Past

“What, you think he could be somewhere else?” Allen asked, slightly impatient.

“No, I know he’s here. That’s not what I’m worried about.” the Administrator replied. “I’m worried that this could be a trap.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s been twenty-four hours since you whacked his advisor. That’s ample time to realize what’s going on, and yet he hasn’t left the area.”

“Maybe he thinks he has nothing to worry about.” Allen said with a smirk, imagining the look on Frost’s face when he realized that he did, in fact, have something to worry about.

“No, that’s not it.” they replied, causing him to raise a brow in curiosity. “Frost is a lot of things, but a fool isn’t one of them. I think he wants to face you.”

“Well then, all the more reason to get going.”

“Ghost, wait! Think ab-” they began, but Allen hung up before they could finish, then resumed looking at the area surrounding the bunker with his new rifle.

He was on a rocky bluff overlooking what appeared to be a refurbished Cold War bunker and the surrounding area. For the past two hours, he’d been watching the guards shuffle about their patrol routes, memorizing each and every one. He’d also taken note of a comms tower near the bunker, three snipers on the roof, and a truck full of…something…that would drive in while another drove out every thirty minutes.

Another cartel. Well, I guess if you want to buy and/or sell something illegal, this is definitely the place to do it.

He took a deep breath and steadied himself as another truck swap began. With everyone’s focus drawn to the box truck, he turned to the snipers on the roof and dispatched each of them, starting with the one at the back so as to prevent detection, then hit the power box on the comms tower so they couldn’t call for help, just in case he was discovered.

By this point the truck swap had finished and the remaining seven guards had resumed their bored shuffling, not even paying any attention to their comrades as they silently cursed their luck at getting assigned to such an arid and dreary location. Allen smiled as he reloaded.

This is too easy.

Three of the men were busy unloading the merchandise in the garage. Their attention was focused on their little group, so Allen decided he’d save them for last. He turned back to the other four, braining each one as soon as the focus was off of them. One of them turned in time to see his buddy’s head explode, but Allen whacked him before he could do much more than gasp in astonishment.

He reloaded again, then turned back to the three workers. He frowned as one of them began shouting to his friends, having noticed the dead bodies. Before they could do anything else, he took out the two in the back. He was about to shoot the last one, but he rolled into the cover of a concrete barrier.

Allen chuckled as the man’s head slowly rose above the edge of the barrier, carefully pivoting as he tried to determine Allen’s position.

Like a fucking parascope. he thought as the man crumpled into a heap.

He gingerly packed the rifle away in the guitar case he’d bought specifically for the purpose of concealing it and tucked it in behind some desert brush; then he got up, stretched, and began navigating his way towards the bunker, getting out his pistol and checking that it was cocked and ready, as well as his belt to make sure he had all of his extra clips and his new pocket knife.

He also touched a finger to the frag grenade hidden in a fold in his hoodie. The grenade was plan B. Allen was determined to kill Frost, even if he had to die with him.

Nine months…it’s really only been nine months… he thought.

He had come a long way from being the cocky street junkie of a high school freshman. The more he looked back on who he’d used to be, the more alien the idea seemed. He knew he’d changed since the Administrator had hired him, but he’d never thought about how much. The enormity of his transformation actually frightened him slightly.

He quickly shook his head to clear it. Stay focused. he thought as he passed through the garage and made to open the door to the parts inside.

As soon as his fingers brushed the doorknob, he stopped. He stood there for several seconds, listening.

There wasn’t a single sound.

This really is too easy.

Instead of swinging the door wide open like he’d been about to, he did so slowly and with extreme caution, stopping as he met resistance. It wasn’t very much, and he could have easily missed it if he hadn’t been careful.

He shut the door again and put some distance between him and whatever trap they’d put together on the other side of the door. So Admin was right. He did know I was coming.

He jogged around the building, looking for another entrance. It wasn’t long before he found a small vent in the back, about ten feet above the ground. He looked around for something he could climb on to reach it, only seeing a dumpster on the far right corner of the building.

Allen stared at the vent for a moment, then shrugged, took a few steps back, and charged at the wall beneath the vent. He jumped, stepped up on the wall, and caught the grate of the vent with both hands, ripping it from the wall and landing hard on the ground. He got back up and walked back to his prior position, rubbing the pain out of his backside, then repeated the process and snaked his slim form into the vent.

Allen shuffled inside the metal duct, taking care to only put his weight on supported areas so as to avoid making noise, and all the while keeping an ear out for guards. About twenty feet in, he came to a fork in the path and sat there for a moment, confused as to which way to go.

He turned to go right, then stopped as he heard voices coming from the other side. He turned back to the straight path and shuffled further, trying to discern what they were saying.

