LawSec officers stood against the wall and saluted as Third Most High Detective Lnosvumo'o left the LawSec building and trotted out into the night. The doors whooshed closed behind him and the officers all looked at one another, their tendrils curled tight along their jawlines with concern that one of their Most High's would go out into the night of the Council Capital.
Third Most High Detective Lnosvumo'o stood outside in the darkness, taking a deep breath of the thick fog that had filled the nights for nearly a month. The fog made sounds doppler strangely, filling the night with muffled speech, the clinking of metal, the dripping of water, and a faint chill that wormed its way into a being's clothing to leave one shivering. The stars were hidden by the dark stormclouds that perpetually rolled in just before dusk and evaporated away during the false dawn.
He wore his Sec-Vest and armed sash, his flank covering was lightly armored, and he wore a comlink earpiece in one ear in addition to his datalink. His satchel, hanging from a strap over the opposite shoulder, was heavier and larger than the ones usually carried by a being of his exalted rank.
Satisfied nobody was in the parking lot he trotted over to his personal vehicle, tapped in the unlock code, and climbed in. The fusion engine purred when he started it up and slowly left the LawSec Headquarters Building.
Out of sight of the building's security scanners he gave himself a moment to tense, feeling his legs tremble in anxiety, his crests inflate, and his tendrils curl. He heaved a deep breath and forced himself to relax at a stoplight.
The fog was too thick to see what the digital news display board, nearly thirty feet high, was showing but he could guess.
TERROR IN THE CAPITAL! or some variation of such. That or the growingly popular THE NIGHT TERRAN STALKS THE DARKNESS!
The light turned green and Lnosvumo'o continued driving. His manor, as befitting a being of his rank, was inside the city, surrounded by the wealthier but lower ranking Lanaktallan's elaborate houses. It took only a half hour to reach his heavy gate, which opened as soon as it identified his car and closed behind him. He trotted through his house, up the ramp to the third floor, and down the hall to his personal office.
His stomachs all clenched at what he knew would happen now.
He should not be doing this. He was the Third Most High Detective in the entire Capital Law Enforcement and Security Forces. He had three hundred years of experience in solving crimes and bringing the even hand of justice to those who needed it. He had exposed criminal after criminal. Had gotten justice for those who normally received none.
Well, not every time.
He poured himself a drink, high end narcobrew, and trotted to the window, staring out at it. The fog was mirror smooth this high up and he could see the lightning flashing in the clouds, see the tiny droplets of moisture from the ever-present nightly misting that almost qualified as rain.
The moon was red.
He hated to admit it, but the more heinous the crime, the higher ranking the perpetrator, the more likely that justice did not occur. He had seen the wealthy and powerful sneer or outright laugh out loud at victims and/or their family when the charges were dismissed even with video evidence.
"A case like this," the judge said in Lnosvumo'o's memory, "Is a reminder of why justice cannot be simply handled by computer."
He knew, that as an officer of the law, trusted to enforce justice, that he should feel outrage or fury at what had happened next. That the rich and powerful criminal had first walked away free, but then found that while he may have been beyond Lnosvumo'o's reach...
...there was cold white hands that could still reach even the most wealthy and powerful.
The Dark Terran, the Night Terran, had taunted Lnosvumo'o with what he was about to do and escaped before Lnosvumo'o could capture him.
No, that wasn't true. Lnosvumo'o had been consumed with anger and betrayal. He hadn't even bothered to try to capture the Night Terran.
The next day the immensely wealthy and powerful Lanaktallan had put a pistol in his mouth and blown his own head off after confessing to his crimes.
In the week sense the ranking bureaucrats of the government had all contacted Lnosvumo'o's superiors, demanding that something be done by the Night Terran. Detectives, Investigators, even Security Response Most Highs galloped through the halls, squealing and panicking, as highly placed individuals wanted repayment for all the favors that had been granted for decades and in some cases centuries.
Apprehend the Night Terran at all costs.
Yet night after night one, two, and in one amazing case, three Most Highs found themselves targeted by the Night Terran in a horrific display of the creatures power. All of them, no matter how powerful or wealthy, reduced to screaming madness by the Night Terran. None of them, not even the first victims, had recovered from their madness.
Lnosvumo'o stood in front of his window, staring at the night, as he finished his first mug of narcobrew and dialed up another.
