11 men in tactical gear gathered around a central leader, pacing like a general leading his army into battle for the king. The black and urban camo they were clad in, mismatched and clearly a combination of whatever they could get online and had already, a single identifying cross freshly painted via stencil on their vest like a target, each in a different color. Armed with an assortment of AK47s and AR15’s in various configurations, one man with a breaching shotgun and an Uzi strapped to his chest, stood ready for war. The obvious pack leader, wearing the more detailed golden cross paint on his vest, with similar gold paint on his mask, stopped pacing and answered his phone. The word “purge” was written in gold marker across his mask brow, both a nickname and a mission.
“Yes Sir. You can count on us.” He replied to Carl, hanging up and holstering his phone under his vest. “Alright, men, here are your orders. Try and avoid civilian casualties if possible, but it may not be. If you see Nadja OR the preacher, open fire, assume they’re both still alive and dangerous until someone has put a bullet in their head and confirmed it. This is a one chance strike with the element of surprise as our only advantage, and once that has worn off we have no edge. Either of them still alive after that, has the edge, and some of us will die. You are all prepared to give your life for this glorious calling and a second chance, for a higher purpose and a greater future, but just because you are willing to die, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t fight till your last breath to keep that life. Do you understand what we’re dealing with? The Holyman is the Lakeshot Shooter. He's the one God blessed to start this mission, who he led through that safehouse massacre. He has done his job and fallen in with the enemy, the devil herself. But the fallen angel Michael has betrayed God, and God is with US now, just like his notes predicted. All of you are killers and sinners here for redemption and if you die tonight God will take that bravery into consideration. Those who survive will continue this crusade.” Purge said, beating his chest as the men rolled out. The one in silver, presumably second in command, stayed behind and discreetly got Purge’s attention.
“I thought Carl said he wanted the preacher alive?” Silver cross asked.
“Fuck those orders. If God wants Carl to lead, and he sent all of us, killers and men with nothing to lose, he wouldn’t have sent us to hold back and let pride be Carl’s downfall. Pride is a sin, greed, the temptation to risk it all for the boast that you alone did the job. God brought a team together, he didn’t send Carl alone. Carl is going to get himself killed trying to prove he’s the bigger man. What good is all of this if he gets killed? He just wants the glory of outshooting the best shooter. Let’s remove that temptation. This is bigger than all of us. That Preacher is untouchable at that range and just as dangerous close up, and you want to take that monster on and try to subdue him alive with the devil herself at his side, while he has no hesitation killing you? That’s suicide. I prefer to live through this and the way we do that, is to take this golden opportunity to take both of them out while they are not expecting it, mow them both down, apologize to cal afterafter. I would rather get a stern verbal bashing for depriving him of his kill while accidentally killing the preacher in the heat of the moment, than to get us all killed trying to take the Lakeshot Monster down alive. This is a holy war. We’re here to purge the darkness, not save it for Carl to kill. If he’s blessed and really fucking good at his shot placement, then He’ll kill the preacher before we do, and prove himself. I’m not getting us all killed waiting on that.
Mike peered into the empty restaurant section, lights off and music low, pretty dead at 2am. The lone young man drinking at the bar on the far end, and the one bartender his only company, hoping Nadja would hurry up.
Nadja opened the door of the U-haul and stepped into the parking lot, just as a burst of gunfire hitting the truck dropped her instinctively for cover behind a black SUV. She wrestled out her AR57, frantically extending the bracer stock and starting to see the advantage of Mike’s spring-loaded version. She stood up slowly, noticing men in tactical gear fanning out to her location, and the bar in a pair of teams. She hunkered back down, opening the container of cocaine and snorting half of it, rising back up and just opening full auto fire like a pressure washer, spraying the team from right to left to keep them all on the same side of the U-haul. She took her left hand off for a reload before taking her eyes off the falling soldiers, quick reloading the moment she ran out and opening fire again.
“The fuck is she shooting with, a damn belt-fed?” Silver cross asked, huddling behind a white car with the survivors. “She’ just never runs out.”
Mike heard the gunfire and with one seamless movement, the coat opened, and the stock sprung out to his shoulder. Mike turned, going full auto on the approaching crowd as well. A round zipped past his ear close enough to feel the air, and he knew it was Carl, diving over the bar counter and tackling the bartender.
