The city blurred past my windows; the neon lights soon overtaken by sirens. The rules of the road were nothing to me; I would have flown if I could – physics be damned. My tires screeched with each turn, leaving smoking black marks on the road. It smelled like burning rubber; it felt like Judgment Day.

When we arrived at our destination, that small, non-descript building felt alien to us. This time we saw it with new eyes. Its form was obscured by the night, and inside of its pitch-black windows, there was only silence. In the city that never slept, the last thing you wanted to hear was nothing. Ducking down low, we drew our weapons and crept to the front entrance, slinking by with our backs against the walls.

The glass pane doors were the only thing keeping us outside. We tried them; they shook without budging. Déjà vu. It was like the first time we came here, when we had to leave empty-handed. The difference was jarring – quite a sharp contrast to the open night when they had greeted us full of artificial cheer, a practiced show designed to lure in new victims. At least now they were being honest.

“Stand back,” I said. “I’m going to shoot it open.”

He nodded at me and retreated behind one of the pillars supporting the covered entranceway. It only took two shots for the doors’ panes to blow, showering the ground with shards of glass. They weren’t bulletproof, something to be thankful for.

“Not bad,” he said, stepping over the bottom frame.

The glass crunched under our feet as we made our way inside. Our eyes were slow to adjust to the darkness, and it took us some time to take in the room. Some of the furnishings were familiar, mainly the signature red runner that still ran down the center of the room, leading to the altar, and the large Ether chambers along the walls.

Atop the altar, the standing bell was sat between a goblet of wine and a dagger, each laying respectively on either side of it. A woody aroma hung in the air from the incense sticks, now burned down to nubs.

“Drink my blood and becometh my flesh. We were meant to be immortal. Impervious. Steel and chrome. Organic, fickle, and fleeting,” he intoned.

We spun around to the source, the man himself – it was Zenith.

“We who are the children of the Lord are meant to bleed in his name, for he has blessed us with his flesh and his blood and shown us the truth that only we, the faithful, were ever meant to see,” Zenith said, stepping out from the darkness through a small door to the side of the altar.

His eyes glowed a dull yellow, reminiscent of a cat, and a smirk played across his lips. He had caught us just as we caught glimpses of the hunched bodies sprawled across the pews. There were quite a few people, some of whom I recognized from the last time we were here. Golden chalices were still clasped in their hands, and for those who had dropped them, a red liquid pooled where they fell. The room smelled faintly of wine, masked by the strong scent of incense.

“What have you done?” I growled.

“My, my, Detective, hasn’t anyone ever taught you any manners?” he asked. “You’ve made such a mess, and you haven’t even received an invitation. That’s awfully rude.”

“What are you after?” I asked. “Admit it, you wanted us here. Where is my brother?”

His attire was different tonight, ceremonial. When we had seen him before, his plain white robe and brown vest were humble and unassuming. He resembled Jesus Christ, the carpenter, with his shoulder-length brown hair. Tonight, he wore an elaborate gilded cassock, all gold on white, like oil on water. You could have thought he was the pope himself.

“Your brother?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “I’m afraid that doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Don’t toy with us,” I said. “Where is he?”

He clicked his tongue and smiled, shaking his head with mock disappointment. Then, strolling over to the altar, he pulled out an earpiece from inside the standing bell.

“Look familiar?” he asked. “It’s a pity that you could not hear it when it rang. The interior of the bell made for rather nice acoustics, and it was music to my ears.”

I dialed Noah’s number again; no one in their right mind would take him at his word. Faintly, I could hear the ringing even from where I stood. It was Noah’s. There was no denying it now.

“What was your name again? “Walker,” was it?” he asked, holding his hand to his chin. “Yes, that does sound a bit familiar now. I do believe we had a Walker in attendance.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“If you hurt him, I’ll make you pay for it,” I hissed.

He locked eyes with me, but instead of responding, he simply smiled and turned to leave.

“Hold it!” I cried, already two steps forward.

I nearly lunged at him, but Gabe kept me steady.

“The guy’s basically a weapon, we’re not gonna beat him with our fists,” he said, watching Zenith out of the corner of his eyes.

“You should listen to your partner,” Zenith sneered. “He seems like a smart guy.”

With a snap of his fingers, two men stood protectively in front of him. I recognized them. The man on the right was Caucasian and the man on the left was Hispanic, Joseph Garcia, the one who had left behind the chipped tooth we found in Nathan’s apartment. Willow was nowhere in sight. Neither was my brother.

“How did you know about my brother?” I asked.

