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Without A Song To Sing

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The sounds of a leak unseen echoed throughout the sewers. Durante noted that there was a two-second interval of complete silence before the next drip fell. It was actually quite soothing.

“So who is this subject we’re searching for? The Lord of Nothings?” An ephemeral grin became a small smile on Durante’s face.

Oscard was fiddling around with the Paralyzation Node, loading it up with another clip of darts. “The Lord of Nothings, Lon for short. The Fallen Council got word that he wanted to become a subject.” That was a lie, of course. The Lord was wanted for several accounts of sabotage, coercion (the only way he could get loyal Fallen to join him, most likely), and having the guts to challenge the Chronomancer, though the challenge never came through. To challenge the Chronomancer meant he had courage and ambition. That meant he might become a threat someday. The indication that he was slowly building an army didn’t make that notion any better. The Fallen didn’t like threats, so anyone that was Fallen was ordered to crush him as swiftly as possible.

Of course, the Lord of Nothings was building an army. That meant they needed a plan if they were going to get to the Lord himself. Henry had a plan. A damn good one if he said so himself.

“So how do we find this... Lon?”

“He’ll find us.”

“That’s quite comforting. I don’t like sewers much.”

“Shut up.”

Durante frowned slightly, raising an eyebrow. “...Having a bad day, Mr. Oscard?”

“You’ve got no f---ing idea.” He scowled angrily.

“And I take it you won’t tell me why?”

“Hell no.”

“Suit yourself.” Durante shrugged.

So they continued to wander through the sewers, never saying a word to each other. Durante was quiet because he knew Henry didn’t want to talk, but he didn’t know why. Henry was quiet because he didn’t want to talk to Durante, nor did he have the desire to listen to Durante’s voice, for it was guaranteed that once he talked, then Durante would start yammering away.

This continued until Henry stopped abruptly. He motioned for Durante to stop moving in the like, looked over his shoulder, and put a finger to his lips.

“Shhh. We ain’t alone.”

Durante leaned in a little, and whispered into Henry’s ear. “Do you think it’s Lon?”

Henry was very tempted to turn around and tell Durante to shut up in a very loud and angry tone. He would’ve actually told him off, had it not been for the four very loud clanging sounds that echoed off the sewer’s walls that distracted the both of them.

“SHIT!” Metal clashing with brick resonated in Henry’s ears. He ran forward, outstretched his arms, and gripped a set of steel bars. Durante began to show signs panic, looking around frantically as Henry slowly traced the edges of the place. One wall. Two walls, three, four. Henry slowly backed away, into the center of the cage....

And then came the scrabblings. The sounds of feet clad in ancient ratty shoes accompanied the sights of dozens upon dozens of approaching specters, all of them slowly surrounding the steel cage the two were trapped in. The smell of mildew and sewage strengthened, surrounding the two of them, though Durante did not notice through his mild fright.

Henry stepped backwards, his back eventually contacting Durante’s. He peered into the darkness, and did not just see derelicts in rotting clothes. There were a few clad in business attire, lab coats, suits and ties, all soiled in the slightest from the rank of the sewers around them.

Henry’s scowl turned into a full-blown sneer of contempt and anger. They were all Nothings. The people who hadn’t made the slightest of difference, no matter what they wanted to think. The homeless, the destitute, the participants in the rat races of daily life, all of whom had realized the world didn’t really give a damn about all of them. Some were cabbie drivers bound to a small, cramped vehicle, some were office workers trapped inside a constricting box, others were technicians and scientists fixed to little labs. But all of them didn’t matter.

And, as Henry would later put it, “Where there are this many people whom Fate personally couldn’t give two s---s about, their Lord couldn’t be too far behind.”

Durante couldn’t see Henry, but he could hear him beckoning the Nothings loathingly, hear the click of a Beretta M-92 being loaded with a clip, and the lock of a round being chambered by hand. “Come on, you f---ing losers. I’ve been waiting all day. Come on....” His eyes leapt from Nothing to Nothing from behind his shades, skittering to all of the people beyond the bars as the crowd parted. And there he was.

