By ClericWolf - Part 1|2|3|4 “A single focused rock can topple a mountain of hope.” ~ Grammaton Cleric: Ezekiel Kayne A few months after the incident involving one of the old guard and his obsession with ‘Jack the Ripper’ New Libria’s security had been stepped up a pace or two. Armed Sweepers once more patrolled the more dangerous areas of the Nethers and those without clearance to be there were warned and escorted back to their homes. Preston presided over the growing New Order as vigilantly as he could; after all he was responsible for the current state of affairs. It was something he could not forget in a hurry, even if he tried. He aided the Governess to the best of his ability and they seemed to be making a difference as time ticked on. The crime rate which had risen to an all-time high recently thanks to a madman’s actions had now begun to lower again, dropping to within acceptable limits. Yet in the silence of the underground there were those that drew swift and sure plans in shadowy conspiratorial whispers. Father was not dead and it seemed that he was orchestrating once more from a hidden seat of power. He was aided by his right hand: The Cleric, Ezekiel Kayne. Preston and the rest of New Libria were unaware of course and this suited the shadow players perfectly, they could plot in peace without fear of retribution until the time was right. Father had promised his people a sign of his return and the death of their greatest enemy. The pawns were being moved across the board by an expert hand and the teachings of a legendary strategist played a part in the great scheme of things. All they had to do now was watch and wait as all of the pieces of the puzzle fell into place as they took away everything that their enemy held dear. Emotions could be such a wonderful thing, but they could also be used as a great weapon to blind a foe and hurt them more than any blade or gun could ever hope to do. The night’s silence was broken by the resounding rumble of thunder. Only it was not thunder but the reverberating tones of an explosion. Within minutes the Sweeper teams and Fire Suppression crews were on their way to the residential section of the city. “Not another sabotage attempt?” The speaker’s voice was thick with resigned tones as he turned to the driver. “I don’t know Sir; perhaps…we’re en-route to the apartment blocks now. So far we’ve been informed that the explosion originated in one of the upper non-civilian sections.” The Sweeper returned his gaze to the road ahead and the tarmac that was illuminated by twin halogen lamps. “A Cleric’s quarters?” “I think so Sir, hold on we’re getting reports from the first two teams now. Fire Suppression reports that…” “What…what is it?” “The apartment has been identified as John Preston’s.” “You’re certain?” “Scene of Crime Officers have confirmed it Sir.” The driver’s voice was thick now with new emotion and he kept his eyes firmly before him. “Preston was not at home however.” “That’s a small mercy then.” The Sweeper Captain replied and thumbed his microphone to Central Control. “Inform John Preston that there’s been an attack on his residential home…it is unknown at the moment if his family were present.” “You know Sir? It’s times like these that I wish I were back on Prozium.” “Never ever say that again driver, you understand?” The Sweeper snarled in the man’s direction. “If I hear that kind of talk again I will personally kick your ass from here to C and C.” “Y…yes Sir!” The APC continued to rumble down the long grey stretch of road that was now lit with a glowing orange and yellow flame. A massive fire raged in the sky throwing plumes of black smoke into the air and churning with subtle eddies as the wind toyed with it. Fire Suppression vehicles swarmed the area like flies and their glowing lights played across the ground as they dumped flame retardant chemicals over the angry blaze. Several of the buildings were already reduced to gutted skeletons of their former selves, the bones of their super-structure laid bare and blackened against the intense heat. The APC ground to a halt and the Sweepers dismounted, already moving to intercept concerned and distraught citizens. “Get back!” They ordered. “There’s nothing you can do for now…we know you may have friends and family in the blaze but the Fire teams don’t want to pull your carcass out of the fire as well – let them do their job.” The arrival of the black clad enforcers brought back terrible memories for some of DuPont’s regime and they immediately backed away. Those that saw sense of course were already backing off the moment that the APC rumbled into the area. “Sweeper Captain Cole Sir?” A younger man trotted towards the bellowing Captain and stopped before him. “Preston has been appraised and he’s en route Sir.” “Thank you for the swift report.” And then the man turned his eyes towards the conflagration and let out a deep breath. “Preston is going to want blood for this.” “Want blood Sir?” “He’s not going to be happy; he’s going to have us combing every inch of Libria looking for the idiots that did this.” “I took a little longer to wean of Prozium Sir…I’m still not quite sure what you mean when you say, he’s not going to be happy?” The younger Sweeper shuffled a little in his long black coat and eyed the older man. Cole took off his helmet and put it under his arm. He cracked a cat-like grin and shook his head. “Damn it kid…how old are you? Don’t answer that…you’re probably just off the