A Mid-Summer Night's Scream
The distant moon loomed in the night sky like the pale face of death, its shroud billowing out to engulf the world, and its cold rays stretched down to bathe the city with no name. A stirring breeze swelled in the gaps between shadows, sprung out of dark alleys and sewers to assault the oblivious citizens with the stench of things they thought forgotten; things they never knew. Grimy streets and side-walks covered in trash and old newspapers flickered in and out of life with the intermittent buzzing of a nearby streetlight, and and the quiet clack of some sharp red heels quelled the wind long enough for a pair of long legs with gorgeous hips to casually light a cigarette. She pursed her crimson lips and took a long drag while she buried one arm up to the elbow of her black silk glove looking for her keys as she swayed down the paper-covered sidewalk.
Ever on the lookout for powerful men, the devious dame had batted her baby blue eyes at the son of one of the Heads of the Bloodlines, and was enjoying a plush job as his secretary, with all the benefits. On her way back from a beautiful performance of Era La Notte, the sultry secretary readjusted the stylish red strap of her very expensive purse, and straightened the tight black skirt she had squeezed into in case she saw anybody; it never hurt to keep an open mind. A quick gust from the starry sky nearly took her favorite hat, and she stumbled over an empty soda bottle to catch it and nearly broke a heel; she almost screamed, but took a deep breath and began checking her hat instead. The clutter and trash was an unusual newcomer to the nameless city, but the young woman in the black dress thought nothing of it as she turned a windy corner to cut through one last alley. Parking was scarce in the city these days, but the Councillors had a plan, and they had led the city to peace after the First Council. She turned the corner, disappeared into the shadow beyond the flickering street lamp's reach, and came face to face with terror.
The sinister, slack-jawed menace loomed over her with ferocious intent, his wild, dark hair writing into the night in tattered tufts, and as she heard his sadistic laugh she gazed into those sharp, ferocious eyes and felt her knees weak. The terrible thing was on her in moments, and she screamed in pure fear. She fought for her life, but suddenly a shot rang out, and she stumbled back to see blackened claws gripping a gun, her gun; the gun from her purse. Somehow, she couldn't really...she stumbled, and the creature moved in for the kill. Someone screamed, but for some reason it was her throat that was raw. The ground was under her, and she worried for a moment about her dress; she just wouldn't be able to stand it if her dress got stained. She hadn't realized it was so cold, she should've brought a jacket, or maybe that lovely red sweater she used to wear around the house all day. Maybe she would put it on when she got home, just for old time's sake. It was so dark, and she couldn't see anything, but the sweater would at least help with the cold; her parents had always hated the thing.
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Solemn and pale, the unforgiving moon towered in the sky held aloft by starry columns, glinted off the chrome hood ornament that plowed away into the night to the steady roar of the engine. Fresh white-walls devoured the pavement hungrily, and the wind whipped the short, wavy locks of the son of one of the Heads of the Bloodlines. He was a man who had everything he wanted, and always enjoyed it in a finely tailored suit, and he was enjoying the purring engine of his finely tuned roadster as he sped towards his hotel. Some reporter was declaring between bouts of static that a woman had been found dead, and the young man thought of his beautiful secretary as she had waved to him after the opera, but her car hadn't been parked that far away. Well, even if it was her, he'd need a new secretary soon, anyways. The paperwork was already being processed to raise his old man to replace of one of the Five Councillors.
A stray page of newspaper detailing the reinsurance of 'unwanteds' in certain areas of the city without a name flipped up onto a slick black paint job, only to tear back off into the night and flick past the young driver. The bland buildings and dull roads all blurred together behind the stark black roadster, and the son thought of the day his father took the seat of Councillor, the day he would finally rise to be the Head of their bloodline. Many families didn't even pay dues anymore, but they all respected the Head. He adjusted his sharp red tie as he spotted a well-lit hotel coming around the corner, and brought the car in smoothly right in front of it. An usher in a plain red vest hurried over to open his door, and he stepped out onto red carpet with well-polished wing-tips. The wind picked up, and his two large guards in suits walked up to him, but one of them turned suddenly and started struggling with something.
The shadows themselves leaped to life and began strangling the well-dressed guard with blackened talons, its screeching laughter almost as piercing as the fierce black voids that formed its eyes. A tattered straightjacket vainly tried to contain the swelling dark emanating from the beast, and its legs simply faded into the shadow of the ground.; a shot rang out, then another. The tangle of guard and shadow ripped towards the young son, and he reached for his gun just as the terrible mass collided with him. The writhing dark seemed to tear at itself as it overwhelmed the two men, and they all stumbled out into the street. The young man in his fine black suit finally drew his gun, and got one shot off just as he stumbled back. A sudden screech brought his head around just in time to see a cherry red paint job and one large headlight.
