The Cloak

Copyright 1998
By
Jared Waddell


	He has his Cloak.
	The Man is comfortable with that. He has his sword too. The 
sixty-two centimeter blade glints maliciously in the streetlight. The 
shadows, harsher than the light, hide away a light so bright he can 
feel it.
	He can see neither the light nor the shadows, but he knows 
their shapes. This lonely streetlight, like a million others in the 
city, he has seen before. Before so many times. Before he was blind. 
Before his vision was ripped violently from his body.
	Before he knew the Cloak. Before he knew its power.
	It engulfs him in oblivion. It takes away his pain, his fear. 
Just because he cannot see does not mean he cannot kill. Vengeance 
must be his. Here he waits again, with the company of the Cloak. He 
is patient.
	They will come.
	Even such maggots as Billy Cummings, the crack dealer. His low-
life friend Carl Stot, who manages his business. Billy's bodyguards, 
Graham Walker, Ben Coxley, Brian Foriger, known as Slash, Hack and 
Cut, respectively. Yes, they will be here soon.
	Ben. Ah Ben...why did you betray me?
	His thoughts become suddenly lucid. He knows they are nears, 
and still he waits.
	Time crawls now. He is calm. Seconds ticking by on frozen 
clocks like the slowest hours of the day. With his free hand, the Man 
feels the blindfold he wears to protect the remains of his eyes.
	He cannot see, but the light still hurts.
	The Cloak is comforting him. Nursing his duty of revenge. 
Fueling his hatred. No other emotions intrude. He is focused, ready.
	Already nearly 20 blocks away, he hears the car. It moves 
slowly through the abandoned streets, it's lights off. The driver 
knows this path well. He has driven it before.

	Ben Coxley holds the wheel firmly. The headlights are off, but 
he knows this street too well. Every bump. Every contour of its 
surface. He knew.
	His eyes peer out from his heavy, scarred brow. The scars on 
his face burn and pulse with the shadows of past flames that fill his 
vision. That night, everything that happened, everything he saw, 
everything he heard, and everything he felt, returns to him again.
	The building crashing down, the wall of flames roasting the 
tenants' cars parked across the street, that cold sensation creeping 
up his neck, as he realized that something was terribly, terribly 
wrong.
	He feels himself being transported back to that warm summer 
night two years ago, driving the humvee through the swirling clouds 
of flaming debris. Like a million fireflies dying in the dawn light. 
He sees the burning paper, cardboard and wood, twisting and turning 
in the flowing currents of hot air. A miniature tornado carving out a 
path of destruction in slow-motion. The air whirling away, up and 
away, from the hot pieces of flaming masonry that litter the street 
surface. The burning hulks of cars, like skeletons folding upon 
themselves in their last death-throes. A mechanical dance of death, 
the last breath of combustion bringing with it the end.
	He slows the humvee, looking out onto the street, seeing a 
figure standing in all this hellfire. His eyes are gone, they must 
be. Gone for sure, as blood flows freely from the two gaping wounds 
in his face. The figure limps towards the vehicle, impossibly alive, 
one leg broken, arms swinging left and right to balance its dead 
weight. The flesh of the man--a figure from hell--burns in a few 
small places about his chest and arms, his shirt blown completely off 
by the blast.
	Ben realized who it is, and speeds back up.
	He blinks suddenly, now coming slowly down the same dark street, 
Hellfire Alley, Satan's Couch. The memories mix with the legends 
well. Memories and dreams of what will come.
	The fear in the car is thin, yet obtrusive, and coming mostly 
from Billy.
	Billy does not do much of the wetwork, and the others think him 
weak for this. The Network doesn't want things done half-heartedly by 
bumbling idiots, but they put Billy in charge nonetheless.
	Ben thinks Billy is going to get them all killed.
	At least he's coming along. He'll be getting just what he 
deserves too.
	Ben continues driving slowly as a hearse, because all the men in 
this car now effectively dead.