He missed his window flashing ERROR twice, quickly, before returning to normal.
Justice is the hallmark of civilization. Without justice, it is little more than the strong preying upon the weak. Is that not why the Lanaktallan guide the others? Because we possess the wisdom for justice? Lnosvumo'o thought to himself.
That old mantra, taught to cadets, seemed a pale and far away thing as he stared out at the mirror smooth surface of the fog that had slowly crept up to cover the bottom six inches of his window.
It looked like a blur at first. A glitch in the smartglass. Lnosvumo'o tried to rub it away with a thumb, but it moved out of the way then returned to its previous position when he moved his thumb. It slowly grew larger, coming closer.
With a stomach clenching feeling of horror, he realized what it was as it grew larger.
The Night Terran.
Walking across the fog like another being would walk across tarmac. His high collar was unmoving, his hair perfectly slicked back. His large black coat open to reveal a black vest over a white ruffled shirt, his pants smooth black cloth, the cape streaming behind him snapping and twisting in a wind that only seemed to exist for the cape. The Night Terran's face was long, with a wide chin, high cheekbones, an axe-blade of a nose, and burning red eyes.
Lnosvumo'o shifted back from window, nervously shuffling his hooves.
His hand itched for the neural pistol he was no longer allowed to carry. For the badge that existed on paperwork only as his own department investigated him in regards to the wealthy Lanaktallan's suicide.
The Night Terran suddenly darted forward, slamming his hands against the armored smartglass. His cloak billowed out around him, covering the glass.
Lnosvumo'o made a whinny of fear.
The fingertips came through the window first. Seeming to just press through the glass. Slowly but surely the Night Terran phased through the window, standing in front of Lnosvumo'o, who could only stare with wild eyes. He was so panicked he could not close his side or rear facing eyes, could not deflate his crests or uncurl his tendrils.
"I am the terror that blah bleh-blah flaps in the night," the Night Terran hissed, his cloak pulling free of the smart window and swirling around him. "I am the itch you cannot blah bleh-blah scratch."
Mist poured in the window, going from greyish silver to black and swirling around the Night Terran.
"I am, blah bleh-blah, the headache in the criminal mind," the Night Terran said.
Before Lnosvumo'o could answer the Night Terran suddenly dissolved into black mist that wisped away, leaving the room colder than it had any right to be. Condensation blew from Lnosvumo'o's nostrils as he hyperventilated with all four lungs, trembling in terror.
Images began to appear on Lnosvumo'o's smart window. Lanaktallan business magnates. Politicians. Community leaders. Murderers sanctioned by the Councils. Law enforcement officers. Blackmailers.
"They are blah bleh-blah beyond your reach," the Night Terran hissed from behind him.
Lnosvumo'o could not see him, the shadows too deep in his personal office. Wait, there, by the rearing statue of one of his ancestors, a pair of red eyes staring from the shadows.
"They sneer at you as you walk blah bleh-blah by," the voice hissed. The eyes blinked and vanished, only to reappear as the eyes of one of his family matrons. Her expression in the painting went from smiling and expressing pleasure to a stern authoritarian expression of faint disapproval.
"They victimize the poor and weak, those you blah bleh-blah swore to defend," the ancient family matron hissed in the Night Terran's voice, her mouth tendrils curling in disgust. She blinked and her painting reverted back to how it had always been.
The window stopped on an image that always turned Lnosvumo'o's stomach to see. A known criminal leader who destroyed the lives of the families of the children he stole and then sold for nefarious purposes, who blackmailed and extorted credits from struggling shopkeepers, who hurt any who so much as might have defied his underworld power.
"The man's description did little good," The Night Terran whispered from the shadows. A lilting almost musical whisper.
The picture on the smartglass changed to an older picture, almost two centuries ago, of the crime lord as a younger Lanaktallan having his mug-shot taken.
"A local stranger," the Night Terran hissed. "from the neighborhood."
Photos of the crime scene appeared. Dead Lanaktallan children from an explosive device hidden in a playground device.
Lnosvumo'o was visible, kneeling down on his front legs, picking up a piece of evidence to put in a bag.
"Those little kids," the Night Terran hissed. "Oh, he left blah bleh-blah behind."
