2013

Hell's Kitchen, New York

Burren Club

A few Hours Later

 

(Omniscient POV)

The streets of Hell's Kitchen were noticeably quieter this night compared to usual. Normally filled with cars honking loudly and incessantly, people rushing everywhere trying to catch taxis and buses, and police sirens blaring nonstop.

Tonight, however, silence reigned supreme. Nothing moved except for the occasional street light blinking intermittently giving the impression of eerie darkness haunting the city. Even the wind seemed unusually silent today which added to the overall sense of unease felt among everyone walking cautiously through the deserted avenues. A feeling of impending doom hung thickly in the air as danger loomed for anyone foolish enough to ignore the signs.

Rian Nesbitt, leader of the Hell's Kitchen Irish Mob, sat alone in the basement of the Burren Club nursing a glass of scotch inside a dingy bar booth as he waited impatiently for news concerning the crew that left earlier.

"Where the hell are those boys?!" Nesbitt huffs irritably as he takes another sip from his glass. Now entering his sixties, he looks tired and worn out and barely able to stay awake anymore. Yet, regardless of his age, he refuses to give up this life. After all, he's seen plenty of men younger than him die in this game without much effort whatsoever.

Sooner or later though, he knew new blood must come along to replace the old. And although Nesbitt isn't looking forward to seeing his own demise anytime soon, he understands change happens naturally. Eventually, he figures he'll join the rest of the dead men whose lives ended prematurely because of their involvement in organized crime.

On the upper floor of the building, raindrops began to beat against the glass windows of the club as the men busy themselves with cleaning tables and mopping floors as they start to close shop for the day.

The bartender glances back towards the entrance where two armed thugs patrol diligently scanning every person exiting the establishment carefully for suspicious behavior as they always do each evening.

As midnight approaches swiftly, the doors of the club slam open abruptly, causing both guards stationed at them to spin around startled. Shock and bewilderment register clearly on their faces when suddenly a tall figure dawning ebony plate armor emerges through the door under cover of the pouring rainstorm behind him.

Glowing red eyes stare intently at the pair guarding the front while lightning flashes overhead illuminating his form and making him appear ethereal and inhuman.

"What th-" One of the thugs starts to say but is cut short mid-sentence as a massive fist slams hard into his face, sending him crashing violently onto the ground and killing him immediately. Before the other thug can react, the armored warrior grabs him by the throat and squeezes lightly, snapping his neck and tossing his limp body to the floor. He strides confidently past the two bodies and enters the club completely unfazed by the carnage he just wrought.

Three more thugs emerge from behind the bar shortly thereafter. Their weapons are drawn and aimed squarely at the intruder who walks straight ahead unaffected by either threat posed by the gun barrels pointed menacingly in his direction.

Without hesitation, the intruder lunges forward as bullets began flying erratically above his head. With deadly accuracy, he punches the closest thug with powerful force, shattering his bones beneath his metal gauntlets. Without slowing down even a little bit, he turns sideways, grabbing another thug by his head and slamming his skull against the brick walls surrounding the club. The thug's head pops open like a watermelon dropped on the pavement, leaving only bloody mush dripping down to the floor below.

He swings round sharply, facing the last remaining thug who begins to shake visibly from the fear gripping hold of him so tightly he couldn't possibly move.

"Where's the boss?" The armored man asks bluntly in a deep, modulated voice. Menace emanates powerfully from it, threatening violence should the man refuse to answer him properly.

Dismayed by the strange appearance of the newcomer, the man couldn't even attempt to respond, instead choosing to simply point over with a nervous gesture to a set of stairs off to the side which led to the lower level of the club.

The stranger nodded grimly understanding what the man meant. Stepping forward briskly, he moves toward the staircase and proceeds down the stairs leading deeper underground and leaving the surviving thug dumbfounded as he stands alone amongst the bloodbath, unsure of what else to do.

Upon reaching the bottom levels, the stranger pauses as he comes upon another pair of thugs guarding a steel-reinforced door. Both men had their guns at the ready as they had heard the commotion upstairs but freeze instantly as they see the armored figure descending the steps, feeling the dangerous aura emanating strongly from the man, signaling imminent death for whoever dared get in his way.

The armored intruder looks over the two thugs standing guard nervously and begins to walk calmly towards the two thugs, who move their fingers to pull the triggers of their weapons.

At that same instant, the armored man rushes forth at inhuman speed and strikes one of them in the stomach, blowing apart the thug's torso and crumpling his entire frame within seconds as lifeless chunks tumble helplessly to the concrete floor. In one smooth motion, he strikes the other gunman, who collapses motionless as well, falling victim to the merciless onslaught unleashed upon them by the unknown attacker.

The man continues his stride past the two corpses and heads toward the locked reinforced door. With quick efficiency, he raises his leg and kicks open the reinforced door, easily crushing the metal of the door underneath his foot as if it was made of thin cardboard.

*Bang*

*Bang*

Two shotgun shells pepper the man's armor as he walks through the doorway, the pellets bouncing off the dark metal plates harmlessly.

"Shit!!" Nesbitt exclaims as he reaches down to reload the small sawed-off he was holding tightly. The older mob boss loads two more shells into the weapon and looks back up, only to find the unknown invader standing a few inches away from his face. Nesbitt freezes momentarily, still holding the handle of the shotgun as he tries to force himself to appear relaxed.