farm so to speak. Happiness is a cigar called Hamlet.” That last line confused the young man even more and he just stood for a while looking at the fire before he gave up. “Shall I go and keep order Sir?” “Yes, you do that.” “Thank you Sir, see you again Sir.” Preston arrived in due course and as expected his face was like a thunder-storm ready to break. The thin lines of his lips drawn together in a tightly controlled frown betrayed the inner sense of his fear, a fear that Robbie and Lisa had been torn from him. “Preston.” Cole met him at the border to the blazing apartments. “You know you can’t enter.” The command was like a heavy slap against the man’s face and John nodded slowly. “I am well aware of the protocol Sweeper Captain, Cole.” “That’s good Sir. I’d hate to have to restrain you…let the teams do their job and we’ll find out what happened soon enough.” “I know.” “I’m sorry John.” “Don’t be. It’s not your fault…there are risks when you build a society from the roots of an old tree – you forget to burn the old roots away.” Preston’s voice was distant and wavered in the wind slightly as it grew stronger. “I don’t follow you.” Cole answered and tugged his coat around him. “What would hurt me the most Captain?” The Cleric continued in a bland near-emotionless logical statement. “If you were my enemy…what could you do to me to break my spirit and force me to my knees?” “I don’t know Sir. I don’t really think like that.” “Be thankful you don’t Sweeper.” “Yes Sir.” “But to answer the question as myself, to put myself in their shoes and become the enemy – I would take everything I held dear and remove it…one by one.” He looked to the still-burning apartment and clenched his hand. “Robbie and Lisa were the catalyst.” “That’s monstrous.” “It’s an effective battle tactic…it’s as if the person behind this has some knowledge of clandestine techniques. So we can rule out any outside influences for now. I would say our aggressor thinks they know me well enough to destroy what life I had.” “What else do you think Sir?” The man’s question died in his throat when he saw the look in Preston’s eyes. “I think that they’ve made their first and last mistake Captain Cole…the question is…are you with me?” “With you Sir, in what way?” “I’m going to end this one way or another. I want to live a normal life again free from the daggers of the past – to do that, we have to go to war…but a different kind of war…one which we are ill-prepared to fight, but must do anyway.” Cleric John Preston’s voice was almost a mono-tone now and lacked any trace of emotion. “If you want to shake the gates of Hell Sir, who am I to stop you. I’m in.” “That’s good to hear Sweeper Captain Cole. Very good indeed, continue your work here and let me know if there’s even a slim amount of hope.” Preston turned from the scene in a disturbing manner and walked in mechanical-steps towards the awaiting vehicle where his new partner, the grim-faced Tara Night sat in the driver’s seat. “John?” “Drive.” “Ok.” The car slid through the darkness like a slinking panther, cutting a swath of soft white light into the shadow as Tara drove them both back to Command and Control. The building was in silence as the vehicle slid into the parking bay and its engine died in a low purr. John stared ahead and didn’t even move an inch. “Are you alright? I know that’s a stupid question considering but…I had to ask.” She said and put her hand on his shoulder. “You know that point where you push a door but it won’t open any more?” Preston replied as if he were in a dream-land. “You’ve reached it?” “No.” He paused. “I have gone beyond it. I wanted a family again and I wanted so much…I wanted Robbie and Lisa to have a mother.” He narrowed his eyes and gripped the edge of the dash board as his Cleric training fought against the wellspring of human emotion. “I am truly sorry John. I don’t know what else to say.” She replied and ran a finger down his tightening jaw-line. “What do you want me to do?” “Each blow that we take is like one of the sword smiths of old; forging a new blade…we’re dipped in the fire of revenge and cooled in the waters of retribution.” He narrowed his eyes once more and suddenly his breathing began to slow. “You should let it go John. Scream it out or something, it can’t do much good bottled up inside you.” “Oh it will come out when the time is right.” The Cleric answered with a soft smile, the edges of his eyes danced with a kind of madness. “I just hope that you’re right.” “There’s no hope Tara…there’s only the swift blade of justice and the law of the Grammaton to adhere to.” “The guilty will be punished?” “I will find them and I will make them pay a higher price than you can ever imagine.” His jaw locked again and the woman swore she heard Preston’s teeth grind against each other as he fought down another wave of tears. “And me?” “You’ve been robbed as well Cleric Night…my children had already said that they wouldn’t mind you as their mother.” “It’s not the end John, you can’t give up.” She fought down her own emotions and hit the wheel of the car growling in the back of her throat. “I know you…you don’t give up on anything.” “If I get too close to you…they’ll take you from me as well.” He replied in a simple logical statement. “And I do not want to lose you.” “I don’t want to lose you either.” “We are at an impasse then.” “It looks that way.” She replied stubbornly and narrowed her own eyes. “I am not going to let you slip away John Preston. You