Pictures of the surviving children, all maimed, all injured, even those that had no injuries covered in blood and staring with too old eyes. All of them staring at something behind Lnosvumo'o, as if they could see the Night Terran behind Lnosvumo'o.
"With their mangled lives, and their tortured minds," the Night Terran hissed.
The document, the computer file, blown up to overly large size to take up the window. The document stating that his alibi was confirmed by several trustworthy and high ranking Lanaktallan.
The crime lord's younger self appeared over the document, laughing as he left the LawSec building.
"He didn't seem to care," the Night Terran hissed. The picture expanded, showed that the younger version of the crime lord was laughing at Lnosvumo'o himself as he got in his vehicle.
Lnosvumo'o felt anger well up. He remembered that day. Remembered it vividly.
"Then don't you think it's blah bleh-blah fair?" The Night Terran whispered. Lnosvumo'o could feel the Terran's strong cold hands, almost clawlike, settle on his shoulders, as if he was sitting on Lnosvumo'o's back. Lnosvumo'o couldn't see anything, but he could feel those cold, hard, made for killing Terran hands.
"Call for street justice," Lnosvumo'o heard the whisper in one ear.
"Let no mercy show," the Night Terran whispered into Lnosvumo'o's other ear, his breath cold, spreading a chill through Lnosvumo'o's body.
"Call for street justice," the Night Terran whispered again.
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The picture taken only a century ago of the crime lord laughing as he left the LawSec building with his lawyers after the evidence linking him to slavery and artificial debt increasing vanished.
"Don't blah bleh-blah let him go," the Night Terran hissed.
Lnosvumo'o moaned as the conflicting emotions rocked through him. He wanted the Night Terran to go after the criminal. But Justice didn't work that way. Justice was procedure, even handed, emotionless, pure logic tempering emotions.
"Say his name," the Night Terran hissed, his icy fingertips trailing down Lnosvumo'o's upper spine.
"Mo'oshint," Lnosvumo'o lowed, his voice trembling. "His name is Mo'oshint."
Laughter surrounded Lnosvumo'o, the darkness filling the room, the laughter making Lnosvumo'o's skin vibrate in its volume. Rich, evil laughter, full of dark mirth and promises of pain and horror.
A single Shavashan hatchling hopped into view on his smartglass. It was holding a tallow candle in its claws, the little flame flickering and bobbing.
The light from the little flame slowly brightened the room as the Shavashan hatchling slowly turned transparent and vanished.
Outside the thunder rolled and the lightning flickered in the clouds, the misty rain hissed against the armored glass, and the mist was mirror smooth and covering the ground.
Lnosvumo'o covered his face with his upper hands and wept in shame.
-------------------
Mo'oshint sat in a comfortable cradle behind an expensive ornate desk, expensive narcobrew in a mug in front of him, his clothing expensive and finely tailored. The decorations on his desk came from all over the Inner Civilized Sphere, even the cheapest one valuable enough to purchase a skyraker. Around him nearly a dozen of his most capable and high ranking men lounged around or stood relaxing.
Dullmo'ok, by the door, was a former ExeSec hazardous situation force member who had been kicked out for excessive force against neo-sapients. Across the door from him was Shu'ulmo'o, a former Unified Military Forces Special Operations soldier who had been put out for taking the wrong bribes at the wrong time.
Both Lanaktallan were experienced street soldiers. Both carrying vibroknives and neural pistols.
Each of the other Lanaktallan in his office were valuable members of Mo'oshint's organization but were still extremely deadly and capable combatants.
Which is why they were all laughing at the Tri-Vid showing the Fifth Most High of Executive Banking being shoved into an ambulance while screaming. Beneath the image the label "NIGHT TERRAN STRIKES AGAIN!" streamed by. The lights flickered again. For the last hour or so the lights had been slightly unreliable, but Mo'oshint's men had notified Mo'oshint that a lightning bolt had hit a nearby power broadcast tower so he had no worries.
"Imagine being so weak," Dullmo'ok sneered. "Terrified by something as stupid as the so-called 'Night Terran' to the point you lose your cud."
Mo'oshint and the others laughed.
His desk computer took that moment to chime.
Mo'oshint frowned, looking at it, as his men kept talking about how weak and pathetic the Most Highs had proven to be.