"W-who...are you? What do you want?!" Nesbitt's voice stammers nervously, exposing the fear coursing through his veins. He knows full well what kind of trouble awaits him should he fail to cooperate fully with whatever this thing was that has intruded into his territory. Still clutching the gun tight in his hands, he struggles desperately to maintain control of the strange situation.

Without warning, a large armored hand reaches out and grabs hold of the shotgun, pulling it forcefully from the grip of the terrified elderly man and cradling it before placing it neatly aside on the bar.

"You won't need that now," says the masked intruder coldly as he places a gentle yet firm grip upon Nesbitt's shoulder, preventing him from moving even an inch. "Your men tried to invade my turf tonight, so I thought I'd return the favor."

Nesbitt trembles involuntarily as waves of dread wash through his body at hearing the ominous statement uttered by the stranger. Forcing himself to look more confident than he actually feels, he manages to muster enough courage to address the stranger, " L-look, I don't kno-"

"Don't," The masked individual interrupts, " Your boys already talked, so you standing here trying to lie to my face only insults my intelligence. Besides," He adds quietly, " I only came here to deliver a message." His tone remains steady despite having killed several members of the old man's crew mere moments ago.

With a slight nod, Nesbitt reluctantly relents realizing there really isn't any use arguing further after all given the circumstances. Instead, he decides to swallow hard and continue speaking.

"W-what's the message?" He speaks softly so as to not rouse the man's anger any more than he already had. Although terrified, Nesbitt also realized that talking would be better than fighting considering just how strong this mysterious visitor was proving to be.

The mouth of the skeletal faceplate turned up, revealing a hauntingly sadistic smile. That momentary expression sent shivers running throughout Nesbitt's spine as terror firmly gripped hold of him once again.

This time though, it didn't stem solely from being confronted by such unimaginable power, no, rather it stemmed primarily from knowing someone capable of inflicting pain far worse than anything he had previously done back in his day.

"You're the message." The armored creature growls ominously as his crimson-glowing orbs bore deeply into the frightened leader of the Irish Mob.

"W-wait!!! We can talk about this!!!" The old man pleads as the armored menace raises his arm and five short serrated claws grew out from the metal covering his hand. They gleam wickedly in the dim lighting of the room, pulsing with dark crimson energy that gave off the feeling of pure unbridled malice.

"Please!!! Wai-" Before Nesbitt could utter another word, the five sharp claws swung down viciously cutting clean across his chest opening flesh and ripping muscle. The man reached back and swiped forward again, cutting cleanly across Nesbitt's body and slicing him open like paper effortlessly. Blood gushes heavily from the gaping wounds created by the vicious attack.

With each strike, dark crimson tendrils began to fester around the cuts until finally forming thick black lumps roughly the size of baseballs near the centermost wound on his abdomen. Even from afar, Nesbitt felt an intense burning sensation beginning to radiate outward from the puncture holes in his skin as the liquid oozed slowly throughout his system.

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhrhh!!!!!"Nesbitt screams wildly in agony as he attempts to crawl backward away from the terrifying humanoid apparition towering over him. As he tried to get away, the burning sensation around his wounds turned into searing heat consuming his insides rapidly turning painful sensations into unbearable ones.

Within minutes, he collapsed onto the ground writhing uncontrollably as the fiery inferno consumed his internal organs, melting them alive inside his gut, eventually destroying everything vital within his system. A final agonizing scream escapes his lips as consciousness fades quickly and darkness consumes him forever…

***********

Hell's Kitchen, New York

Burren Club

 

Thunder booms loudly outside, shaking the foundations of the Burren Club as sheets of heavy rain pelt relentlessly against its exterior. Inside, however, things remain quiet save for the occasional sound of footsteps echoing faintly through the empty corridors of the club.

Brock, clad in full armor, walked back up the steps of the club cautiously eyeing the interior closely looking for signs of life or movement anywhere amidst the darkened chambers beyond. A small round object that leaked at the bottom was hanging in his hands loosely...Nesbitt's severed head.

As he made it back upstairs, Brock was surprised to see the thug he had spared cowering in the same spot where he had left him. Fear and Stress were written plainly visible on his face as he looked up at Brock with wide eyes that were filled with dread.

Brock stared silently at him for a long minute without saying a single word, allowing his gaze to penetrate right through the young gang member's soul and see every secret hidden therein. Finally breaking eye contact first, he placed the dead man's head gently atop the table beside him, "Place this where everyone can see it and spread the word, the warehouse district is mine! Anyone caught trespassing…."

His words hung in the air between both parties for some time before Brock broke the silence once again continuing, "...will end up exactly like your friend here." He paused briefly, letting the chilling threat sink in,

The young gang member swallowed audibly unable to speak aloud due to sheer frightful apprehension caused by those imposing metallic features staring directly at him intensely. He had heard the blood-curdling screams coming from below and wanted nothing to do with the man who had caused them.

Brock turned around and headed toward the door when he heard a shaky voice call out from behind him, causing him to stop abruptly midstride.

"W-who are you?" The young man asked, trembling slightly. It took considerable effort to form coherent sentences under such duress while simultaneously attempting to suppress his anxiety.

Turning swiftly to face the source of the question, Brock smiled menacingly under his helmet as the skeletal faceplate mimicked the action perfectly.

"...Crossbones." Was all Brock said as he turned and continued walking away steadily, heading back outside onto the dark stormy city streets...

***********

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