“You’re serious?” asked one voice. Allen scooted forward to another vent as quietly as he could so he could see who was talking. He reached it and peered down into a hallway which ran perpendicular to his duct, listening to two guards as they approached.

“Would I lie to you?” replied another voice.

“No, but at the same time, I find it pretty hard to believe that he ain’t scared at all. I mean, I know we’re talking about an experienced knife fighter against some pissy little high school freshman on a revenge quest-”

Allen narrowed his eyes at the first man’s voice . Fuck you, too.

“-but I heard about what happened to Vince. The body was burnt stiff to the point where they had trouble fitting him into the body bag! This kid ain’t playin’ around!”

“Gives you the creeps, don’t it?” agreed the second. “And he didn’t waste time either. He spent maybe six months training off the radar, then every day after that was the news reporting murder after murder after murder.”

“And you mean to tell me he’s just casually sitting in his office, not a care in the world?”

“Just reading last month’s stats. I think he actually wants the kid to find him.”

“Better him than us, right?” joked the first man. When he didn’t receive a reply, he turned to repeat himself, stopping as he noticed his companion twitching on the floor with blood pooling around his head. He looked up and raised his pistol, only to be hit in the face with a vent cover and pinned against the wall.

“I need some directions.” said Allen, pressing the knife more firmly against his neck.

((((((*******))))))

The bunker was way bigger than Allen had previously thought, actually extending five stories underground. Frost’s office was on the fourth one down, so Allen had been forced to forsake the safety of the vent for the hallways to make any decent progress.

He was on a time limit. He only had ten minutes until the next truck swap. When they got here and noticed all of the dead guards outside, the first thing they would do is call for backup. Allen didn’t want to be here when the backup arrived.

He ducked behind a stack of boxes to allow another pair of guards to pass, waiting until they turned the corner before proceeding.

On top of all of this, he had something else to bother him: he’d be facing a skilled knife fighter in an enclosed area. Allen’s specialty was ranged combat; and although he too was skilled with a knife, his effectiveness with it depended on the element of surprise. Frost was expecting him, which put him at a disadvantage.

Allen turned the corner and caught sight of the door to Frost’s office, slightly ajar. Inside, he could hear voices. He smiled. Well, maybe not a major disadvantage.

He began walking toward the door, slowly and carefully and barely breathing.

This was it. This was where he’d make that bastard pay.

Pay for what he’d done to his family.

To his brother.

To him.

He reached the door and gently pushed it open until he could see the desk…but there was no one there. The voices were coming from a laptop on the desk.

Suddenly, every fiber of his being screamed at him to move.

He somersaulted into the room, a dagger swinging through the area where his neck had been a mere fraction of a second before, and came to a crouch facing the door. He dove right with a yelp of surprise as Frost tried to follow up with a thrust and brought up his pistol, only to have it kicked out of his hand. Before Frost could follow up again, Allen stood up and shoved him back, his own knife flying off of his belt and snapping open in the blink of an eye.

Frost was dressed in a suit, of all things. Mid-length black hair partly covered his face, which bore a confident smirk and two sapphire blue eyes that never strayed from his opponent. Allen couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy as Frost stared at him, as if the man could read his thoughts. All the same, he tried his best to look intimidating as they circled one another.

“Dressed for the morgue, I see.” Allen sneered.

“Good one.” Frost responded smoothly. “So…to what do I owe the pleasure Mr.-?”

“Allen, and I’m here to kill you for what you did to my family.”

The other man stopped circling for a moment and held his chin in thought, recognition twinkling in his eyes. “Allen…Flynt? Right? Forgive me, this isn’t the first time some moron on a revenge quest has burst into my office.”

“You don’t say.” Allen replied.

“Indeed. Now, if I’m understanding the situation correctly, your stepfather was detective Lawrence Granger?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, you have no one to blame for what happened to your family but him. He’s the one who stuck his nose where it didn’t belong and started telling people things they didn’t need to know. If he’d left well enough alone I wouldn’t have needed to do what I did. Now listen: I understand that you’re angry-”

“Angry!? Angry!?” Allen said fiercely. “I’m angry that you killed my parents, but my eight-year-old little brother!? I’m beyond pissed for what you did to him!”

As they continued to circle each other, Allen took note of his pistol sitting under a vanity mirror in the far corner, then looked back at Frost as he tried to work out how he’d reach it.

Frost sighed and straightened up. “I’m sorry. Really. Believe me when I tell you that I take no pleasure in what I do, especially when I hear how it affects people. Understand, however, that this little mission of yours can only end with your death. It’d be better for you if you just walked away.”

“You honestly expect me to walk away after everything you’ve cost me? Especially now that I’m so close? I don’t think so.” Allen assumed a wide stance as he said this. “This ends here, one way or the other.”