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The pristine expanse of pockmarked moon crowned the starry night sky, and far-off clouds rumbling low on the horizon sent buffets of wind to rattle the window casements of one of the most popular restaurants in the nameless city. There were few patrons enjoying a meal this night, and in the best table sat an elderly man in a suit with his two bodyguards; all were conversing amiably, and one of the short-haired guards complimented the older man on his impending appointment to Councillor. The graying man was serenely enjoying his meal when a splotch of dark crimson sauce found its way onto his well-pressed black suit; he raised a hand and reached for his own yellow kerchief to clean himself, but the uncertain looks of his guards brought an annoyed sigh to his lips. As a man who was about to be raised to one of the five Council seats, his servants and personnel were expected to care for him; a Councillor never did anything himself. The short-haired man looked pleased as he reached over with one of the napkins from the table to clean his boss' suit, and suddenly the Head of one of the Fifteen Bloodlines lost his appetite. The issue of the 'unwanteds' kept springing to mind, and he couldn't help but think back to the mistakes of his predecessors.
The whole thing had started some thirty years back, when the previous Head of his bloodline had risen to Councillor. The teachings and aspirations of the First Council were still fresh in people's minds back then, but the mistakes of one man almost undid the good wrought by the creation of the Five Orders. The well-dressed older man stood from his table, mind lost in thought, and his two guards gathered up his jacket, paid the bill, and met him at the door as he was leaving. The Orders were understood to be the whole basis for their way of life, the very reason their city had not been swallowed up by the chaos of the wastelands like so many others. The single act most responsible for their lack of crime and other unwanted elements was the Third Order. The other four orders were intended to protect their city from the raiders and nomads that wandered the deserts, which were slowly spreading out to cover the globe. The Third Order was meant to protect them from themselves, and the insanity that sometimes drove people to wander out into the sands. Some madmen even harkened to legends of lush fields and plentiful bounty, a ridiculous fairy-tale, as though they believed such a thing lay waiting for them on the other side of the desert. If their produce was not grown in sealed greenhouses, they would all starve; the idea of something growing out of sand almost made the old man laugh as he stood on the red carpet leading up to the front entrance and waited on his driver to pull the car around.
It was many years ago, when the Seventh Head of his Bloodline finally rose to the seat of Councillor that the worst of their problems began, and the man's mistake was a simple one; greed. The old fool had proposed and enacted a tax to cover the costs of the procedures of the Third Order, just something to give a slight boost to the treasury so he could propose a vote to raise the pay of the Councillors. Some of the families of the lesser bloodlines, and even those of the Fifteen Bloodlines, could not afford the procedure and thus did not have it done. In the past, any problems the city had were quickly resolved by a relatively miniscule police force. It was only about fifteen years after the imposed tax that the 'unwanteds' began causing problems, and in the years since the entire city has been withering away. The gray-haired Head pondered this solemnly, and a waiter ran out from the restaurant calling his name. He turned to question the man, who was dressed in a black tuxedo and stood about a foot shorter than the older man; the young lad was uncertainly shifting his feet on the red carpet below them, and the older man asked what the lad wanted. The young short-haired waiter paused for a moment, then bluntly informed the soon to be Councillor that his son had been murdered.
The news made the old man go numb, and he blankly stared at the young waiter and saw the smiling face of his son fawning over one of his custom-built roadsters. There were no thoughts in his mind, and something stumbling out from the alley next to the restaurant brought the old man's head up. Immediately, the numbness fled from the old man's mind and was replaced with terror. The inky black darkness of the night itself wrapped around a thin and tall figure, seemed to pulse and stretch out, seeking to consume all life. It's face, though; its face was twisted and pockmarked, skin stretched taut at strange angles and with eyes glinting like the flash of moonlight on the face of death. Several shots shattered the moment of disbelief, and the old man jumped, his breath catching in his throat, thinking it finally the end. The twisted grin on the face of depravity seemed to sink back into the shadows behind it, but as it fled the startled Head could feel the very life being pulled violently from him. He clutched his chest with one clawed hand in pain, and collapsed to the red carpet.
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With reverence the solemn moon gazed down from its star-filled home to pierce blackened clouds in shafts that caressed the rooftops of the nameless city like a gentle touch. The smallest smattering of rain floated wind-born into the city to dampen the streets and insistently tap on the windows as though in warning, though it fell on deaf ears and unwilling minds. The wind swept into one of the large plazas near the center of the city without a name, bringing with it the smell of fresh rain, and a group of men gazed up at the night sky. Amidst several suits stood a balding and white-haired man in the elegant loose green robes of his station, and the Councillor had what hair of his remained tied in a tail behind his head. A group of people sat around a crackling radio near a fountain in the center of the plaza, listening intently to some story of a serial killer on the loose, and the elderly Councillor sighed and shook his head. The sorry state of their city was due to the mistakes of past Councillors, but he still felt obligated to do something, though no solution would reveal itself. It was that obligation that had brought about his resignation, and not his old age as most believed.
He had been the only Councillor to speak out against the militant reacquisition of the 'unwanteds' throughout the city, and he had even been so bold as to question the Five Orders themselves. His 'resignation' had been voted on directly afterward, and no one had the power to go against the orders declared in the Chamber. Though he had stayed for the customary month, none of his ideas had been heard since, and he only attended the meetings in defiance. He began walking around the plaza, and his four guards followed, constantly glancing toward the group around the fountain. The Council's fear of the 'unwanteds' was understandable; no ruling group wanted to see an uprising, but the retiring Councillor could not help but feel that they were going about the problem in the wrong way. None of them were willing to see any of those people as human; more like sick dogs. If a sick dog would rather snap at your hand than accept help, that is its choice. The whole idea just got under his skin, and he couldn't help but doubt the sanity of the rest of the Council.
