearly to the cathedral, when they emerged with another captive in a blue hood. He was missing an arm, but seemed alive as they had the stump wrapped, and an ambulance on the way. I continued scanning the crowd, but my mask didn't pick up any further threats. I used my scope to watch the man in white disembark from his bubble. He stumbled a bit as he caught sight of the hole in the corner, giving a quick glance around before he shrugged and raised his eyes to heaven a moment before continuing on into the church. I'm surprised he hadn't noticed sooner.
My job done, I started disassembling the rifle. I was halfway through when a shot sent chips of stone flying from the railing of the balcony, and I jumped over to the corner by the entrance. I didn't have a sidearm on hand. Stupid. I did have my blades. I drew a pair of throwing daggers from my belt, prepared to at least make a stand should he decide to come through, though I hated giving away the initiative.
A shout came through the doorway, and I heard the sounds of a struggle from the other side. It may have been a trap, but I peeked anyway, seeing my assailant struggling with a Padre. The dude looked old, but he had leaped onto the back of the gunman, and held on fast as if at a rodeo. I came through readying a blade, but didn't have a clear shot from the struggle. The gunman threw the priest aside, but he got up, placing himself between us, arms outstretched, before I could throw a knife.
My attacker was another guy in a blue hoodie. There must have been a sale. Before I could consider the ramifications of a 'refer a terrorist friend' discount, the Padre spoke up. They traded heated words, in Spanish. Not the first time, I kicked myself for letting parental prejudice influence my choice in studies. I was starting to consider what angles I should take to throw a blade around the Padre when the gun in the blue guy's hand started trembling.
The Padre continued speaking, gentler, and held out his hand. Blue hoodie just stood there, the gun in his hand still up, but the muzzle was dropping. When the Padre took it from him, the gunman collapsed onto his knees. Seeing nothing else to do, I sheathed my knives and walked back to the balcony to pack up my rifle.
When I returned, the hood was off, and the Padre had a consoling hand atop the guy's head. He couldn't have been more than seventeen. He certainly wasn't old enough to grow a proper mustache. A wayward soul. My hand grasped the radio. I should call it in, have a team down to collect him. My thumb traced the top of the device, pressed itself against the knob there. And with a faint click, turned it off.
I walked passed the Padre and his penitent, through the courtyard, and the door on the other side. It led right to the altar, empty since the crowd was over at the newer one. Yet still well maintained, judging by the gleam off the marble flooring, and the lit candles by the door. I stopped halfway through, and was compelled to look up, past the altar and to the effigy that hung above it. My HUD was blank, there was nothing there for it to read.
I grasped the mask, my fingers pressing the release buttons against my face, through the silicone. The metal cage retracted, scratching lightly against my scalp as it's sharp tips slipped back into their sheathes, the lenses going blank as it turned off. Unmasked, I took another look above the altar. There was nothing there for the sensors to read. I didn't have sensors.
I bowed my head, slipped the mask into my satchel, and walked out the door and into the sun.