“What’s happening?” she cried out to mike.
“Stand up quickly and walk at a medium pace with your hands up high, out the main entrance. If you see anyone there, just yell don’t shoot, and stand still. They’re not after you. Wait till I provide cover fire and move.” He said, nodding and shoving his back to the wall of bottles, standing and dumping 7mm rounds in quick bursts to conserve and keep them down, as the bartender ran. He switched on thermals and the magnifier, peering out to spot Carl and seeing no warm dot in the distance. “Hiding out of range away while other people die, True nobility, Carl.” He said as glass shattered and varying weapons rained lead in his direction. As if trying to simply cut the bar in half down the center, the alternating automatic fire seemed to never end as they waited for one to reload to open fire in their place. Splinters spat out from the underside of the bar as some of the rounds made it through.
“NADJA!” Mike hollered. Dialing and waiting for a response. He could hear the distinct clink of her gun firing between the other wall of noises, as some of the men were running out of ammo and reloading gaps appeared. Something flew into the window, and he braced for impact as a loud explosion shattered most of the bottles behind him, showering him in glass and booze.
“That was a flash grenade, Preacher. The next ones won’t be!” Barked Purge, “You got 2 seconds to reply.”
“With WHAT, ASSHOLE!?” Mike barked back.
“That will due. You’re still alive, preacher, you got 2 choices. We got Nadja Pinned down and out of ammo in that damn chaingun of hers, so she’s gonna be either unarmed or hunkering with a pistol. When they turn that corner. You can toss that MPX out first, and then step out hands up, and we let her go, and none of us kill you. Or you can do anything else, and we start throwing frag grenades in your little cubby-hole and mow her down at the same time.” Purge explained.
“Do I have time to consider my options? I assume you’ll just kill both of us anyway, so I’m really just debating how I wanna die aren’t I?” Mike asked.
“You got 40 seconds to decide what you believe in, my word or your god’s protection. After that, I choose for you. Then It’s up to God” He replied, counting slowly.
Nadja peaked from under the SUV to make sure nobody was moving, as she rapidly took rounds out of her pistol and reloaded the rounds into AR57 magazine, preferring a rifle reload than a handgun at the moment.
Mike looked up at the ceiling as if waiting for a sign.
“Any help or guidance would be great.” He said, as his hand began to shake, and he opened the container of cocaine and heart meds he assumed were just the meds crushed up for emergencies. He needed to calm down, jumping and almost spilling the container as a bottle landed in his lap. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked aloud, holding up the one bottle left unbroken and half full. A square bottle of Mister Black Cold Brew Liqueur he had no idea was there before. “You better not be messing with me. I know I left you in the parking lot last time, but right now we’re about to trade spots unless you wanna provide a little more information.” He said aggressively in a whisper. The silence was frustrating as he kicked back about half the powder and sniffed the rest for quicker release, opening the bottle and powering down about 350ml of liquid irony, in the form of more stimulants than 2 cups of coffee on top of the drugs and booze.
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His heart surged, and he felt a sudden anger brewing, pun fully intended by whatever higher power was acting as his dealer. Mike’s skin began to burn, his vision brightening, and a wave of pure fury overtook him. He unscrewed the barrel insert and offhanded the tube, readying a magazine of 45 hollowpoints and taking the spare shotgun shell from his pocket as he racked it back and manually loaded, slamming the action shut. He quickly checked the tube with the last round and stood up. Reflexively, he pulled the trigger at the slightest hint of movement, popping the grenade with a triple-aught “Puckshot” and bouncing it back, detonating a moment later outside. He jumped the counter, secondary barrel tucked in his left hand under the 7mm pistol out and ready, racking another shotgun shell with his right hand as he started placing left-handed headshots with armor piercing pistol rounds, firing another shell at a thrown grenade almost the moment it left the thrower’s hand, rolling for cover as it went off, killing the thrower. He repeated that mechanical process, left-hand pistol headshots, right-hand shotgun to incoming grenades.