	Graham Walker looks up front, noting how 'Hack' is sweating his 
eyes unfocused, reliving the past again. As he has everyday since it 
happened.
	Billy is in no better shape. He puffs without end on a large 
cigar jutting angrily out of one corner of his mouth.
	Ready to see him? Graham almost wants to ask. Ready to look 
death himself in the eye. Death is blind this time. Unfortunately, 
even grim humor is no help in this desperate situation. Strange to be 
riding willingly to your own funeral. Graham doesn't like it much. He 
looks over to 'Cut' to see how he is holding up.
	Cut, the psychotic one, is grinning from ear-to-ear, thinking 
of how he's going to dismember their appointment. He cares not for 
the dangers they will face. Cut is just a killer. No hope. No fear. 
No morals. He lives only for the next kill, to see the last breath 
ease out of his next victim. Killing to find to end in its own 
insanity.
	Graham thinks how weird their situation truly is, drawn back to 
the scene of the crime to meet their maker, in the form of a blind 
lunatic with a sword...and that Cloak.

	Cut calls himself just that. His old name has no meaning to him 
now. He is what he does, and he does what he is.
	Kill.
	For Cut there is nothing else.
	Doesn't matter who. Doesn't matter where.
	That's why the Network likes him, cares for him, keeps him 
safe. He is their greatest asset. He fidgets, just as now, when there 
must be interludes between killing.
	He is especially fidgety now, as he is about to face the 
ultimate challenge.
	The Cloak.
	The Cloak is his power. Cut must only take the Cloak, and he 
too will have the power.
	He wants to kill. He wants the Cloak. He cannot entertain two 
thoughts at once, so he switches quickly between them, fidgeting ever 
more as he does so.