"YOU HAVE 1 NEW MESSAGE" appeared on his monitor. It was block letters, in a crude box with beveled edges. There was only an "OK" button. Wondering what "OK" meant, Mo'oshint tapped the button to make the box go away.
The box vanished but Mo'oshint's secure email program came up. His new mail tab opened, showing a single new message.
"YOU CAN BE TOUCHED" the email read.
Mo'oshint frowned more, staring at the email. No header. No sender. No recipient. Just the email and the subject header.
Feeling irritation, Mo'oshint went to delete the email.
Instead it opened.
Mo'oshint's eyes opened wide in anger as the email turned into an image of the Night Terran. Black hair slicked back from the V of the forehead, high cheekbones, full lips, narrow face, patrician nose, heavy chin that gave the impression of sharpness, and burning red eyes.
Before Mo'oshint could do anything the Night Terran lifted up one hand, two of the long fingers tipped with pointed nails held up, and pointed his white fingers at his red eyes, then pointed at Mo'oshint.
Mo'oshint swore, standing up. His men all looked at him.
"What's up, boss?" Callimo'oin asked. The big Lanaktallan controlled the Lanaktallan and neo-sapients who worked at the space-port freight docks and warehouses.
Mo'oshint looked at him, then glanced at the computer.
The Night Terran was gone. It was just an advertisement for optical correction lenses, the smiling female Lanaktallan showing how easy it was to put the lenses into her eyes by holding them up for the view to see and them putting her fingers in her eyes.
Mo'oshint shook his head. "Nothing."
He sat down slowly, looking at his men, then looked at the computer again.
The female plunged her fingertips in her eyes, pulling her eyeballs out, the dripping orbs stuck on the tips of her fingers, the nerve cords dripping blood and fluid as they slid out of the eye cavities. She opened her mouth to scream and a white blur appeared in her mouth.
The Night Terran's white hands grabbed her jaws from the inside, pulled them apart, and the Night Terran pushed her open mouth down off of his body until she vanished and the Night Terran stood in the front of Mo'oshint's monitor.
Mo'oshint slapped the display shut, shaking his head. It was obviously some punk out there playing games. He'd have his dataslicers find out who thought they were a comedian and have the comedian's family slain. He stood up as the lights flickered, his tendrils trembling with rage. All of his men looked at him in confusion.
"Send in..." he started to say.
The doors clicked as the security bolts were withdrawn.
Every Lanaktallan turned and looked at the doors as they began to push inward.
When the gap was barely two inches wide the leading edge of a rubber edged solid wheel poked through the gap. The wheel slid further and further into the room until there was a thump of something hitting the door as nearly a foot of tire poked through the door.
The lights went out. Mo'oshint's men drew their pistols or knives. Mo'oshint himself put all four hands on his desk, intending on having the intruder held down and slowly killed.
A circle of light came on, shining on the wheel.
The door pushed open further, allowing pedals to enter the room. Black boots polished to a high sheen were on the pedals, the legs covered in smooth black pants as the legs pedaled furiously to make the wheel move further in.
The Night Terran, clad in all black, its cape streaming and snapping behind him as if it was in a fierce wind, pedaled furiously as it slowly entered the room. The thing it sat upon had a two foot wide wheel at the front, a reclining seat at the back, a steering bar with handles that had tassels on each end, and two smaller wheels. As soon as the Night Terran cleared the doors they slowly shut and the security bolts clacked into place.
It was pedaling as if it was going much faster than the slow entry it made, the cape trailing behind it. Mo'oshint stared as he realized that its tongue had lolled from its mouth and was streaming behind it like a five foot long ribbon, the end fluttering and flipping saliva everywhere.
It stopped in the middle of the room, all of the Lanaktallan staring as they tried to get their brains to wrap around what they were seeing. The Night Terran's tongue suddenly rolled up into its mouth and made a flapping noise as it rotated several times, the end of the tongue spraying saliva every time it went by.
"Abra-Kapocus," the Night Terran said, his voice deep.
The lights went out.
When the came on, bright, the room was empty except for Mo'oshint and his guards, all of whom were staring at one another. There was nobody in the room but them.
The lights flickered and dimmed, filling the room with shadows.
"What..." Fo'okumo'o started to say as mist began to rise from the floor.
"How about a blah bleh blah magic trick?" the Night Terran asked, his voice slightly higher, tenser, more full of something that Mo'oshint didn't understand.