The light rain that had been buffeting the massive walls of the nameless city finally broke over the dirtied streets, and the balding old man in green robes raised his face to enjoy the refreshing sprinkle. The desert surrounding their city made anything but sun an exceptional rarity, and he didn't intend to miss the opportunity to appreciate it. After a few moments of rain and distant radio static, the elderly man brought his eyes back down to the paved plaza and saw a trail of blood leading off behind a building. Curious and concerned, the kindly Councillor walked around the edge of the building to see if whoever was hurt was still there. One of his guards yelled, and all four of them rushed ahead of him for some reason. He stepped uncertainly around the corner, but could only see the suited backs of his guards as they grappled with someone. A shot pierced the quiet of the night, and then another, and the aging Councillor looked down to see his thick green robes soaking with blood. One of his guards collapsed, and he looked past the rest into a very familiar set of eyes. The ground rushed up to slam into the old man's back, and he gazed up at the many pinpricks of light dotting the night sky as shouts and footsteps ran off down the alley. The balding man knew the end as he felt it near, and as the concerned faces of his guards faded into the night behind them he thought that at least, this way, he died as a Councillor; at least he had died at the hands of a man with eyes like his.
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Rain coated the streets of the nameless city in intermittent bursts, occasionally wetting the alleys that flew beneath the feet of a desperate man, and wind ruffled his dark hair as he stumbled through the nameless city seeking some escape from this nightmare. The last hour had been the worst of his life, a series of terrible twists all stemming from a chance encounter with some woman. The bleeding man stumbled into a stack of crates behind one building, and stopped running for a moment to catch his breath. The woman had just suddenly been there, and when she pulled out a gun he tried to grab it from her. He watched her last breaths before he had moved on, and almost immediately he had stumbled into that group in front of the hotel. With a groan the injured man rose and began running again, trying to gauge the distance to the massive city walls; he would climb them if he had to. The rain pelted his face gently, as though the very sky were crying for him as he desperately ran to escape what had happened, to escape this horrible city.
It had been a miracle that he hadn't been hit by that car as well, the man found himself thinking as he chanced a pained jog across a well-lit street. It was too bad the bullet didn't miss him, too, but he was still alive, and he felt like he might even survive if he could stop the damn bleeding. He clutched his side as he ran through another dark alleyway, but despite the pressure all of his blood was determined to stay here, whether he left or not. Thunder rumbled ominously as he paused again to catch his breath, something he found himself doing more often as the night wound on. He started running once more, and found himself entertaining thoughts of freedom, but again the face of the old man outside the restaurant jumped to his mind. He had tried to avoid anyone after the first two incidents, but despite that had found himself staring down some old man and his guards. The pure terror in the man's eyes had been almost shocking, and he recalled the old man collapsing just as he managed to get away.
He stopped at the exit of one alleyway, gasping for breath, and shrank back into the shadows as he saw the lights of a car. After a few seconds the young man noticed the lights approaching far too slowly, and with a curse turned and stumbled back down the alley. He found the corner of another alley and threw himself behind it, but was blinded by a spotlight just as he made it. His breaths came quick and rasping as he pushed his failing body to its limits, and the echoing shouts and car doors slamming spurred him on to run harder than he ever had in his life. The thought of being taken, of winding up like everyone else in this cursed city was worse than death. That Councillor had been different, though. He had never seen one before, but had recognized the robe immediately. With regret he remembered suddenly feeling the trigger of the gun he was grappling for underneath his finger just before the elderly man had been shot. The shouts were closer now, and as he turned another corner a bright light bathed his crouched and bleeding form again briefly. His mind was blank with fear, and he let go of the wound in his side, using his hands to scramble past stacks of boxes, anything to escape.
The old Councillor had been like him, and that was what surprised him the most; the thought that he had killed such a man, who was actually in a position to change this wretched city ate at him. He turned another corner, wiping some of the rain from his face as a gust of wind stole the heat from his body, and he found another spotlight shining on him from the road ahead. He threw himself away from the wall and stumbled down another alley, but footsteps echoed all around, and could feel the cold vice of inevitability clamping around his throat. He hobbled around another corner and slipped on the wet concrete; his ankle twisted and snapped, and the pain brought a howl to his lips. With desperation he tried to drag himself further, but suddenly polished boots were all around him, and he found himself screaming even louder. Arms came at him from all directions, holding him still despite his desperate struggle to escape, and the ground fell away beneath him. All the strength seemed to be draining from his body, and he could barely utter a terrified moan when he saw the open doors of the ambulance waiting for him. That Councillor, his eyes had been so sharp, so vibrant, the eyes of a man who saw the world for what it was. The eyes that surrounded him now were flat and lifeless, and one last tiny scream passed his numb lips before the ambulance doors slammed shut.
