Day of Reckoning
4. Armageddon
"Mr Sanders?" the well-educated foreign voice over the phone enquired. "Yeah who's speaking?" Matt demanded. "A little more courtesy than that, Mr Sanders" the voice said politely, though with an undertone of annoyance. "Yeah well, I dunno who you are bro, so you better start telling me how you got my number!" Matt shouted down the phone. There was a few seconds of silence then the voice continued, "I usually do not permit that sort of language. I have people killed for speaking to me like that. Yet I am also somewhat reasonable. I know the tremendous loss you have suffered recently, so I will let this pass." Matt stared at the phone in shock, then asked in a much politer voice, "I'm sorry, but could you please tell me who you are?" "My name is not important" the voice said, "though what I can do for you is VERY important, especially to yourself. I can give you the man responsible for your friend Brian Haner's murder." Matt couldn't believe it; he had immediately suspected after watching the news report on that fateful day that Zacky may have had something to do with it, but he would be dealt with in time. Matt wanted to know who actually shot him. "Okay that's fucking great! Who is this guy? What goddamned black ops unit is he in? Where is his family?" Matt asked, thinking that it would have been some elite CIA operative. "This may come as a shock Mr Sanders" the voice warned, "but Mr Haner was NOT killed by a secretive US Government agent. Yes, it was someone in US Special Forces. The name of that person is Zachary James Baker, who is serving in the US Delta Force."
Matt was shocked. Zacky! No no this couldn't be right! Zacky, the big-hearted kid that they had grown up with! Zacky, who squealed like a little bitch that time in the cemetery after Michelle's funeral! Zacky, who had foolishly fallen in love with some bitch detective handling Val's murder case! "No no man, you got it all wrong!" Matt declared over the phone, "Zacky's a little bitch! He wouldn't have the balls to even carry a gun, let alone kill someone!" "Mr Sanders, my sources are very correct" the man said with an omnious tone in his voice, "I had been tracking Brian Haner for 2 years now. My organisation is looking for fresh talent. Yourself and Mr Haner have proven to be quite remarkable killers, hence why we were tracking Mr Haner and yourself. I disguised myself as a homeless person, hidden away in an alcove in the alley. Of course, neither Mr Haner or Mr Baker seen me. I recognise Mr Baker's pictures from old tabloid articles. I seen him fake his death, sneak up behind Mr Haner, put the gun to his head. I heard Mr Haner calling him by his name. I seen Mr Baker shoot him once in the head. Then another man disguised as a skeleton entered the scene, and together him and Mr Baker kidnapped Mr Haner's partner, and made it look as if Mr Haner had died in an attack by gangsters. I am currently trying to track the skeleton man as well. I believe he is British Special Forces." Matt was silent, gobsmacked. He couldn't believe what he had heard; that Zacky was both Syn's murderer (and how he would SUFFER when Matt got a hold of him!), and that Zacky was in league with amongst the hardest military killers known to humankind. British Special Forces for Christ's sake! Matt felt fear at that very moment; he, along with many other military buffs worldwide, knew how terrifyingly lethal the British Spec Ops were, even more deadly than many of their American counterparts. How much did this skeleton man know about them? Matt knew that Zacky would have told him everything there was to know. He had no other option; he had to trust the mystery man on the other end of the phone. "Okay... wow... that's fucked up" Matt said, "okay, I'm guessing you need something done in return for what you have just told me. You send me the details, and I'll do it! On 2 conditions" Matt suddenly snapped. "Yes, very well, what are they?" the voice asked. "Find out who this British guy is, so I can organise to kill him" Matt stated, "and... I want Zacky caught and brought to me. Hogtied. Unharmed. It'll be me who fucks him up... right before I cut off his head" Matt hissed, his voice nothing but pure venom. "It will be done Mr Sanders, upon completion of the task I am about to give to you" the man stated, obviously untroubled by Matt's demeanour. "Sure thing, now what do you need done?" Matt asked. "It's a difficult task, Mr Sanders, but I'm sure yourself and your accomplice, Mr Ilejay will be more than up to the job" the man said pleasantly over the phone, "how would you like to visit Vatican City, and make a grand exit?"
Vatican City. Not one of the 840 inhabitants of the city was awake at 11:24pm, exactly 3 weeks after Matt's phone conversation. Even the Swiss Guard were winding down, not noticing the 2 intruders who moved stealthily through the shadows. Not noticing that the intruders had a canister containing a new and deadly weapon, a weapon capable of turning even the most calmest of people to raging homicidal maniacs. This weapon, derived from a cheap drug, would be capable of spreading all throughout the city, therefore turning the city into a warzone... or so the manufacturers hoped.
The next morning was pure chaos.