They all turned and looked at Tulumo'ot who went rigid, his eyes rolling in his head, as the Night Terran stepped out of the shadows behind Tulumo'ot. His cape was streaming behind him and he took two steps and suddenly stopped as his cape hung up on something inside the shadows.
The Lanaktallan found themselves unable to do anything but stare as the Night Terran turned around, frowning, and grabbed his cape. He pulled on it, pulled harder, wrapped both hands in the cape, and began yanking on it. The Night Terran shifted his feet several times until he had his feet planted on thin air, hanging horizontally to the floor, yanking on the cape.
It came loose and the Night Terran fell to the floor, his cape streaming out to cover him. Before any of the Lanaktallan could say anything the Night Terran suddenly stood up, his cape puddled around his feet.
The Night Terran took two steps, tripped on his cape, managed to recover, and came to a stop in front of Shalamo'ot. He held up a thin wooden dowel, red rubber on one end, the other sharpened to a black tip. The Night Terran moved his other hand as if he was showing off something amazing, placed it on the table in front of the Lanaktallan, who was sitting in a comfortable chain.
Mo'oshint felt slightly impressed that the little dowel was standing on the red rubber end.
"ABRA-CADABRA!" the Night Terran shouted.
He grabbed the back of Shalamo'ot's head and slammed it down on the table then yanked the Lanaktallan's head up before throwing the mobster to the side.
The table was empty as the Night Terran held his hands out as if to showcase something.
"Ta-dah, it's goooooone," the Night Terran said.
Before anyone could do anything the lights went out again.
Someone fired a neural pistol.
"STOP SHOOTING!" Mo'oshint yelled, ducking.
The lights came on, revealing Shalamo'ot laying on the carpet, one hoof kicking spasmodically. The mist had risen so that the dead Lanaktallan was only half visible, laying on his side.
"Where did he go?" Callimo'oin asked, looking around wildly.
The lights flickered and dimmed.
"Where is he?" Dullmo'ok asked.
"Shall we dance?" the Night Terran asked, suddenly standing up from the mist.
Before Dullmo'ok could react the Night Terran grabbed his upper right hand, put his other hand on Dullmo'ok's hips, a yanked his upper torso off.
The lights all went off, except for that bright white circular light, that followed the Night Terran as he began to twirl, spin, and stutter step about the room, holding onto Dullmo'ok's upper torso.
Shots rang out as Mo'oshint's panicked and began firing at the horrific apparition in front of them. The Night Terran gave a swirl and the shot aimed at him hit Falmo'onin in the chest, blowing a hole clear through the male Lanaktallan and spraying blood on the wall.
It wasn't till the third Lanaktallan in his office was killed by another's shooting that Mo'oshint realized what was happening.
"STOP SHOOTING!" he yelled, raising his slug thower to point at the cieling.
The lights went off and there was a thump in the darkness.
Mo'oshint could hear his remaining five men breathing heavy.
A small circle of light clicked on, revealing Shu'ulmo'o's face.
"No, no, not me," Shu'ulmo'o whined.
Before anyone could react Shu'ulmo'o lifted his own slug thrower, pressed it against his temple, and pulled the trigger.
Instead of a bullet a stick suddenly protruded from the other side of the Lanaktallan's head. A flag dropped from it.
BANG!
Shu'ulmo'o trembled and closed all his eyes, pulling the pistol away.
The stick fell to the ground.
The light went off.
Someone screamed in the dark.
The lights came on and Mo'oshint realized that Kulkamo'o was missing. A potted plant wearing his vest and flank covering sitting in his place.
Shu'ulmo'o screamed and whirled in place, kicking out, grabbing the handles of the double door and yanking them open.
The Night Terran stood there, in profile. One arm lifted, elbow behind his head and hand over his head, the other arm extended out with a hand-mirror held in his had. He wore his cape, his slacks, his boots, but was shirtless, exposing a lean torso rippling with pale muscles. His white skin glittered as if he was covered in diamond dust.
Shu'ulmo'o screamed and shat on the floor, the patty disappearing into the knee deep mist.
The Night Terran looked at Mo'oshint and smiled, exposing long needle-sharp fangs.
"Don't hate me because I'm blah bleh-blah, beautiful," the Night Terran said in a deep cultured voice.
The doors slammed shut.