Westward Bound: Finale

My old town would have done the execution in public, most likely at the water tower, using it as a platform. They do things differently in the big city. I could see the scaffold over the walls, but I had to strain to hear the voices over the din of urban life. 
The buggies that droned by weren't as bad as a youth that rode up on a gas powered bike. He pulled up to the sidewalk, lifting his goggles up to his cap, and brushed off his riding breeches with a gauntleted hand. A funny getup, even for a city boy. 
As I sipped at my coffee, I looked across the room at the lady in the faded blue dress. There was a rough quality to her beauty, made all the more striking by the look in her eyes as she gazed intently out the window. I was just there reading the paper, looking up jobs in the area. Her hand sometimes strayed to stroke the rifle bag resting against her chair. I looked back to the classifieds when her eyes drifted my way, but I could still see her hand return to her tea cup out of the corner of my eye. 
I wasn't keeping an eye on her. A grown woman can make her own choices, vengeance included, and she didn't need no babysitter. I had troubles of my own, like a hotel bill that's starting to eat away at that reward money. Still, my conscience would rest easier with those robbers hung and her going back east, or wherever she came from. 
Another buggy came up and stopped against the wall across the street. Her brown eyes flashed my way and we traded a look as two men jumped out, one running and another fiddling in the back before racing after him. I was looking back at her when thunder rent the shop window, sending glass and splinters into the side of my face. The table absorbed the worst of it, and the lady had fallen back in her chair, staring stunned across the street. 
The buggy was gone, in it's place a molten heap and a hole in the wall large enough for an elephant to pass through. Shots rang out, and a second and third vehicle came up as the gang passed through the wall and hopped in, leaving the carnage behind. 
I got up first, lifting her to her feet. As soon as she was squared, she reached down to her bag, pulling out her rifle and dashed for the street. I could see her take aim, and followed her out only to hear her feral scream as they turned a corner and out of sight. I turned around, looking for a horse, but instead saw the kid's bike. 
Thinking back to the few I've seen in town, I flipped the switch, kicked the starter, and opened the throttle. It jumped before I could squeeze the brake, and that got her attention. She jumped behind me on the seat, and we set off after them faster than the kid in the goggles could run after us. 
We must have made a ridiculous sight on that thing, and our posture was anything but proper as she pressed herself tightly against me, her rifle slung along her back. Niceties were a secondary concern as we rounded the corner and caught up to them a few blocks down. She loosed an arm from around my middle, and I could hear her work the lever action on her rifle one handed. I kept it steady as she braced it against the handlebars and pulled the trigger. 
The rear buggy swerved as a tire blew out, having it crash against another parked against the curb. I kept going. The police were coming up quickly, and the one she wanted was riding in the lead. 
It rushed past the other vehicles on the road, and I had to keep a tight grip to steer through the resulting commotion. Finally, after a clear stretch, I got into position and she took her aim at a rear tire. I saw a face turn around, and I swerved throwing off her shot as I dodged one from the robber. 
I tried to regain a position behind, but had to swerve a few more times to dodge. As he stopped to reload, I got back into place. Instead of resting the rifle atop the handlebars as before, I felt her other arm release me. I fought the temptation to turn around. I could still feel her behind me on the bike, and see the rifle barrel swaying past the brim of my hat. Looking ahead, I saw him peek back up, and the silvery glint of his six shooter.
With the crack of the rifle, I felt her fall down into the seat, her arm grasping me desperately as she fought to hang on. Up ahead, the gang leader had disappeared, and the buggy swerved sharply to the side and through a store window. I slowed, stopping at the store front. She jumped off, and I followed, drawing the Bowie knife from my belt. 
Her rifle was up, and I saw the merchant running after a man out the back, possibly the driver. I looked back, about to tell her, but she had set the rifle aside, looking into the back seat of the buggy. 
A neat hole was in the center of his forehead. She stared at the lifeless eyes for another minute, and I made a move toward her, sheathing my blade. That was when she flipped the rifle around, grasping the barrel like a club and swung with a scream more akin to a roar. I have little doubt she would have caved his skull completely if she connected. Instead, I absorbed the blow with an arm under her shoulders, pulling her away. 
Her weapon clattered on the ground, and she started shivering. My other arm went around her on it's own accord, and she clung to me tightly as she drew in a ragged breath. 
"It's over," I told her. She cried into my shoulder. And as the local constabulary came up that was all I could think of to say. "It's over."

