2013

Hell's Kitchen, New York

Burren Club

The Next Day

 

(Omniscient POV)

A few hours after dawn breaks over Hell's Kitchen, a large crowd gathers along the sidewalk to gaze at the horrific sight hanging above the doorway of the Burren Club. Many people stand speechless gazing upward in horror at the gruesome display dangling lifelessly overhead, wondering among themselves just what happened last night.

"Isn't that Nesbitt?" Someone asks curiously pointing upwards at the severed head dangling above them. Others begin nodding vigorously, agreeing with the assertion.

"I heard some guy barged in and whacked his whole crew last night..." Another person whispers hesitatingly as others start murmuring excitedly amongst themselves. Some turn their attention elsewhere completely ignoring the spectacle entirely.

"They say he wore this crazy weird suit of armor…" One woman starts gossiping enthusiastically, "…and that he mowed through the Irish like some kind of demon-possessed butcher." Her friends laugh heartily joining her amusement as everyone gathered began exchanging stories regarding the incident.

Police sirens wail furiously down the street, causing everyone assembled to scatter hurriedly. They all scurry back into their respective buildings, not wanting to get caught up in the investigation.

Several police cars screech to a halt, suddenly blocking traffic from proceeding onward as police officers scramble hastily from their vehicles and rush to secure the scene. Within minutes, dozens of uniformed policemen flood the area surrounding the building, gathering information and interviewing any potential witnesses.

Two detectives walk briskly towards the entrance of the Burren Club and peer up at the severed head that was dangling by its hair above them. Both men pause momentarily admiring the macabre trophy suspended high above their heads, muttering quietly to one another before stepping inside, taking care never to disturb the bloody mess that hangs precariously overhead.

Stepping carefully over corpses, pools of congealed blood, and the bloodstains that were splattered everywhere, both investigators pause briefly, examining the carnage before entering the club together. One pulls out a small notepad and begins taking notes of the bodies slumped motionlessly on the floor.

"Looks like they got ambushed pretty badly," Says Detective Mahoney confidently, noting the numerous bullet holes riddled through various parts of the establishment including walls and furniture.. "Lot of them too, judging by all these slugs embedded in the walls."

"I don't think so. Take a look at the bodies scattered around," Replies his partner, Detective Blake, "This place is full of bullet holes, but none of the bodies look to have been shot. Looks more like somebody used a sledgehammer to bludgeon everybody instead …" He theorizes as he bends down near a body with its head crushed open, bits of brain matter and bone pooled beneath it.

Mahoney's jaw drops in shock as he looks on disbelievingly at the grotesque sight laying before him. Looking around at the bodies, he noticed that none of them had any gunshot injuries whatsoever, only massive blunt-force trauma inflicted on them. Indicating something else may very well have occurred here besides a simple gang war.

"Detectives! You should take a look at this!!" An officer yells frantically from the basement.

The two detectives hurry down the stairs. Upon reaching the lower level, they find two other cops waiting anxiously next to a headless corpse.

"Guess we found the rest of Nesbitt." Detective Mahoney quips darkly as the two near the corpse and examines it closer.

Both men gasp upon seeing the numerous lacerations carved deep into the body's torso like it was attacked by some kind of beast wielding sharp talons. Gashes ran rampant across the exposed flesh and muscles, bones protruding through. In addition to the claw marks, many wounds on the victim looked to be infected by some kind of... corrosive bacteria? That was eating away the flesh of the deceased as if devouring him alive from within.

"What the hell happened here?" Exclaims Detective Mahoney bewildered by the grisly discovery. His mind raced to try desperately to comprehend why anyone would want to inflict such terrible damage on another human being, let alone use such brutal methods.

"Have any witnesses come forward?" Detective Blake asks one of the officers who snorts at the question.

"In Hell's Kitchen? Please...we're lucky someone even called this in!" The cop replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Nobody ever sees anything in this neighborhood unless there's money involved." He adds bitterly.