The five surviving Lanaktallan galloped into the middle of the room, clustering together, facing one another with all six eyes open, their flanks tensed. Shu'ulmo'o kicked out behind him at empty air as his anxiety peaked.
The lights went out.
A single circle of white light came one, focused on the Night Terran, who was standing in the center of their circle, a peaked leather cap secured with a chinstrap on his head, a white shirt smeared with mud with the blue number 58 on the back.
"It's fourth and ten, boys, let's do it for the Gipper," the Night Terran said, his voice high pitched and nasally.
All of the Lanaktallan but Mo'oshint pointed their weapons at the Night Terran and pulled the trigger.
The Night Terran puffed into black mist.
The bullets struck the Lanaktallan opposite. They all stood there for a moment, wavering. They all collapsed, leaving Mo'oshint standing there, his front illuminated by the light that slowly contracted and crawled up his body to focus on his face.
Mo'oshint blinked at the harsh light.
From the darkness came a white hand, long fingers, black pointed nails, the wrist extended from a light drinking black colored sleeve. One finger extended out and touched Mo'oshint's nose.
"I see you," the Night Terran whispered. "You cannot hide from my eyes."
The lights suddenly came on, leaving Mo'oshint standing in the middle of the room. He held a vibroknife in one hand, blood dripping on the carpet, and the severed heads of three of his men in his other hands.
The double-doors burst open, revealing a quartet of LawSec Hight Threat Response Officers, all of them in full armor, all of them leveling neural rifles at Mo'oshint.
"DON'T MOVE!" One shouted.
"COUNCIL LAW-SEC!" another shouted.
"YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!" a third shouted.
The fourth, as Mo'oshint watched, had his face-shield flip up.
The Night Terran's face was on the Lanaktallan LawSec's officer's head.
"ABRACADABRA!" the Night Terran shouted.
The face shield went down.
All four Lanaktallan officers fired at once. Pulling the trigger rapidly until Mo'oshint fell dead to the floor.
-------------------
Lnosvumo'o sat at his desk in his office, all three of his stomachs clenching, his eyes covered by his upper two hands, his lower left hand pressed against his upper stomach, a narcobrew in his lower right hand. He'd gone through two narcobrews since he had gotten home. The news was all over headquarters.
Officers responding to the computer reporting illegal weaponry discharges at the estate of Mo'oshint had been forced to kill the gangster when he had charged them, holding a vibroblade in one hand and the heads of three of his men in the other.
Lnosvumo'o swallowed thickly as the lights dimmed.
A cold hand touching his shoulder.
"Call for blah bleh-blah street justice," the cold hiss sounded out from behind him.
Lnosvumo'o shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Why should parents blah bleh-blah cry?" the Night Terran whispered.
Lnosvumo'o swallowed thickly.
"Call for blah bleh-blah street justice," the Night Terran repeated, his voice low, sibilant.
"How many have to blah bleh-blah die?" the Night Terran asked.
The smart window squealed and Lnosvumo'o stared at it with his rear two eyes, uncaring that he couldn't see the Night Terran who's cold hand was on his shoulder. The smart window flickered and began showing more of the worst criminal of the Council Capital City.
"Call for blah bleh blah street justice," the Night Terran hissed.
Gangsters. Rapists. Murderers. The worst of the worst appeared in the window, their images superimposed over their paperwork.
"When slime blah bleh-blah escapes the law," the Night Terran said. The hand slid off his shoulder and the cold chill moved away.
Unsolved crimes. Serial crimes. Ones that made him sick to even think of the case files.
"Call for street blah bleh-blah justice," the Night Terran said from in front of Lnosvumo'o.
He opened his eyes and saw the Night Terran standing in the darkness of Lnosvumo'o's office, his cape wrapped around him so only his head was visible, the high collar pinched into a row of spikes over his head.
"Karmo'osek," Lnosvumo'o whispered in the chilly darkness. He saw each letter of the criminal's name float from his mouth, each letter popping one after another only inches from his mouth.
"We'll even up the blah bleh-blah score," the Night Terran whispered.
And vanished in a puff of black mist.
This time Lnosvumo'o didn't weep. He merely trotted in a half-circle and moved to the smart window to stare at the fog and storm wracked city.
"Show them what evil brings," he said softly. "Let none escape the law."