can’t protect everyone and you’re not some kind of super hero.” “What?” He questioned with a flicker of a tear at the edges of his eyes. “Something that was prevalent in the twentieth century. Usually a lone vigilante or some kind of person with special powers, lots of gadgets or something.” She was thankful that their conversation had taken a slight tangent; her heart was beating faster and faster now. “I see.” He wasn’t really in a frame of mind to comprehend all that the woman was saying so he chose to remain distant from it. Locked away in his Cleric’s training, imprisoned inside his own mind where he battled his own demons. A flashlight illuminated the driver’s side of the car and a Sweeper on patrol in the car port stepped closer peering in through the window. He blinked a couple of times as he saw two senior Clerics within, nodded just the once and moved away. “I’m going to war.” Preston said at long last and turned to look at the woman. “You’re the only person I have left in my life…you’re the only person that I…care for…now…in that way.” The words were clumsy and halting but she understood the meaning. “I know.” “A part of me wants to tell you to remain here where it will be safe…but truthfully…the only safe place is by my side. Either way we’re being driven to this point by things we can’t control, feelings that we can’t suppress.” He began to ramble a little drawing strength from the woman’s presence and locking the anger and despair inside his head for now. “You’d have a hard time telling me to stay put. I don’t want to watch the clock every day wondering if you’re going to be coming back.” She admitted and put her arms around him haltingly at first and then more surely. “But we won’t be able to function until our enemy is removed.” The mechanical tones once more affirmed that Preston was reaching into his Cleric’s state of mind, drawing on all his reserves of energy. “We need to work like clockwork to bring them down…and I think I know where to begin.” “You do?” “Grammaton Cleric: Ezekiel Kayne.” “I thought he vanished?” “Exactly” John said and turned his thoughts to the second time he’d encountered him during the revolution. “Both me and Jurgen saw him watching the crowds, us, when we freed Libria.” “Surely he’s not the sole once to orchestrate this…hateful campaign right?” She loosed her arms from around the man and let him move a little. “That remains to be seen.” “What’s our first move?” “We attend my families’ funeral.” Preston replied and opened the door to the car stepping out onto the cold floor. “You’ll help me make the arrangements?” “Oh…yes…of course John, if you want you can leave it to me…if you need some time to just disconnect?” She followed him out and locked the car up. “Stay at mine if you like?” “Thank you. I’ll do that. I’ll report in to C and C right away.” He left the woman alone in the grey shadows of the car port and when he was out of sight she slipped down the side of the car. If he couldn’t or wouldn’t cry for his family she’d cry enough for both of them. The patrolling Sweepers now appraised of the terrible news let her get on with it and continued to silently watch the headquarters. Meanwhile in the deep shadows of the underground in a place that very few souls dared venture, Father’s new inner-circle sat in contemplative silence. It had been several days since their explosive overture at the residential apartments had generated a whisper of fear amongst the population of New Libria. “It failed to kill him.” One of the dark costumed Clerics said in flat tones. “I consider the idea to have been an utter waste of time.” “It was not a failure at all.” Father’s voice was smooth and soothing once again those tones like poisoned honey reverberated through the chamber. “It has weakened our enemy – we have taken his support structure away and now all that he has left is revenge.” “So you say Father but what makes you so sure, this is John Preston we are talking about…not some wet behind the ears milksop boy.” Father regarded the speaker with a degree of irritation but let that slide. He put his best smile upon his face and shook his head. “He will become reckless and we shall goad him into making a mistake. Ezekiel has kindly offered to put him out of our misery and to do that.” The man indicated the shadow of Kayne with a single snap of his hand. “We need to bring him to us.” “Bring the man who took DuPont and his regime down in a single bloody coup?” There was another voice of dissention in the ranks and he gained the support of his peers. “You would bring that man into our halls?” “He is weaker in our lair.” Father cajoled. “I don’t like it all the same but I shall abide by Our Father’s word…after all…we serve the higher ideal.” The disgruntled Cleric replied and gave a swift nod to the shadow of Ezekiel. The silent right hand of Father remained stock still and only slid his eyes over the assembled group of men; they could almost feel his distaste as he lingered upon each and every one. They were all finding it harder and harder as their stocks of Prozium dwindled lower and lower each day that passed. “We will prevail.” Announced their leader and he stood up to address each and every one of them. “We will not allow this New Libria to remain for much longer, for those of you that are ready to embrace Prozium and let it become ‘once more’ the opiate of our great society – for those of you that are – it will be a bright future by my side.” “You are so