"Someone must've heard something though, right?!" Questions Mahony incredulously, still struggling to wrap his head around how this massacre could go unnoticed by everyone.

"I overheard a couple of the locals talking, but it's mostly just crazy rumors." Answers the other cop nonchalantly scratching his chin.

"Rumors? Like what?" Detective Blake inquires.

"…Well apparently, some kind of demon wearing a magical suit of armor walked in here and killed everyone indiscriminately until no survivors remained..." The cop explains, a huge smile spreading across his face as he recounts the ludicrous story.

The pair of detectives stared at him blankly for several seconds before bursting out laughing hysterically at the ridiculous tale told to them. Their laughter soon dies as they remember they were standing in the middle of a crime scene and immediately regain their composure.

"So no credible witness has stepped forth yet then?" Inquiries Detective Mahoney rhetorically asked himself rather than addressing anybody specifically.

"We should look into the rival gangs, maybe whoever did this came from somewhere close by." Suggests Detective Blake.

"Sounds good enough to me," Detective Mahoney agrees. They both turn to leave, discussing further details about investigating the case.

************

Hell's Kitchen, New York City

Warehouse District

 

(Brock POV)

Stepping back inside the warehouse after a long night, I look around for my companions. Ava was still drifting peacefully in her tank and Zeru was working away diligently on computer equipment nearby. When he saw me enter, Zeru jumped off his seat and hurried over to greet me.

"Hey Boss, how'd it go?" The small boy asked me eagerly.

"We shouldn't have any more trouble with those guys." I replied calmly, "Or any of the other gangs either."

Zeru nodded his head thoughtfully, understanding fully what I meant by that.

"How's Ava?"I ask, looking over at the large tank she rested comfortably in. Her condition didn't seem to change much since I had left.

Zeru sighs sadly as he softly speaks, "She won't wake up… I don't know what's wrong. She seems to have taken to the procedure well, but she hasn't moved an inch since…" He continues despondently, watching the woman float listlessly in front of us with concern etched clearly onto his youthful face.

I nod slowly, listening intently to his words as I try to think of some way to solve this problem. Ava was an important piece to my future goals, I couldn't afford to lose her now as that would mean having to put some plans on hold. If possible, I need to figure out whatever is keeping her unconscious or else risk putting myself and this fledgling organization I was creating at a great disadvantage against our enemies.

"Any idea why she isn't waking up?" I inquire cautiously, hoping he might offer a solution.

He shakes his head apologetically, "No boss …no clue." He answers dejectedly rubbing the top of his bald head nervously thinking hard. "I work better with machines than people. We need someone who knows biology and genetics, someone who can help diagnose what's really going on with her."

My brow furrows as I consider our next move. "Any candidates in mind?"

"No.. But I can find some," Zeru says, rushing over to his workstation and typing away at the keyboard.

Moving over to the monitors, I watch as he quickly goes through the contents of hundreds of databases, searching for anyone with the relevant credentials we needed. After scanning through thousands of entries, he pauses for a moment, finally finding some that seemed promising. Data files containing names, addresses, phone numbers, and email contacts belonging to some of the most prominent scientists specializing in medical research and genetic engineering located throughout the world appeared on the screen.

"There are only three people listed here who have all the qualifications we require: Dr. Karlin Malus, a bio-geneticist who works here in New York at a company called...Industrial Garments & Handling? Dr. Evan Declan, geneticist and CEO of Declan Research Laboratories based out of London. And Dr. Helen Cho, a world-renowned geneticist and the leader of the U-GIN Research Group. She lives in South Korea." Zeru informs me.

Looking over the files, One name stood out most prominently to me...Dr. Helen Cho. A Korean scientist whose expertise lies primarily in the fields of cell biology and genetics for healing purposes. She is notable for having created a device called the Regeneration Cradle, which is highly coveted by multiple government agencies worldwide, including S.H.I.E.L.D.