Once again, I found myself at the train station. I ended up a hotel detective once more, but found myself doing odd jobs now and again. I reread the note, seeing the name of the music teacher I was supposed to pick up. Ms. Findlay. A fine name, for a dowdy old spinster. 
I felt my eyes flicker when they caught a glimpse of a faded blue dress. She met my gaze and walked over to me, and I doffed my hat as she neared. 
"Are you following me?" She asked in an even tone. I replied likewise.
"Just making a pickup. I hope you aren't going to be picking any more fights." 
She laughed, shaking her head. Then she lowered it, along with her eyes.
"There's nothing to fight for anymore. Not anymore. I don't even know where I'll go." she said softly. 
"You'll find your way." I told her, failing to hide the rueful smile on my lips. 
She didn't bother hiding hers as she held her gloved hand out to me. I took her fingers in mine, and thinking back to a European gent that still owes me a fiver, placed a respectful kiss on her knuckles. 
"Good luck." I said, meaning it sincerely. 
Her smile faltered a moment, and I thought I saw a glimmer of a tear in her eye as she turned and boarded the train. Must have been the sun. 
As the locomotive steamed out of the station, I followed it with my eyes until it faded from view. I didn't have much longer to wait for the next train to arrive, and raised the placard the hotel clerk had given me with Miss Findlay's name on it. 
As the passengers stepped off of the train, I scanned the faces, wondering which frail bag of old bones was the one I was looking for. 
"Excuse me?" 
Just two words, yet the one that came to my mind was melodic. As my eyes met hers, I found myself looking at the sky once more, and judging by how her face lit up, it seems she remembered me. Her lips formed a small O for a moment, then she smiled, it's brightness a stark contrast to the black dress she wore. 
"Ms. Findlay?" I asked, not quite believing it. It was the girl from the train robbery. 
"Yes, sir. Moira Findlay. I assume you were sent from the school to fetch me."
I nodded. Then gave her a short bow, and lifted her bag. 
"Right this way, Ms. Findlay. Your carriage awaits."

I was still figuring what I should say next when I felt myself pulled away and into the blinding light of the sun pouring through my window. 

Midnight Blues

Sleep evades me, especially when I am exhausted. Unused to rising before the dawn, yet when the time comes for rest my mind refuses to idle. Costume ideas, storylines, a potential birthday getaway to San Diego or San Francisco, even designs for a PVC pipe rifle stock for my camera stir within me. I keep vigil, using my prayers as a mantra to calm my thoughts until I drift into darkness. 
There's a coolness to the wind, and I find myself breathing more freely as the salty air fills my nostrils. I see a few faint stars through the clouds, which were themselves illuminated by the full moon. I move on, my boots falling heavily upon the planks of the pier, a dull thud with each step. Nice night for a song, but the blues bar at the far end of the pier was nearly drowned out by the waves. 
Fishermen were idling along the rail, lines swaying with the tide. One man was showing his son one of the gigantic crabs that sometimes come up with the moon. I chuckled at the sight of the kid poking a curious finger at it and jerking it back at the slightest twitch of a claw. With the size of that crab, I nearly wished for a crowbar. 
I turned the collar up on my coat as I passed a couple cuddling while they gazed at the waves. Not a sight I needed right now, especially as the breeze had tickled the hairs on the back of my neck. Just like she used to. As much as I wished to do something with it, I should probably just get a haircut. Or maybe invest in a new hat. 
As I walked along, I threw a few coins into an open instrument case and Satchmo blew a tune on his horn in appreciation. I lifted my fist, flicking up a thumb. I may be listening to a lot of Bond lately, but this will always remain true: Brass kicks ass. 
The smell of orange chicken, fried rice, and roast duck drew me over to a Chinese food stand. I may not be Catholic, strictly speaking, but I keep some practices out of respect. Like giving up Panda Express for Lent. I patted my wallet through my pocket, but kept on walking. Until I caught the eye of the girl at the Hot Dog On A Stick stand. Never hurts to smile at a pretty girl, but again, not what I needed tonight. I moved along. 
I continued until I reached the end of the pier, but the Blues bar had fallen silent. Satchmo kept playing, his horn crooning at me from where I left him. With nowhere else to go, I leaned against the railing, watching the waves, and a sea lion lounging out on a buoy. What was I looking for? And as I rubbed a hand against the stubble on my face, I wondered, why the hell am I wearing a pea coat? I hate pea coats. 

I opened my eyes and reached over for my iPod. I was out for half an hour. 

Meh. It's not like I need to get up early anyways... 