Each time Mike turned with an almost punching motion, racking another shell in and returning to the grip, trigger pulling just as he gripped it, not even registering that another overhand throwing motion was happening, the reflected grenades bouncing wildly off into the group, taking 2 of them out. Nadja shouldered her rifle, only a few rounds to spare, and hesitant as she watched Mike alternate between double tapping helmets and shotgunning knees out from men, now afraid to even throw a grenade. The Last shotgun shell went off, the number clicking in his mind and tilting the gun to rest on his pistol hand, still firing southpaw, as if aiming itself, he jammed in the 45 magazine and racked the bolt, holstering the empty pistol and switching to full auto on the MPX. It spat bursts of 3 or 4 rounds into each target still moving on the ground like he was causally just hand-delivering the final blow to the men, now struggling to get up, legs full of lead shot, each of them going quiet as he executed them, turning his aim up towards the darkness in the distance, firing a burst of 6 randomly in the direction of Carl, slamming his back to the nearby white car as a round missed, and he locked eyes onto the location of the flash, ducking down between the two vehicles and filling the shotgun tube with 3 long pointed rifle rounds. He threaded in the 7mm barrel adapter again and forcing one into the empty open chamber. He went back to thermal and lifted his head up, steadying the rifle on the car mirror as he aimed for the faint dot or red and estimated 3 feet high. He fired, mechanically reloading and firing again, another foot high, and a third time, in about 4 seconds, slapping in the 50 round pistol magazine and switching back to SMG mode.
“FUCK!” Carl blurted, feeling the rounds hit the truck tailgate, the back window, and the bumper. He flopped down behind cover and laid in confusion. “With a fucking MPX?!” he asked, baffled at the fact that he was even close to hitting him with a gun chambered for a pistol round. He blinked in confusion, noticing the peeled sheet metal on the tailgate, indicating the round actually went through. His cover was useless. He popped up, rapid firing 4 rounds from the Dragunov just to buy a second to bail inside the truck through the now missing back glass. He suddenly heard the soft pelting of the pistol rounds hitting the dirt around him, hearing the gunshots just after, and then the clank of some of them from the full auto spray hitting the truck. He floored the gas and threw dirt as he blindly drove into the dark, never even concerned about anything in front of him. Mike felt the impact of something on his chest and turned to see Silver Cross still laying halfway behind a parked car, desperately firing his sidearm with shaky hands. Mike walked up to him, taking another round to the vest as if it didn’t even matter, kicking the gun away and grabbing the merch’s knife, lifting him by the neck and ramming the blade under the body armor and into his side 5 times robotically fast, and then slashing the throat.
He heard sirens and turned back to the U-haul, bloodshot eyes and breathing heavily as Nadja followed him, rushing to get in before he just left without her. He quickly began reloading his guns and prepping to take on a squad of cop cars as if nothing could stop him and nothing mattered.
“Mike, it’s over!” she blurted, picking up her phone and dialing the police. “It’s Nadja. Call them off.” She said forcefully. “666,” she annunciated with a serpentine tone to her code word, “As if you don’t know my damn voice. Call them off.” She said, hanging up as Mike kicked the Door open, now dual wielding a Fostech shotgun and his MPX, pistol in his teeth and hate in his eyes. He turned the shotgun as a sort of arm rest to aim the MPX, now supporting a longer barrel and larger scope out of nowhere, aiming for the flashing lights in the distance as they approached. The flashing stopped, and the sirens turned off. He waited and dropped his stance, stomping back inside and putting the guns on the table, keeping the pistol in his hand as he pointed it at Nadja.
“Explain.” He said with a forceful simplicity.
“I have connections you don’t, Mike. Don’t you get it. Your one weakness is that you work alone, on a budget with no connections, and I have money, a few police in every major city on call, and I give one order, they back away. I have power you don’t, you have skill I don’t. Between us, there’s no gaps and no weak spots in the armor. We’re unstoppable together. Without me, you’d be swarmed with police and meeting your grave soon enough. Look at us together. No sirens, no survivors, not a mark." she grinned.
“Carl survived, that’s a problem for me.” Mike huffed.