But what really drew my interest was not her prowess as a scientist, but the small blurb about her family that was listed below her picture.

As I read over the information, a plan began forming in my head. I looked over at Zeru, who was busy clicking buttons on his keyboard rapidly while staring intensely at the screen. Asking him casually, "Have you finished the upgrades on the hovercraft yet?"

His expression brightens instantly when I mention the vehicle project he started earlier this week. He nods excitedly, "Almost done actually. Just have to finish calibrating everything and test drive it once again, it'll probably be ready by tomorrow. Why? You decided who you want?" He questions curiously.

Smiling broadly, my gaze shifts back toward the monitor where Helen Cho's picture stares back at me expectantly.

************

Manhattan, New York

East Harlem

The Red Fish Blue Restaurant

One Day Later

 

(Omniscient POV)

In the late hours of the evening following the news of the massacre of the Irish Mob, a woman was seated in the backroom of the restaurant. Sipping from a wine absentmindedly and glancing occasionally between papers spread haphazardly atop a table strewn with documents and photos depicting gruesome images from the recent crime scene.

Rosalie Carbone, leader of the Carbone Crime Family, sat behind her desk as her men stood silently around her. All wore dark suits adorned with red ties, except for one man dressed differently from them all... her son Salvatore. He had chosen to wear leather pants paired with a black shirt and vest accented with gold chains hanging loosely around his neck. A bottle of whiskey sits conspicuously beside his glass that was filled halfway to capacity, evidence suggesting he had already indulged heavily prior to arriving at the meeting.

"I don't get it, why are we worrying so much about what happened to those Irish pricks?" Salvatore wondered aloud, breaking the silence in the room. "They weren't worth shit anyway. It doesn't make sense to waste time on them. We should be out there taking over their territories before someone gets there first!" He exclaimed drunkenly, gesturing emphatically towards the door leading outside of Rosalie's office.

"Be quiet!" Rosalie exclaims sharply, glaring daggers at him before letting out a sigh and calming herself. "You will shut your mouth and listen carefully young man because I'm getting tired of repeating myself every five minutes." She reprimanded him sternly, crossing her arms tightly folded together beneath her bosom. Her tone softened slightly as she continued to explain things to him patiently.

Rosalie slid one of the pictures she was examining across the table towards the young drunken man, before continuing to speak quietly, almost conspiratorially.

"...I don't care that these Irish bastards got themselves murdered." She informed him solemnly as she tapped the photo gently with her manicured finger, making sure nobody missed noticing the blood-splattered corpse lying dead against the wall. The corpse's head was split open wide, exposing gory viscera spilling freely onto the floor, along with shards of bone sticking jaggedly from the gaping wound in his skull revealing the extent of the violence inflicted upon his personage. "…but the way they were murdered seems awfully similar to how our guy's bodies ended up last month."

Salvatore frowned deeply, studying the image. "Maybe it's just a coincidence…." He said unconvinced, sounding skeptical and doubtful.

"Their corpses were found completely beaten to death with extreme force," Rosalie said flatly, refusing to entertain such notions. "It looks too damn suspicious if you ask me! There aren't many cases like this happening in our city that I can think of."

Her voice grew softer as she spoke, moving closer to him and sitting down on the opposite side of the table. Looking lovingly at her only child and affectionately stroking a hand tenderly through his hair. "It's the same guy. I'm sure of it. So right now, all I need from you is to take a crew, go down to hell's kitchen, and start looking for this fucking bastard!... Ok, Mimmo?"

Salvatore scowled briefly, obviously unhappy being treated like a naive child by his mother. Ignoring his obvious displeasure, however, he merely shrugged indifferently, responding curtly, "...Okay Mamá". Turning abruptly heading out the door with the other men, leaving Rosalie alone in her office with nothing more than righteous indignation flashing vividly within her eyes.

************

A/n: Hey Guys, hope you are enjoying the story so far, and as always thanks for reading!

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