The weapon was detonated at precisely 6:45am, with the triggermen hidden just outside the city walls, protected by EOD suits, armed with modified M4A5 assault rifles that could hold 100 rounds in the mag, scopes, and grenade launchers. It only took a matter of minutes for the gas to spread all around the city. Residents woke up with instant rage. The time it took for residents to tear outside, spot each other and start attacking one another was remarkable. Within 3 minutes, the majority of the residents were doing their best to maul each other like dogs. People were biting, scratching, stabbing, shooting, everything. Within 20 minutes the city was in flames, with people setting fire to anything they could get their hands on. Within another 10 minutes, most people were dead, having either been killed by someone else viciously or had taken in too much of the chemical and convulsed and died. Those who weren't dead were dying howling like souls in the fires of Hell. And the place certainly looked like Hell at the moment- burning and fire all around, mutilated, tormented bodies, screaming. The few residents who were still alive looked at the approaching demon-like figures with terror. They really must have thought that this was the end, the end of the world.
The 2 bulky figures marvelled in amazement at the carnage. The weapon, which was an amplified form of the street drug ice, itself being blamed for many psychotic episodes and deaths worldwide, worked much better than their employer had anticipated. The residents had, quite simply, torn each other to pieces. There was only meant to be one person left standing- The Pope. Who was to be found walking amongst the carnage, staring in horror, wondering why he was the only one NOT affected by the madness. Someone very close to him, without his knowledge, had injected him with the antidote to the weapon while he was sleeping; whoever the man was that wanted him killed, wanted to save him for last.
The Pope of the Catholic Church stared in shock and horror as the two monstrous figures approached him, wielding machine guns. They were clad in bulky armour and helmets that had protected them from the gas. He, the Pope, knew what those suits were. He had seen them on the news everytime another killing in Afghanistan came on the program. They were EOD suits used primarily by the United States Army. And he could make out the faces of the men: both had long hair. One had dark hair and brown eyes, the other had lighter-coloured hair and hazel eyes. "Wh-wh-who may you be!? Why did you do this!!?" screamed the Pope, falling to his knees, weeping uncontrollably and praying for all of the poor unfortunate people who had just died. The 2 monsters looked at him, amused. "Mr Guerra sends his regards" said the hazel-eyed demon, as both men opened fire on the Pope, mercilessly pumping him with bullets, not stopping until their clips were emptied. They reloaded quickly in case of any survivors that might attack, and quickly surveyed the scene. The Pope was beyond recognizable; what was left after the fusillade of bullets was just a meaty, bloody mass. The mysterious man called Mr Guerra had specifically requested this as a last-minute objective add on, offering the two men $5,000,000 each for it to be done. The brown-eyed man took out a Polaroid camera and snapped 3 pictures of the dead Pope, and 10 shots of the carnage around them. Mr Guerra would want to see these, as proof of the job being done. Laughing, both men made their way out of Vatican City, stopping only to kill a few survivors here and there.
"HOLY SHIT THAT WAS AWESOME!!!!!" Arin Ilejay shouted out loud in the van to Matt, who looked equally excited. "Yeah man that fucking gas bomb was nuts! Shit, I want one!" Matt yelled back as both men high-fived each other and cruised towards a field where a chopper was waiting for them, laughing and joking about what had just happened, and pulling grotesque faces at each other for maximum effect.
2 hours later, aboard a private jet, Matt and Arin were headed to Mexico, to hide out with one of Mexico's most notorious drug kingpins, Oscar Guerra, a shadowy figure in the War on Drugs and no doubt one of Mexico's most brutal and violent inhabitants. It was Guerra himself who had been the mystery caller, him who had ordered the attack on the Vatican, him who had ordered the hit on the Pope. Matt and Arin were understandably slightly nervous going back to Mexico, as it was so close to home, and they were being hunted with zeal by their own government. But Oscar had offered his fullest protection, and also employment as hitmen. Oscar promised great pay, security, and all of the drugs and women they wanted... all they had to do was carry out dangerous missions for Oscar, missions he would entrust to no-one else. And Matt and Arin already knew that he was making good on finding Zacky, the snake who had betrayed them. Zacky would be in their hands any day now.