“Let him shit himself in fear and run, maybe he won’t dare try that again. He’s seen the real you, and so have I…and it’s perfect.” She said, stepping in to embrace him, and before she could meet his lips, he grabbed her gun, tossing it aside and removing his belt, re-looping it with his teeth and sliding it around her neck. He pinned her back as he raised the loose end over her head and over the metal light bar. He switched hands, pulling down and lifting her feet off the ground as he pressed his forehead into hers, staring into her eyes as if debating on whether to just let her suffocate.
“You wanted to meet Mister Black so badly. How about now?” he sighed. “You’ve been a pain in my ass since the moment I met you, and I’ve been tempted to just put a bullet in your eye socket since the first shot you fired. You’re right…Holyman Mike couldn’t do it, so you pushed him. Now who’s pushing back?” he said, yanking tighter as she raised a few inches. “Or pulling back.”
She pulled the belt with both hands, letting up just enough tension to barely breathe and speak.
“You think I’m scared to die?” she wheezed, arms shaking to keep the belt from cutting off her voice. “You want me and hate me so badly, they blur together. So just fuck me or kill me already, I’ll enjoy either one.” She grinned, maniacally removing her grip and letting the belt tighten as she stared back, letting him choke her, fearless and still somehow taunting him as her face turned a bluer shade matching her hair by the second. He stood his ground, staring back for what felt like an eternity, no flinching or fear. He felt a strange concern, and suddenly loosening his grip, letting her down enough to barely touch her toes to the floor and get a gasp of air. He felt a slight cold sensation as a knife point tapped his chest just under the throat, and he realized she now had his knife, and could probably shove upwards faster than he could hang her. Her eyes reflected in the light like an animal.
“What the hell are you?” he whispered.
“I’m you, without the preacher mask to hide behind. I’m free.” She grinned, grinding her head against his. “So are you ready to go back inside the bottle and be a slave, or have you finally realized what you are…me, but not hiding behind a preacher mask to deny it.” she added.
“Toss the knife, and I’ll let go of the belt. In that order.” He said coldly.
“Why would I want you to do that?” she giggled darkly, in a deep Russian accent, tossing the knife and grabbing his right hand, keeping his grip on the belt and making sure it stayed just snug enough to be a threat. She arched onto her tiptoes and leaned forward, pressing her mouth to his and rolling her eyes back in a wave of conquest as he stepped forward instead of backwards. Mike felt something breathe into his lungs, frigid cold and paralyzing, and he didn't want to resist it anymore.
A Camaro pulled over on the side of a random road, Tanner jabbing the driver with the tip of the Keltec SMG to remind him that she meant business. She stepped out and tucked it under her coat, checking her phone again and seeing no replies, spinning around, realizing she was lost and had no idea where to even look for Mike. The glow of the city in front of her was intimidating, one giant cluster of streets and people, all too big to navigate and search for something trying not to be found. Her eyes welled up in frustration as she felt oddly alone, like the last survivor of some zombie apocalypse, as if not a single human being was left but her. The fatigue of running on no sleep, fighting her way to freedom just to be met with the idea that without Mike she was just…lost. A truck rolled up behind her, and she lacked the will to even look its direction or acknowledge it, until the familiar click of a Skorpion pistol going off safety let her know who it was.
“Just kill me, Carl.” She sighed, refusing to even turn around.
“I’d really prefer not to, and if you promise not to shoot me, we don’t have a problem here. Just put the gun on the car and get in the truck.” Carl said.
“No.” she shrugged. “I’m not going back. I’m not giving up my gun. I’m going to find Mike somehow and if you wanna stop me you have to shoot me. I’m too tired to care, and too lost to walk. I’m not going to be your hostage, so do what you gotta do, just don’t be a dick and shoot me in the back or something. A gentleman shoots for the head. You owe me more than that.” She said, stepping back towards the car as the driver aimed a revolver at her from the open glovebox she forgot to check.
“Tanner, get in the truck. I’m not taking you back. I’m taking you to Mike. You just won't like what he’s turned into.” He said as she stood, gun pointed at the dirt, two barrels trained on her and both vehicles blocking her from even walking away. She debated the options and began walking around to the passenger side of Carl’s truck. Getting in and resting the gun on her lap, barrel aimed at his side.
“I guess drive then. What did I miss?”
“A lot of things I wish you didn’t have to find out.” He sighed, rolling down the road. "The Mike you know is gone now."