"Ah! He's back finally! I was beginnin' to worry that I did ya in the last time..." A voice shot out from the doorway. It tinged my ears; the strong indistinct accent soiling the silence that I became so used to. "Now... you won't remember me- you never do. So I'll give you a little reminder..." I saw a figure move from the shadows and there he was. A lean man wearing a futuristic-like helmet with sprawling metal and a glass visor became visible. His shoulders were adorned with a stainless steal armor on the left side and what seemed to be a machine gun on the right. The rest of his body was covered in a stretchy lycra bodysuit, until it stopped at a pair of dusty-cowboy-boots; spur and all. On his hips was a worn out gun holster complete with steel guns that matched the color of his eyes which appeared through the visor.
"...My name is Bloodbath. Armani Bloodbath. My father was Mr. Bloodbath, so don't call me sir." His accent seemed to thicken. I heard a noise- familiar, but I couldn't identify it... nor did I call him sir.
"Does that ring a bell? I hope so, or else all of this would be in vain." And then in a split second his guns left their holsters and he shot off six shots, but neither of them hit. By then I was on the other side of the room. It was an automatic reaction that was too quick for even me to comprehend.
"You never disappoint me. But I always come out on top. Thats why I've buried you twenty-three times already" The noise occurred. I recognized it this time. "...Lets make it twenty-four." Another six shots went off and his guns were in their holster again.
The smell of dust and burnt wood which had spread across the open room became just as memorable as the sounds. By now I had been wielding a piece of firewood created from destroyed floor-board and a shield made from a broken desktop. The window was still intact somehow, even though the shots sprayed everywhere.
The sound became apparent. I remember. The clicking of his pistols changing bullet rounds and the grit of his metallic-fingertip-gloves rubbing against the trigger.
"why are you-" I manage to get out, before he shot at me again. This time, I reached a corner of the room, near the chalkboard.
"Dern it! Can't you 'member a thing? You know how I hate repeatin' myself!" He put his hand to his forehead and dropped his guard.
The totin' gunner walked to a broken desk chair and sat in it calmly.
"Here. Look'it this." He tossed a piece of paper in the exact middle between both of us. I hesitated for a minute, keeping my eyes locked on him. Soon my curiosity piqued and I inched my way to the item. He put his hands up to show he won't do anything while I moved. And as I picked up the paper, it turned out to be a photo. A photo of me.
"Because thats not you. That, my good friend, is a picture of the person who was supposed to make me human again. That my compadre, is the person who was supposed to take this gat-danged curse offa me and give me real skin. That... is not you. That is this guy-" Armani threw me another piece of paper. I caught it mid-flight.
It was a death certificate of a 'Dr. LaMontagne'. The name was familiar and I wasn't surprised. The amount of things I didn't know at this point, was a lot. And I was hoping for a phone call.
"Now. What you got there is a genuine document sayin' that, that ol' coot kicked the bucket..." I expected a spit and a ting.
"It says here he was killed. Shot by a... Armani Bloodbath." The monotony of my voice didn't express my surprise, but I was.
"No, it says there 'Mr. Armani Bloodbath'. My father killed him. For no good reason, neither!" He cocked his head a bit in regret. "And he didn't tell me that, so I came down here to get me all fixed up! And when I got here, I found you fer the first time. In the exact same spot. Lookin' out that windah!" He pointed to the big window and just stared.
"That was o'er 4 odd years ago. An' on that day... when you told me the good doctor was dead an' you gave me this paper..." He hesitated in a contemplative way. "...I killed ya. I left yer body here, bleedin' bullets like a barrel! But... when I came back the next sun to bury you. You were standin' there again." Soon his fists started to clench.
Somehow, during the conversation, I sat down next to the window and became intent in the conversation.
"So I killed you one more again. I buried your body and made sure you wouldn't be comin' back underneath all that rubble. Sure enough though, when I came a week later, you were there.
"This time, I killed you and I killed you good. I ripped you limb from limb and ripped your tongue out. I took each piece and buried it in a different spot." He looked at me directly now, with intrigue in his eyes. "...Came back the next day..." He didn't need to finish his sentence. "This time, I just wanted to talk. I asked what you are. You said you didn't know. I asked your name- you didn't know. I asked fer hours until I struck up the right question...
"I said to you, I said- 'Boy. Are you the devil?' And you replied, simply... 'No. But talking to me is a sure way to meet him.' An' I thought that there was a threat, so I killed you." He chuckled a bit, like it was a fond memory for both of us, rather than one.
"I figger'd you'd be there the next day, so I went travelling. I became a bounty hunter and started to love the kill. I became a monster. A metal monster. But nothing compared to killing you. Because you always came back. You were a challenge. So I came back." I heard the noise again. My grip tightened.
"Except this time your memory was fadin' everyday I killed you. And then one day you just vanished." He gritted his teeth. "That was a month ago. But now you're back! My bestfriend is here and I can kill him again." He shot off his guns one more time.
I dodged the first 5 bullets but the sixth one grazed the top of my makeshift-shield. His gritted teeth became a smile. Armani let off a roaring laugh as he watched me scale me across the room. It was impossible for me to dodge the next set of bullets and he knew it. His shooting rate was amazing, as it seemed 6 bullets went off at once. And then it hit me.
Armani cocks his guns as a distraction. He shoots with the machine gun- which is why there's no gunpowder smell. So I focused on the machine gun. It was positioned on the right side and strafe to the right. He positioned it so he can hit me easier.
I moved to the left.
A bullet ricocheted off the window and hit him in the stomach.
"Shoot, what a way to go. Killed by my own bullet." He said, faltering to the ground. "I put that glass there 'cause I was tired of hearin' tinklin' glass breakin'" He wheezed between words. "...I knew today was the day... it was different. You didn't call me sir, though I expected you to." He coughed out blood. I felt sorry for him, but not that much.
"...The time before this, you had one of them cellular phones. When I shot you dead, I looked through it. It told me to tell you that when you kill me- to 'search for the golden goddess' ...whatever that means" and with that- I heard it. The buzzing sounds appeared as loud as ever. And then I passed out.
When I awoke, his blood was splattered across the room and my cell phone was ringing. I picked it up and...
"Hello friend! Its me!" It was him.
- Title: The Fugue and the Favorite
- Artist: steam punk rhapsody
- Description: [CH2]1989, 5 years after the metropolis of San Antigua became the quarantined prison, after an outbreak of hideous murders caused by unknown assailants, and it's citizens live in fear. "The Demons" as they are known, appear only at dusk and roam the streets killing all in it's path. But the doors that were once locked to keep "The Demons" in are soon unleashed. Who will save us?
- Date: 01/31/2009
- Tags: fugue funeral