There stood the man in all his unmistakable glory, looking like a walking pile of trash and a god among his people at the same time. The mass skittering around the cage all stopped at once to look at him, their attention from the twisted self-proclaimed artist and his hideously unwilling protector turning to the man that had dared call himself ‘Lord’. The staff in his hand crackled, either amplified by the awe around them or the silence that fell when he came.

--- s e v e r a l - d a y s - e a r l i e r ---

Bobbie Brakowiski had become a much friendlier person ever since realizing he was a Nothing.

Not a nothing, mind you, but a Nothing. He was not alone in his damnation of being unimportant, or his condemnation of being a total loser. No, there were many people just like them, with skills and abilities all their own. They were one big happy family, that they were.

And he had proof that he was a friendlier person now. Why, just fourteen minutes ago he had found a haggard old man, wrapped entirely in a decaying old cloak and coughing up a tuberculotic storm. He did not ask the cloaked man his name, for names did not matter. He instead took him to Lon, for he would know which of the Nothings were healers or doctors or of such a former profession.

Naturally, friendliness had its benefits as well as its disadvantages. He was currently experiencing the disadvantageous side of being friendly, as he had the barrel of a Beretta M-92 pointed directly at his temple and the arm of a very large, very strong black man wrapped around his neck. Behind him floated a Paralyzation Node, jury-rigged with packets of napalm and C4 explosive. It was wired in such a manner that if it intended to fire off a dart, then it would instead detonate with a very loud ‘boom’.

“Now we can do this the easy, ‘win-win situation’ way...” Henry Oscard did not grin. This was dirty business, but, as he was of the Fallen, he was used to it. “...or we can do this the painful, ‘oh s--t, we’re all gonna die a f---in’ nasty incendiary death’ way. And I suggest that none of you s---heads try playing hero, as I’ve got this thing set for ‘unfriendly’ proximity movement. Your call.”

The Lord did not look amused. As a matter of fact, he was quite frustrated that anyone could track them down in this sewer system. It meant that they were going to have to move. Again. ‘Disable your creation.

There was a loud, repetitive clicking, as if someone was repeatedly pushing a button over and over again. Henry grinned. He knew what that sound was supposed to be. It was coming from one Spencer J. Westerson. He had been a man of science and innovation, a small part of the Dollarcorp Science Division, and the man behind the Paralyzation Node itself. Had been. Past tense.

Henry grinned because he knew that somewhere, amongst the mass number of Nothings that surrounded him, there was one pulling a trigger on a small device meant to be a remote control that would deactivate the Paralyzation Node, hence turning it into nothing more than a paperweight strapped with explosives.

Henry grinned because he knew it wasn’t working.

“Dumb, dumb, dumb s---. Don’t think I haven’t been watching you, ‘cause I have. I knew the Fallen lost a lot of people to you, and that one of them had built in a backdoor to my little helper here. I’ve still got all the cards, if you haven’t noticed.”

Lon shut his eyes. No one moved, said a word, did as much as take a breath. This was bad. Very bad. He began to concentrate.

He flinched as he heard a shot ring out, and felt flecks of plaster and brick tumble upon his hair. “Stay out of my head, dumb---.”

His eyes remained closed for many a second as he continued to ponder. He was greeted with the sight of Henry still holding the gun to Bobbie’s head. “What do you want with us?”

“There’s a good man.” Henry grinned again. It was time for all-business now, nothing fancy, just succinct and down to the point. “I want two things. Your help, and your protection.”

“Why do you want our help?”

“Because I want to kill Durante Truson.” If the silence could have gotten any more wracked with fright, then it did. “The Fallen are gonna send him here, after you all, with one of those nifty Paralyzation Nodes. It wouldn’t matter which one, ‘cause I’ve stripped the only one he’s allowed to use of the insurance you thought you had.”

Silence again. “...That would be a massacre.”

Henry nodded, lips drawn into a thin line. “For me, this is gonna be the perfect opportunity to finally give him what he deserves. Simple plan. You trap us, I knock him out, you let me have five minutes with him alone, and then I let you have him. By my understanding, you like him as much as I do.”

“...I probably do.”

“How many?”