	The Man can know the thoughts of those in the approaching car, 
the Cloak gives him that power. He will not pry. They will be dead 
soon. One more debt settle. One more score evened. The Network will 
fall for its stupidity. The Man will see to that. The Cloak will help 
him see what they cannot see.
	The Man will be their weakness, their obsession, they will come 
to ham, he will only have to wait patiently. He waits only for what 
comes. What comes will allow him to finish his business.
	He welcomes them.
	The car pulls to a stop by the curb. Slash exits first from the 
rear passenger door, standing by the orifice to wait for Billy to 
exit.
	Slash tries to see the man's eyes, but the large black 
blindfold with the anarchy symbol embroidered on the front covers 
them completely. The shinning sword held calmly in the Man's hand is 
not lost on Slash.
	On the other side, Hack gets out slowly, facing away from the 
curb, away from the Man, not daring to look at the cloaked figure 
standing in the light. Cut almost jumps out of the vehicle, slamming 
the door shut, spinning around to get a good look at the Man. To size 
him up. His eyes flip back and forth between Slash and the Man, 
impatient.
	Hack turns slowly around, cleverly adverting his eyes to see 
as little as possible. He shuts his door. Billy comes out slowly, his 
shaking hands carefully moving slowly, lest they betray his anxiety.
	The Man just stands in place, smiling slowly. Slash shuts the 
door, following slightly behind Billy. Hack and Cut come around the 
car, one moving slowly, apprehensively, the other jubilant, smiling.
	The four come to face the Man, Billy up front, carrying on his 
charade of power and superiority till the very end, though he may as 
well drop to his knees before the Man. Hack is behind and to the left 
of Billy, Slash taking the opposite flank. Hack looks around at 
nothing in particular, taking only passing interest in what is before 
him, looking into the darkness at the brick buildings behind the man. 
Slash keeps his face straight, just looking vaguely in the Man's 
direction like there's nothing there. Cut sneaks glimpses around 
Billy, holding his place like a chained guard dog.
	The Man, blind, still sees without seeing. He smiles politely, 
and speaks first, the Cloak flowing about him like a cobra.
	"Glad you could make it to our little reunion."
	"Fuck you." Says Billy.
	"No thank you." The Man's words come out flat, emotionless, yet 
somehow seething anger and disgust, compared to Billy's slightly 
shaky voice of fear.
	"Sorry about your ex-wife, my ex-brother-in-law." Says the Man 
with a hiss. "My condolences."
	Slash looks away, pained, though no eyes play across him to 
bare his emotions.
	"Should we do him now or--"
	"Now." Cut says, cutting off Slash in mid-sentence.
	With that, something in Slash breaks. A thought. A memory. 
Something breaks loose, no longer under control. A beast inside frees 
itself at long last.
	A scream of blind rage is lost heavy in the starless, moonless 
void. The light moves away from him as he lurched forward. He 
quickly pulls loose two long knives, with dual-curved blades. 
The first blade rips silently through the humid, still air, straight 
as an arrow.
	The Man's sword seems to come up from behind him, windmill 
fashion, slicing the pale blue light before snapping Slash's curved 
blade cleanly in two. The man pivots rapidly, sensing the blade piece 
whiz past his ear and drive itself into the brick wall far behind 
him. Slash steps past the Man, his other knife extended as part of 
his outstretched arm, swinging it into the man's neck.
	The knife never reaches its target. The Man calmly catches 
Slash's hand with the knife in it, while he brings his sword around 
again, this time from below. Slash's still free hand is already 
flying towards the Man's body, intending to kill him with the broken 
blade. The Man's sword catches Slash's forearm, cleanly severing it 
halfway between the hand and elbow. The sword continues its path of 
destruction, cutting deeply into Slash's hip, slicing open his 
stomach, and cleanly breaking all his ribs on the left side before 
snapping away his collarbone, and shooting wickedly into the light, 
showering down from above, a spray of blood following it closely. The 
sword snaps swiftly outward, then swings back into Slash's ribcage.
	The Cloak seems to glow from within now. Slash's scream dies 
an instant death as a crimson plume arches into the air in front of 
the man. Though none of the blood touches him, the man can feel its 
warmth, and he smiles. Slash spits up more blood bubbles, this time 
in a less dramatic way. The Cloak seems restless, disappointed.
	The man can feel Slash's heartbeat as it slows.
	"Any last words?" He asks.
	But Slash is already lost to the world, he gurgles something 
incomprehensible, and dies. His face remains a mask of pure rage. 
Over the sound of Slash's last call to this world, the Man hears 
another sword, one like his, clear its sheath.
	The Man turns, putting only his forearm up to ward off the 
sword as it drops down on him like a falling tree. The Cloak covers 
his arm in an instant, and stops the sword dead.
	The Man straightens out his arm, throwing off the other sword, 
and turns on his heel to face Cut. Cut's blade again moves toward 
violence, heading right for the Man's head. The Man easily knocks the 
blade away, his own sword moving in a large circle, and disembowels 
Cut. Cut's hands move to cover the mortal wound. The Man stabs him 
straight through the neck, throat-to-spine, then kicks the corpse 
aside.
	Hack is already pulling out his sawed-off shotgun, but the man 
moves quicker than the shadows around him, right past Billy, and 
chops off both of Hack's arms.
	"Sorry, just business." The Man picks up the gun, thrown clear 
from the force of the two blows, and vaporized Hack's head.
	The clicking of Colt .45's bolt closing caused the Man to drop 
the unnecessary weapon and turn slowly around. As he does so, the 
Cloak seems to draw up around him, covering all but his head, 
protecting him.
	"Why don't you just fucking die!" Yells Billy.
	"You betrayed me. Where's Carl?"
	"Dead. Suicide."
	"My condolen--"
	"Don't give me that shit. I still consider you a brother."
	The Man seems to stare right through Billy, who cannot see the 
eyes that must surely be unmasking his deepest fears and emotions. 
The face was cold. No surprise. No fear. The sword he carried seems 
friendly by comparison.
	"And I still consider you a traitor." The man brings his arms 
up, preparing to cut Billy to pieces. Billy fires directly for the 
Man's head, but the Cloak blocks the shot, the high ping of the 
ricocheting bullet fills the air an instant before a swishing sound, 
which cleanly severs Billy's head from his body, carves the medium.
	Even as Billy's head rolls into the gutter, leaving a trail of 
gore, the Man turns to leave. He looks toward the car sitting 
peacefully at the curb, then shakes his head and goes on walking down 
the street into the darkness.
	He has his Cloak.

                      *  *  *  *  *  *

Really weird. A little rough. It's version 1.0 okay, I just typed the
damn thing out so I can get on to more interesting things (Sidestep).

Tell me what you think.

rick696@mailexcite.com