Suddenly, he pivoted and threw the pocket knife at Frost, who strafed to his left to avoid the spinning blade. He made to take advantage of the situation, but Allen had already dived backwards to the vanity, retrieved his pistol, and leveled it at his chest.

Frost dove behind his desk as three shots hit the wall where he’d been a second ago. He hauled himself back up into a crouch and drew a revolver from inside his suit jacket. I tried to warn you kid. Really, I take no pleasure in this.

He rose to return fire, then yelled in surprise as Allen dove over the desk and tackled him, the laptop and other objects scattering to the floor. He felt him trying to wrench the knife away from him and quickly kicked him off. He responded by slugging him in the face, forcing him to drop the knife in shock. Before he could pick it up, however, Frost kicked him in the face, sending him staggering back. He then slammed him against the wall by his throat and proceeded on choking the life out of him with the revolver.

As the edges of his vision started fading to black, Allen began to feel something he hadn’t felt since he’d seen his house covered in bullet holes: fear. This man was going to kill him, just like he’d killed his family nine months ago.

NO!!

Allen raised his feet and kicked the man square in the chest, sending him toppling over the desk. He barely paused to recover as he scooped up the dagger on the floor and vaulted over the desk, raising the blade to finish the job, only for Frost to kick him in the chest and roll away.

Allen stood back up, ready to resume his assault, then froze as he saw his opponent aiming the revolver at him.

He looked around wildly. Frost was too far away to attack without getting shot, and he’d dropped his gun when he’d tackled him. He had to improvise, fast.

His fingers tightened around the ivory hilt of Frost’s knife, even as he became aware of the pocket knife that lay between the two adversaries.

Frost pulled back the hammer. “I’m sorry kid, but I tried to warn you.” he said just before he would have pulled the trigger.

Allen said nothing, instead tossing the dagger up in the air.

Frost saw it sail past the chandelier on the ceiling…

…and instantly realized his mistake.

He looked back down just in time to see Allen shoot forward like a bullet, snatch the pocket knife off the floor, and sink it into his gut. He then turned and caught the dagger out of the air and buried it in his chest.

Frost stared in shock at the two knives that had suddenly appeared in his torso, barely registering the fact that Allen had just snatched the revolver away.

“This…no…” he stuttered.

He stumbled over to lean against his desk, but tripped and landed against it instead. He looked up and saw Allen aiming the revolver at him.

“You seriously tried to talk me out of killing you? After everything you’ve done?”

“This…this makes no…sense.” Frost said, still staring at the knives in his body.

Allen smiled. “Makes perfect sense to-” he began, but trailed off.

He felt something. It was the oddest feeling, like some divine power tapping him on the shoulder. He turned to see what on earth had caused it, his eyes alighting on the mirror once more.

He stiffened in terror as something stared back.

It was wearing a black hoodie like Allen, and was holding a gun like Allen…

…but it wasn’t Allen.

The creature in the mirror was covered in blood, had pale skin, and wore a smile that could give a man a heart attack. Allen could have gotten past all of that.

But he could not stop looking at those eyes.

They were the eyes of psychopaths and mass-murderers, of bandits and marauders. They were the eyes that had happily watched people bleed to death and witnessed the destruction of nations. They were the eyes that turned the bravest men into fleeing cowards with just a glance.

They were the eyes of the Devil himself.

That can’t be me… he thought numbly as he stared into those blood-red eyes. It just can’t…

Frost stared at him in confusion, wondering why he was still alive. Then he erupted into a coughing fit, splattering blood all over his front.

Allen heard him in the distance, and the revolver shook uncontrollably as he returned to reality, the demon in the mirror turning back into him.

“You did this to me.” Allen said quietly.

Frost froze. “What?”

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!!” Allen roared, rounding back on him and leveling the revolver again. “YOU DID THIS TO ME!!”

Frost stared into his killer’s eyes and gasped.

The irises had turned a fiery red.

No. No! THAT’S NOT POSS-!

A revolver round ended his thought process.

((((((*******))))))

Present

“My past literally came back to haunt me after that. Everyone I’d killed, the graphic details of their deaths…everything started hitting me like a freight train, try as I might to ignore it.” Allen said in a shaky voice. “For days afterwards, I couldn’t talk to anyone. Everyone I knew was in danger. Shit, the whole fucking city was in danger. All I wanted was to stay in my house and keep the thing that I’d seen in the mirror away from the world, because I was afraid that the next living thing I saw would be my next victim.”

Twilight stared at him blankly as she processed everything she’d just heard, then spoke calmly to him. “If you were so afraid of killing people, then why didn’t you quit your job as a fixer?”

“I’d fully intended to. And then we activated the City Slayer for the first time.”

Author's Note

Hope you enjoyed. It's hard to coordinate a good fight scene when you're sick.
Remember to comment and like the story. Thanks everyone.