The Girl

Sleep evades me. As I lie here in the darkness, my mind whirs at a mile a second. This happens sometimes, all my thoughts, plans, ideas, a tempest I sometimes lose myself in. It takes awhile to find the center, so I keep vigil and pray as I await the eye of the storm. 
My eyes close for just a moment. I see her, perched atop a brick wall outside the school in a green shirt dress with black tights and tan lace-up boots that came to her knees. Her sword was sheathed, and gripped tightly in a gloved hand as she looked on towards the parking lot. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, save for her bangs, which she brushed out of her eyes with her free hand. 
Then she ran. The start was so sudden, She was halfway along the wall before I realized, and I bolted after her. As she came to the end she leaped off, slinging her sword scabbard over a shoulder, and landed without breaking her stride. As I caught up to her, the flash of a memory blinded me, and I was jolted awake. 
I reached over for my iPod and squinted against the sudden brightness as I checked the time. It was four in the morning. Technically Three. Damn farmers. The dream was still vivid in my mind. I didn't consider Becca having ninja moves, even though she's skilled with the jian. Then again, her stride was much like Ezio from Assassin's Creed II, so there's that mystery solved. 
The memory was still flashing through my mind, like the shadows of a firework when you close your eyes. She was the first. I can still see that blonde ponytail swaying along with her hips as she glided along the sidewalk. And the spark of mischief in her green eyes when she turned around on her rollerblades and smiled at me. 
That was well over a decade ago. A strange remembrance to have, but then chasing after Becca would have brought that up, I suppose.  The girl in my memories moved away soon after that summer. The one in my musings still has her story to share. Mayhaps she is the inheritor of her smile, and the possibilities therein. Time will tell. 
I still have an hour and a half before I must arise. I'll try to ask her before then. 

Shinobi

The humidity is a killer. Heat, I can deal with, but the feel of sweat pouring off my back doesn't help my focus. The air feels not quite as thick as the jungle, but it takes me a moment to steady my breath.
I should have brought a mat. Lying in wait, I'm used to, but the pebbles against my ribs aren't helping my aim.
I see them emerge from the tree line across the ravine. They take their positions, same as I, and target the rebels coming through the pass. I slow my breath, center the sniper in my scope, adjust for wind.
I'm far enough away that I don't have to worry about the noise giving away my position. Even so, as I move my finger from the trigger guard, I find it strange that I'm using non-lethal tranquilizer rounds. Yet I can't complain about their effectiveness as the sniper falls senseless from my first shot. I work the bolt, target the spotter, but he flees before I can properly sight him. As the rebels move through the ravine unscathed, I pack up and start walking.
As I left the Spanish chattering of the rebel group behind, I come to a drainage tunnel embedded in a hill. It's large enough to walk through, and seems to lead from the Villa, where the rebels are headed. Might be an escape route for The General. He'd probably fetch a nice reward if I could catch him. It feels cooler inside, at any rate.
I walked along until I started to lose sight of the light at the exit. A few more tentative steps into the shadows, and I found an underground concrete bunker. The door was a heavy steel slab, but it slid open easily. There was a short hallway inside, but beyond that came the screams. And the sound of metal slamming against metal.
The arcs of electricity coming off of his body illuminated the room like flashes of lightning. He drove his head into the wall again and again, setting sparks off from the friction between the wall and his helmet. I flicked the switch next to the door way, hitting some floodlights. Aside from a labyrinth of steel girders overhead, the place looked empty. And as he turned towards me, the glowing red eye in his faceplate ablaze, I thought I should have kept it that way.
He charged towards me in rapid steps, but stopped a few feet away. His exoskeleton sent out a few faint arcs, lower in intensity than before, and he clutched his sides, doubled over in pain. Then he seemed to swell before my eyes.
"Fox!"
He didn't respond to his name, continuing to hulk out before me. As his breath grew deeper and more ragged, I knew there wasn't a Gray Fox in there, or Frank Jeager. I doubt he was even the ninja anymore. When he finished growing, this hulk-ninja roared and leaped at me. I jumped back, but he snatched my rifle, snapping it in two between his fingers. I barely ducked in time as he followed through with a swipe of his arm, and as he stumbled from the swing, I jumped into the girders above us.
I couldn't see the top, but I kept climbing, hoping for a way out. A glimmer caught my eye, and I saw the high-frequency blade lying on a girder just out of reach. The whole cage shook, and the sword slid closer to the edge as Frank displayed a new ape-like agility to go along with his new hulked out form. I swung from the girder I was hanging on over to the sword and snatched it before it could fall.
The blade felt alive in my hand, vibrating, pulsing with it's own heartbeat, faster than a humming bird. It even gave off it's own sound as I climbed up, seeing Frank settle onto the girder before me. He charged again, letting out another feral scream. I held the sword up and made a quick thrust.
The tip penetrated the glowing eye, shattering it. As it's light faded, his face plate popped open, revealing his scarred features. His body shrank back to it's normal proportions as he fell into the shadows, and the blade slipped from my grasp to follow. Guess it felt my job was done. I still had a climb.
A few minutes later had me reach a circular hatch in the ceiling. I opened it, and clambered out into the blinding sun.