certain that Preston will fall?” Another question, these constant interruptions and second guessing of his divine will were starting to irk Father greatly. “I am.” “Why?” “We are prepared and as I have painstakingly re-iterated time and time again Cleric. We cannot lose, we are the righteous and we are the chosen inheritors of the Earth.” “There is no room for error?” “Error does not enter into it. You have many questions Cleric but are you ready to die for the New Order…are you ready to face down the /man/ himself and prove your loyalty to Father?” It was Ezekiel Kayne’s turn to break the silence with his own question, directed at the speaker with a venomous snap of ire. There was a slight catch in the reply as the other Cleric fixed his gaze for a few moments on Ezekiel’s. He was forced to turn away when he met the intense darkness there in the other’s eyes. “I will do as Father wishes me to do. I serve him, not his right hand.” “Then I ask the question to you, Cleric.” Father sat back on his high chair and smiled a little, a definite show of emotion…it perturbed the others in the room. “If it is your will then I will die for the Order.” “Good.” The cold tones of Kayne whispered into the air and he turned his head to the seated man fixing him with the same dark gaze. “It is time to baptise your ruler-ship with a single show of power, lest this false faced follower undermine your authority any further.” All the eyes in the room turned to Father. All except the questioning Cleric he remained stock still and averted his gaze away from all in the room. “Cleric…” Father began with a slight smile, that same serene look falling onto his face again from earlier. “It is time to prove to me how loyal you are.” “Yes…Our Father?” “Take out your weapon.” “Father?” “Do it!” The man slammed down his hand onto the side of the chair and stunned all bar Kayne into silence. Obediently the man did as he was ordered and felt the cold touch of the pistol’s grip against the palm of his hand, he could easily use it on the seated man and end his reign forever – such thoughts of treason burned through his mind. “Take your own life.” Father ordered and sat back to watch how this would transpire, his own training in the intuitive arts was telling him something else would happen. Faced with oblivion at his own hand or that of one of the other Clerics in the room the man before Father held his gun to his head and pulled the trigger in a single obedient gesture. Moments before the last of the firing mechanism ratcheted into place he moved the weapon and aimed it towards the seated man. Ezekiel Kayne’s own pistol was in his hand but he did not fire, he watched the older man move out of the line of fire in a quick series of steps – it became a duel of Gun Kata, their sacred and effective rote-mastered art. The younger Cleric was faster than Father but the older man had many more years of experience as was considered to be a true ‘master’ of the art. They bobbed, weaved and turned, neither of them firing a single shot as they attempted to out-manoeuvre each other, for that single ‘clean’ killing moment. It was over in a few seconds. Father’s experience was oddly outweighed by the younger man’s desire to live and he felt the cold press of the pistol against his temple. The light in the young Cleric’s eyes as he sensed victory could have burned like a thousand candles in a dimly lit church. There was a shot as the victorious Cleric whispered ‘goodbye’ to his mentor and once respected leader. The body of the young Cleric hit the ground with a flapping motion and Father flinched as blood sprayed his face. The other Clerics sat in silence as the flaming cross of the Tetragrammaton muzzle flash lit up on Ezekiel’s weapon. Moments before the felled Cleric could fire the black haired angel of death had drawn, aimed and pulled the trigger on his weapon in one swift motion. Why he had saved Father’s life was a mystery to them all when he could have easily stepped in and taken the man’s place, perhaps he truly believed in the divine nature of their leader or perhaps he was biding his time. Father looked down at the slow pooling lake of red and then back to the elder Grammaton, he nodded dumbly for a moment before he found his composure and sat back down. “An attempt was made on my life by one that proved himself unworthy. I trust there will be no more foolish notions of taking my place?” He looked at all of them, barring his personal death’s angel…that now stood quietly once more by his side. The other assembled Clerics nodded their agreement and none of them said a single word. “If any here should wish to harm a hair on Our Father’s head they will find only death.” Kayne said and stood to address all within the chamber. “My retribution will be swift and no quarter shall be given – we are Clerics of the Tetragrammaton…what are we without faith in Our Father?” “Well said Ezekiel.” The older man almost preened at the sense of loyalty and of course the attention he was getting from everyone. “You are worthy to stand by my side for ever and ever.” “Amen.” The black clad man replied and nodded in grim satisfaction. “Our point has been made Our Father.” “And it was made in a most timely fashion indeed.” Father’s reply was full of hidden relief and he took a moment to breathe deeply, never had he come so close to losing everything in one moment – he was now praying that Ezekiel could show the same determination and loyalty when confronted with