The Neuros sensed the Hunter's imminent mental collapse and responded quickly by feeding a gentle melody into the earbuds, Schumann's Traumerei played gently on a beautiful Bösendorfer to a hushed Festival Hall. Once it would have soothed him, helped him to focus his mind but tonight, it reverberated cruelly around his skull, mocking the dreaful seriousness of the situation. The Shadow was closer and more oppressive than it had ever been.
The Hunter grabbed the array and ripped the glasses off his head, screwing up his eyes with a sharp intake of breath at the shock of the sudden darkness. The painful disconnect when the contacts on his temples separated. The earbuds, connected to the glasses by a thin membrane of silica also popped out of his ears, tinny piano music fading as the apparatus fell. In the silence he was horrified at the clear sound of his own weeping.
The shooting downstairs stopped momentarily. He imagined she had felt the disconnect and was desperately trying to send him messages but they meant nothing to him anymore. He cradled the limp body in his arms, his face buried in sweet-smelling auburn hair. He did not even notice when the gunfire ceased for good.
'Hunter!'
When The Invisible Killer jumped him, it was more instinct than skill that caused the Hunter to drop forwards, rolling with the murderer's momentum and slamming him onto the hard floor. His riposte was only a glancing blow to the ribs as the man's fist met his chin. Balan was already on his feet. He was fast for his size, and strong. The Hunter allowed himself to fall back and roll sideways into a crouch. Drawing his knife, he waited warily in the darkness. Tried to slow his breathing down, to allow the usual connections to fire up and break the scene up into manageable chunks, but the emotional shock of seeing the twisted body had devastated his neural responses. Perhaps he had damaged himself further when he had unceremoniously ripped the AR system from his head. Have to do this the old fashioned way. He struggled to focus on Balan through the undulating mists of colours and lights.
The black-clad man danced around him. The Hunter watched and waited, noting his tight-fitting clothes, designed for stealth and swift combat. Invisible, indeed. There appeared to be extra padding around the chest, body armour of some description. Two fierce grey eyes were all that was visible of his face and they seemed to sparkle in the darkness, taunting the young man. Suddenly Balan lunged forwards, feinted high and landed a brutal uppercut that seemed to drill all the way up through the Hunter's skull. His mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood as he bit through the tip of his tongue. His teeth practically rattled. Balan easily caught his clumsy swipe with the knife and crunched the bones in his hand together painfully. To the Hunter's shame and horror, the knife tumbled to the floor. Balan yanked on his arm and planted several swift punches on his exposed kidney then shoved him back. The Hunter reeled away, doubling up, stumbling, but the old man's teachings kicked in and at the last possible moment he turned the movement into a sweeping kick at his assailant's legs.
The Hunter could not see a thing now, his world had become filled with flashing lights and neon swirls in the encroaching darkness. He barely heard the sound of the bones in his leg breaking and collapsed to the floor in agony, helpless to prevent the man striking him again and again. His cheekbone cracked and the pain exploded with bright yellow sparks, rendering him temporarily blind. Balan laughed and took a step back. Through the mists of pain and frustration the Hunter saw that he was panting with the exertion of their combat, drawing rasping, wheezing breaths.
'Finally we meet on my terms, Hunter.' The voice was deep and gravelly, betraying a lifelong love of tobacco and liquor.
'Your terms?' The Hunter spat a long stream of blood onto the floor. He felt dizzy, the room was bathed in glorious spinning golden lights. Balan was a mere whisp of bluish motion in front of him. The world was shapeless. This is not how it is meant to be. He looked up. 'It ends here, Jackson.'
'For you, maybe.' Balan sighed. 'I have to admit though, I thought you were better than this.'
'Why? Why did you do it? Why her?' The Hunter started to pull himself to his feet, but Balan pushed him down, grinding a sharp heel into his injured knee. The Hunter nearly fainted with the pain. He tried to keep his breathing steady while his brain thought treacherous thoughts; YOU put yourself here, in this situation, YOU made them come with you, YOU killed them. No-one else, just you. He attempted to pull himself together, to shut out the words. There was no-one left. The feelings were so strong, he did not think that he could invoke the trance now, but he had to try, or he would fall too. It was time to show the old man his sacrifice had not been wasted. Balan was speaking again.
'Perhaps you should ask your precious Unicorn. Seems there's a lot they don't tell you.'
'Unic- How dare you pretend to know about us! Scum like you? You've killed fourteen people!'
'Oh, that many?' He seemed pleased. 'And none more deserving than our little friend there.'
'But - she did nothing! She was just -' the Hunter spluttered, 'you know nothing!' He added lamely, quietly, his hand on her hair.
Balan reached down and pulled the Hunter up by the lapels until their noses touched. He tried to resist but the man was inhumanly strong and he could not help crying out when the bones in his injured leg ground together.
Acrid breath overpowered the Hunter's senses and the man began to laugh.
- Printer-friendly version
- 563 reads