Frank Jeager. The Cyborg Ninja. I always wanted to do his armor, but I just don't have the right build for it. Of course, now that I'm playing Metal Gear Solid 4, it's odd that this particular ninja should come up, especially when Raiden is the current one. Perhaps my subconscious is telling me to take a break from the video games for awhile.

Westward Bound: Part 2

"Keep scratching, and I won't stitch you up again if they come loose." 
I was bluffing, of course. Not that she'd know. She could stand to see a doc once we reach a town, but for the moment she's conscious, with a hand reaching into her oversized shirt. Her eyes regard me with unveiled suspicion, not that I blame her. Even as I sewed her up, my eyes couldn't help straying from their task somewhat. 
Her eyes looked almost orange as they reflected the flames in front of her. The setting sun had given them a honeyed glow, but that was hours ago. As she took her hand out of her shirt, I noticed her tan. And the faint scar along her ring finger. I pulled another piece of dried meat from my pack to chew on, tossing her the rest. 
"You need to keep your strength up."
She didn't disagree with me, demonstrating a hearty appetite in spite of our meager provisions. I lay back, tucking my satchel behind my head as a makeshift pillow and lowered my hat over my face. 
"Thank you."
The first words she spoke to me since I fell off the train. Not looking up, I gave them a dismissive wave of my hand. It wasn't as though I could have done anything else. 

I lifted the brim of my hat a bit higher, glaring at the vehicle as it blared past me. Those motorized buggies irked me more than anything else, and there were a lot of them in the city. Progress, they called it. Yet they seemed to have forgotten their manners along with it. 
I nodded to the hotel clerk as I entered, taking the stairs up a few floors. When I turned the key to the room, I found a curious sight behind the door. The dress she wore was a deep blue. A bit worn around the hem, and faded all around. Her hair was pinned up under a matching bonnet, and seeing a strip of flesh from above her high collar of her jacket stirred me more than the glimpse I caught under her shirt those weeks before. Then she turned around, taking her eye away from the spyglass I had set up before I wired her. 
"Are you going to change your mind?" I asked her. 
She shook her head, and started to push past me. I grasped her arm, more roughly than I intended, but led her back to the window. Outside and across the street was the jailhouse. And through a barred window, hatless and looking a lot cleaner was the leader of that gang on the train. He peered out into the street a moment and went back to pacing in his cell, like a caged animal. 
I could feel her tense, and stilled her with a finger pressed gently to her lips. Then I pulled a bundle that was leaning against the wall and drew out the rifle. It was a small caliber, the kind that won't make much noise compared to this bustling town. The sound of the shot would be lost in the city, and I had already set the scope earlier in the day. I told her as much, and laid it onto the bed next to us. 
Without another word, I turned and took a few steps towards the door. And waited in the middle of the room. I could see her in a mirror, something she was oblivious to as she lifted the rifle, working the bolt to feed a new round into the chamber. She took her place a few steps back from the window and lifted the weapon, peering through the sight and into the cell across the street. 
By the rise and fall of her shoulders, I could see her breath steady and unconsciously matched my own with hers. I stopped breathing when she did. At the first sob, I exhaled and turned around, placing a hand on her shoulder as she lowered the weapon.  I took it from her, laying it aside as her hands came up to her face, collecting her tears. Her cry carried with it her frustration, despair, and sorrow. A sound that echoed in my bones, and one I won't soon forget. I gave her my handkerchief, glancing at the scar along her finger as she took it. 
"It's enough to see him hang." I told her. I don't know if I believed it myself, but even if she didn't, it's best if it was. 
When she pushed past me and ran through the door, I had some trouble deciding wether or not to follow. By the time I made up my mind, the world went white as the sun came in through my window.