John Preston. “What must we do now Father?” “We must wait and bring our enemy to us. To do this we shall require an incentive I think.” The older man mused and put his hand under his chin. “What do you think Ezekiel?” “I will find a fetch the woman, if it’s required?” The black clad Cleric replied in an almost mechanical-logical fashion. “No, that is too clichéd and the damsel in distress has been done to death.” “What would you suggest then?” Father stood from his chair and began to pace a little looking at the assembled Clerics and then back again at his chair. “We require something else to draw our prey in, something that would bring him to us in an instant.” “So we are going to leave the woman alive?” “Oh yes. He will jump at shadows, hidden assassins that are not there. After the death of his family – he won’t know who to trust.” “Masterful strokes of genius Our Father.” The man replied with a slight smirk on his lips, which vanished in a heart’s beat. “What then?” “We will bring the man that planted the bomb that killed his family into our lair and then the trap will have bait.” Father smiled once more. It was a snake-like smile and would have perturbed everyone in the room if they were not still half-dosed on Prozium. “You see, cold, calculated logical thinking wins out over rash anger every time.” “It was a lesson that DuPont could have used to save his life.” Ezekiel stated in flat tones. “He underestimated Preston on so many levels. A failure that we shall not replicate, our plan shall be flawless and do you know why my friend?” “There is no room for error?” “Exactly…Cleric.” Father gave a slight smirk and put his hands behind his back. “Preston has become softened by emotion and his thinking has become clouded. John was always the epitome of a Cleric until he began to think for himself and became seduced by the Resistance.” “Sense offender scum.” Ezekiel added with a snort and let Father continue. “Quite. We will manipulate the situation so that we come out as the victor, Preston will be angry and that will be his undoing. Against a cold logic and our methodical thinking he will have no hope.” “Excellent.” “Why thank you Ezekiel. So for your part, be my hands in the outside world and fetch the bomber to us.” Father paused for a moment to add. “But do make sure that Preston learns something useful about him, if you can?” “It shall be done.” And so the dark shadow of Ezekiel Kayne left the room with the slow rhythmic click of black boots on cold stone. He passed through the hidden corridors of power lost in his own thoughts and plotting his own schemes. “How to find you layer of fire.” He muttered and then tapped the wall with a black gloved finger. Slowly a smile spread like spilt blood over his lips and he took the steps up to the outside world emerging under the harsh glare of the sun. A wild roaming dog began to snarl and bark in his direction, he ignored it – there would be time to deal with all kinds of strays when they were back in power. He stood back from the glare of the sun and stepped a little into the shadow, without the full effect of Prozium dancing through his veins he found it hard to meet the accusing stare of the bright yellow orb. The Cleric muttered under his breath. “I shall be glad when you are gone from my sight again, hidden behind sheen of white – where you can no longer try to stir the heart with your whorish sentimental rays.” Then his eyes were turned to his Libria and he saw the beauty that was once there, the starkness of it all wrapped without a single shred of emotion. His own heart leapt to betray him for a few moments before he forced those feelings aside locking them deep within. “Fear not my sweet salvation.” “Hey you!” His attention was diverted by the sound of a child’s voice. A boy addressed him, no more than eight years old playing with a small round rubber device. “What is it child?” “Why’re you talking to yourself, hiding from the sun, you a vampire?” The barrage of questions assaulted the senior Cleric and he turned to fully face the child, his black hollow eyes making the boy take a step back. “Why are you out here boy?” “Playing!” “Playing?” He questioned and put his hand behind his back. “What is playing?” “You know, having fun…something that the old Clerics wouldn’t let us do because it made us all emotional and stuff…and emotions are bad.” “Yes they are. They are the root of the decay of our society.” Ezekiel repeated part of some particular litany he’d learned when he became a Cleric. The boy began to step away a little his senses starting to tell him something was wrong, this man wasn’t at all what he thought the new Clerics were like. He didn’t smile and he certainly didn’t sound right at all. “Tell me boy, would you like to do me a favour. I need you to deliver a message to John Preston?” “I know John, not well and not as well as I would like. What do you want to tell him?” A familiar name put the boy at ease for a moment. “Leave that up to me.” The man snapped his hand forwards and the boy rocked back on his heels. He was dead before he hit the floor. Ezekiel Kayne smiled inwardly for a moment, not only had he put an end to this maggot before he could infest the rest he could use the boy’s body to convey a message to John Preston at the same time. He gathered up the corpse closing the wide eyes and sauntered off to find the bomber, everything was working out to Father’s vision already. Part 1|2|3|4 more Equilibrium Fan Fiction