“Why, from you, of course,” he said. Then, placing his fingers on his temples, he began to recite something visible only with his eyes. “’We bid farewell to our father, Vincent Walker, who departed from this world on the 5th of May. Those who knew him remember him for how much he served his community. He was a pillar of strength and a beacon of justice. His spirit will be carried on by us, his children: Ethan, Lana, and Noah.’ Sound familiar?”

He paused, taking us in. A mix of emotions flashed across our faces. He was eating it up; a wide, toothy smile spread from ear to ear as his eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

"My father’s obituary? You're sick," I spat.

"Sick? No, not sick, Lana. I like to think of myself as resourceful."

My father was a good man. People admired him; I did too, we all did. He was someone that kept working till the end, still fighting for justice even after he had grown old enough to retire. The danger that came with the job never even slowed him down. When he passed, suddenly in his sleep, we were lost, but the press wanted a piece.

The last thing we needed were cameras swarming around his coffin. We compromised with the journalists and gave them an obituary instead. ‘You don’t need his funeral,’ we said. ‘Write about the life he lived instead.’ People like my father had enemies. Apparently, so did I. I knew it might come back to bite us, but not like this.

“I appreciate your assistance; you’ve been very helpful.” he said. “I can’t believe you have played your part so well tonight. Rejoice, my friends, for tonight you will witness our ascension to the next level. Praise be his name; praise be the lord for the end has come.”

Then he turned and sauntered back into the room where he had emerged. Before we could make a move on him, the men that flanked him blocked the way with their bodies. Slowly, they raised their hands in surrender, exposing the hollows in their palms – the same ones that resembled stigmata. The position would have looked submissive under ordinary circumstances, but with these two, I recognized them as the weapons they were.

We ducked out of the way, down and to the left. The large, industrial ether chambers were our best bet for cover; it was either that or the wooden pews lined with unconscious bodies. The two men rained projectiles on us from the palms of their hands. They were not ordinary bullets; the places they made an impact were singed black.

Our bodies moved before our minds caught up. Hands on the triggers, weapons drawn, flitting between shooting and falling back behind cover again and again. Our shots landed, but they didn’t make a dent. We tried over and over, every time with the same result. It was a stalemate, and every second we wasted ate up more of that precious time we didn’t have to spare.

Frustrated, I closed my eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. With the rise and fall of my chest, I prepared myself for the only thing left to do. I took aim, dead center, right between their hazy, Ether-taken eyes. Impact. The cracking sound of bone. Blood poured from their open skulls, but they did not fall. No, they stayed on their feet like sentinels. It was as if those gaping holes I left in their heads were merely an inconvenience.

“What the hell are they?” Gabe cried.

The building was beginning to smoke now, and it stung my eyes. Squinting, I examined them from a distance with my Iris. The optical zoom revealed that even the insides of their skulls were covered in steel. They weren’t just running the standard, run-of-the-mill neurochips. No, they were more machine than men; their organics were just the cherry on top – a nice but unnecessary touch.

“Their augmentations are extensive,” I observed. “Their limbs, sections of their skeletal system, their eyes. At this point, they’re practically androids.”

“Must be why they didn’t bother to dodge,” he said. “Knew it didn’t matter. Still, it’s freaky as hell; they weren’t afraid to die.”

“Fear is what Ether is good for,” I replied. “They were so juiced up they probably didn’t even know they were here.”

Gabe gave me a look, gesturing towards the door with his head.

“Go,” he said.

“You want me to leave you behind?” I asked.

“Ain’t got a choice, Lana,” he said. “Someone’s gotta keep these two busy. If I draw their fire, you can make a run for it, follow that bastard to the back.”

“I don’t like this,” I said. “You’re drunk.”

“Yeah,” he said, arching his brow. “I’m drunk. That’s why it’s gotta be you.”

The smoke was growing thick, obscuring our view. Fortunately for us, that worked both ways. If Gabe could make enough of a fuss, it’d help me slip by undetected, even from just a few feet away.

“We can’t kill them with what we’ve got on us right now,” he added. “We gotta buy time for back-up. Yeah, the guy’s a freak, no doubt ‘bout it, but a guy like that likes to hear the sound of his own voice. He’s gonna draw it out, lay it on real thick.”

With my mind made, I nodded. Gabe flashed me a grin before darting out towards the altar. He landed a few shots on them, mostly glancing blows. A lucky shot damaged one of their cybernetic eyes. It sparked and fell from the socket. That was my cue. While they recovered, I made a mad dash for the door Zenith had disappeared through and barred it door from within.

There was a draft inside – something whirring from deep within, electronics, no doubt. The building was deceptively small from the outside, and the corridor seemed too large for it. Step by step, I made my way. Beyond the corner, a narrow stairway led down below. It was no surprise that he would have hidden something in the basement. Zenith had a thing for theatrics, and this was his final show. Steeling myself, I took the first step, ready for anything.