“Seven. Two men, four women, and a Kreal beast that was loyal to me. N’jore, the last of his kind.”

Henry twitched, seeming to wince only slightly. “After he’s dead, the Fallen are gonna come after me.”

“Because you’re his protector.”

“And they don’t like it too much when people screw up. They’ll use telepaths, torture, any way they can to figure out I did it, and that I had help. So you’re going to watch my back and pretend that I’m hiding out with you, else they find out it was you and your Nothings, and we all die. If it works, you get Durante, and I walk away a free man.”

So the Lord of Nothing sat on his throne of garbage, thinking to himself. The Contortionist was Something, and he was of the worst kind. He was a valued assassin, though he did not realize it at all.

The long while of silence was broken by Lon, to Henry’s smiling delight. “How should we trap him?

--- p r e s e n t ---

Durante and the Lord of Nothings stared at each other, both in very different ways. Their eyes locked for a second, a minute, who knows, who cares how long. Lon’s breathing steady and silent, Durante’s erratic and frightened. He was terrified. The world began to swirl about him. Though it wasn’t from the alarms screeching in his head, all of the ones that screamed that there was something terribly wrong about all this, the ones that told him that this wasn’t the conduct of any subject at all.

Everything darkened as he felt a crushing blow to the back of his neck. He tried to stay standing, but found that he had not the awareness required to remain so. He fell prone to the floor.

Henry Oscard stood above him. Scowling down at the man he just pistol-whipped, he muttered under his breath.

“Stupid f---er.”

--- s e v e r a l - h o u r s - l a t e r ---

They walked in a mass, with Lon and Henry at front, Henry slightly behind Lon for he didn’t know where they needed to go. Behind the unlikely duo was an ex-bodybuilder, hair turned white from old age, easily carrying Durante’s unconscious form over a single shoulder. He was light of weight, so he was no burden, as were the bundles of rope he held in his free hand. Behind them was an army of Nothings, watching and staring. What was going to happen to the one clad in a suit and tie? Was it going to be long? Was it going to be painful?

They came to a service closet in the wall of a sewer. The door was thick, guaranteed to muffle even louder sounds. A man in a tattered custodian uniform stepped forward, fumbled with a set of keys, and unlocked it.

Henry went in first, inspecting the room for size. He checked the ceiling. Pipes. Perfect. He stepped out of the room again, letting out a gruff order. “String him up.”

Nothing was done. Henry was not their leader. Lon raised a hand, and motioned towards the closet. “Do as he says.”

And so it was done. The bodybuilder carried Durante and the rope into the room, first casting the rope on the floor, then placing Durante down gently. Three men followed him in, one carrying a cinderblock, all of them attending to a single bundle of rope each. Two cast the rope up over the pipes, catching the ends, tying them into slip knots, and leaving them loose until Durante could be lifted up and the ends tied around his wrists. The third man tied Durante’s feet to the cinderblock. If he struggled, he would not do it very easily.

The old strongman and the one who had tied his feet held Durante up as the other two tied his wrists. They brought the slip-loops to the very ends of the pipes before tightening them until they would not budge.

And so he hung from his wrists, like a giant ‘This has been brought to you by the letter Y’ message gone wrong. Durante began to moan as consciousness set in again.

Henry’s face remained set in stone, devoid of expression. He crossed his arms. “Five minutes, and then he’s yours.”

Lon nodded. With a telepathic order, the four that had tied Durante left, and he followed them. The door shut behind him. It did not lock.

Henry stared up at Durante. Durante became aware of his surroundings, and his situation. “Wh... W... h... e... r... e...?”

Henry pulled out the Desert Eagle. He slowly slid in a clip. 8 rounds. Durante became slightly more coherent. “Wha...? What’re you...

He chambered a round. Durante looked uncertain. “What’re you doing?” He also looked afraid.

Henry raised the gun, aimed right at Durante’s midriff, and began to fire. Not once, not twice, not four times, not seven. Eight bullets, one after the other. Durante had began to scream with the first shot. He continued to scream after the clip emptied into his gut, and dropped empty to the ground. After he finished screaming, he began to weep.

A flash of dissatisfaction crossed Henry’s face for a second. He took out another clip. Durante was sobbing. He couldn’t see through the pain very well. The clip was inserted, and the first round was chambered. He aimed, and began to fire again. Bang. Durante began to scream again. Bang. Bang. Bang. By the fourth shot, he couldn’t scream anymore. Bang. Bang. Henry attempted to wipe the flecks of blood off his face with the back of his free forearm, smearing it instead of removing it. Bang. Bang.

Another empty clip clattered to the ground. Another clip was loaded. Another round chambered. Another eight shots resounded in the small room, amplified by the proximity of the walls. If he cared, he could feel all the Nothings wincing on the other side of the door, listening to twenty-four muffled bangs and the wailing screams of a suffering man, even mind-numbing through the heavy door. Durante hung limply from his wrists, blood trickling down from his stomach, soaking into his pants, and dripping in a rapid stream of his shoes. His mouth was open slightly, and a quiet sound escaped it. It was pathetic, breaking into small bouts of silence before continuing again like it had never left off. He was trying to scream. Henry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He didn’t know he was ‘singing’ to himself. Tears were trickling down his face.

Henry had no more bullets. But that did not stop him. He dropped the gun to the ground, walked closer, and punched Durante across the face with a powerful right hook. His shades broke and clattered to the floor in pieces. He followed with a left hook. And then another right. Another left. Another right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left, right, left, right, left right left right left right....

If it were not for the sound of bone breaking bone, and the heavy breathing of the both of them, there would be total silence. Henry did not scream in a war cry that let everyone know exactly how much he hated the man he was killing. Durante could not scream in agony.

Five minutes passed. The door was opened. Lon was the only one who dared to step in, and he did so with no reluctance whatsoever.

Durante slowly swung from side to side. He bled from his face and his stomach. His breathing was very shallow, almost unnoticeable. Somehow, he was still alive.

Henry stood in front of Durante, staring up at his marred face with the cold, harsh expression he bore on his countenance. His breathing was very quiet, almost as if he was holding his breath. Somehow, he hadn’t killed Durante.

Lon broke the silence, taking a few moments to let the gasps from behind him quiet, and for the horror to sink in. “He’s dying.”

Henry’s voice came in broken at first, as if he had been screaming for hours on end. “...Well, then you better do what you want to him before he dies.”

“Are you leaving now?”

Henry nodded.

“So you will not join us, bodyguard?”

“I ain’t a nothing like you. I’ve got other things to busy myself with.”

“Very well.”

Without another word, Henry turned around and began to leave. The Nothings parted him for him very swiftly, either out of reverent respect of incredible fear. He walked unhindered, through the sewers, out from the army of Nothings, and far, far away from the sewers that was their domain.

As soon as his footsteps faded from earshot, three Nothings entered the room. They untied Durante, and carried his bloodied form out of the closet, following their Lord as close as they could. They began to carry him to an exit-way, to the outside world.

----

The body of Durante Truson was found the next night.

He was lying in the middle of a highway that had been blocked off due to an extreme thunderstorm and flood warnings.

Twenty-four 440-DC rounds were removed from his abdominal area, supposedly fired from some sort of 44 Magnum at point-blank range. His intestines were shredded into pieces, and most of the skin and muscle around his abdominal area was gone. Dental records were near useless, as several of his teeth were missing. His jaw was broken, as were most of the other bones in his face. If that weren’t enough, he was fried by a massive electrical discharge, as if he had been struck by several lightning bolts while left lying out on the road.

Many families were relieved at hearing of his death, as they feared him as much as they hated him.

The KPD are not conducting investigations into his demise, nor are they searching for his missing bodyguard. Investigations were started, however, when his body disappeared from the local morgue. His relatives had not had the chance to claim his remains, as both his parents were dead, and no one else lived too close. Henry Oscard is still missing to this day.



Written by Ren
Start - 06/30/2002
End - 07/01/2002

Boy whatta way to go. The Lord of Nothings (as well as bit character Bobbie Brakowiski) is © Chris Brimstone (aka ‘The Floyd’), and does not belong to me in any way, shape, or form.
 

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