Matt was shocked. Zacky! No no this couldn't be right! Zacky, the big-hearted kid that they had grown up with! Zacky, who squealed like a little bitch that time in the cemetery after Michelle's funeral! Zacky, who had foolishly fallen in love with some bitch detective handling Val's murder case! "No no man, you got it all wrong!" Matt declared over the phone, "Zacky's a little bitch! He wouldn't have the balls to even carry a gun, let alone kill someone!" "Mr Sanders, my sources are very correct" the man said with an omnious tone in his voice, "I had been tracking Brian Haner for 2 years now. My organisation is looking for fresh talent. Yourself and Mr Haner have proven to be quite remarkable killers, hence why we were tracking Mr Haner and yourself. I disguised myself as a homeless person, hidden away in an alcove in the alley. Of course, neither Mr Haner or Mr Baker seen me. I recognise Mr Baker's pictures from old tabloid articles. I seen him fake his death, sneak up behind Mr Haner, put the gun to his head. I heard Mr Haner calling him by his name. I seen Mr Baker shoot him once in the head. Then another man disguised as a skeleton entered the scene, and together him and Mr Baker kidnapped Mr Haner's partner, and made it look as if Mr Haner had died in an attack by gangsters. I am currently trying to track the skeleton man as well. I believe he is British Special Forces." Matt was silent, gobsmacked. He couldn't believe what he had heard; that Zacky was both Syn's murderer (and how he would SUFFER when Matt got a hold of him!), and that Zacky was in league with amongst the hardest military killers known to humankind. British Special Forces for Christ's sake! Matt felt fear at that very moment; he, along with many other military buffs worldwide, knew how terrifyingly lethal the British Spec Ops were, even more deadly than many of their American counterparts. How much did this skeleton man know about them? Matt knew that Zacky would have told him everything there was to know. He had no other option; he had to trust the mystery man on the other end of the phone. "Okay... wow... that's fucked up" Matt said, "okay, I'm guessing you need something done in return for what you have just told me. You send me the details, and I'll do it! On 2 conditions" Matt suddenly snapped. "Yes, very well, what are they?" the voice asked. "Find out who this British guy is, so I can organise to kill him" Matt stated, "and... I want Zacky caught and brought to me. Hogtied. Unharmed. It'll be me who fucks him up... right before I cut off his head" Matt hissed, his voice nothing but pure venom. "It will be done Mr Sanders, upon completion of the task I am about to give to you" the man stated, obviously untroubled by Matt's demeanour. "Sure thing, now what do you need done?" Matt asked. "It's a difficult task, Mr Sanders, but I'm sure yourself and your accomplice, Mr Ilejay will be more than up to the job" the man said pleasantly over the phone, "how would you like to visit Vatican City, and make a grand exit?"
Vatican City. Not one of the 840 inhabitants of the city was awake at 11:24pm, exactly 3 weeks after Matt's phone conversation. Even the Swiss Guard were winding down, not noticing the 2 intruders who moved stealthily through the shadows. Not noticing that the intruders had a canister containing a new and deadly weapon, a weapon capable of turning even the most calmest of people to raging homicidal maniacs. This weapon, derived from a cheap drug, would be capable of spreading all throughout the city, therefore turning the city into a warzone... or so the manufacturers hoped.
The next morning was pure chaos.
The weapon was detonated at precisely 6:45am, with the triggermen hidden just outside the city walls, protected by EOD suits, armed with modified M4A5 assault rifles that could hold 100 rounds in the mag, scopes, and grenade launchers. It only took a matter of minutes for the gas to spread all around the city. Residents woke up with instant rage. The time it took for residents to tear outside, spot each other and start attacking one another was remarkable. Within 3 minutes, the majority of the residents were doing their best to maul each other like dogs. People were biting, scratching, stabbing, shooting, everything. Within 20 minutes the city was in flames, with people setting fire to anything they could get their hands on. Within another 10 minutes, most people were dead, having either been killed by someone else viciously or had taken in too much of the chemical and convulsed and died. Those who weren't dead were dying howling like souls in the fires of Hell. And the place certainly looked like Hell at the moment- burning and fire all around, mutilated, tormented bodies, screaming. The few residents who were still alive looked at the approaching demon-like figures with terror. They really must have thought that this was the end, the end of the world.
The 2 bulky figures marvelled in amazement at the carnage. The weapon, which was an amplified form of the street drug ice, itself being blamed for many psychotic episodes and deaths worldwide, worked much better than their employer had anticipated. The residents had, quite simply, torn each other to pieces. There was only meant to be one person left standing- The Pope. Who was to be found walking amongst the carnage, staring in horror, wondering why he was the only one NOT affected by the madness. Someone very close to him, without his knowledge, had injected him with the antidote to the weapon while he was sleeping; whoever the man was that wanted him killed, wanted to save him for last.
The Pope of the Catholic Church stared in shock and horror as the two monstrous figures approached him, wielding machine guns. They were clad in bulky armour and helmets that had protected them from the gas. He, the Pope, knew what those suits were. He had seen them on the news everytime another killing in Afghanistan came on the program. They were EOD suits used primarily by the United States Army. And he could make out the faces of the men: both had long hair. One had dark hair and brown eyes, the other had lighter-coloured hair and hazel eyes. "Wh-wh-who may you be!? Why did you do this!!?" screamed the Pope, falling to his knees, weeping uncontrollably and praying for all of the poor unfortunate people who had just died. The 2 monsters looked at him, amused. "Mr Guerra sends his regards" said the hazel-eyed demon, as both men opened fire on the Pope, mercilessly pumping him with bullets, not stopping until their clips were emptied. They reloaded quickly in case of any survivors that might attack, and quickly surveyed the scene. The Pope was beyond recognizable; what was left after the fusillade of bullets was just a meaty, bloody mass. The mysterious man called Mr Guerra had specifically requested this as a last-minute objective add on, offering the two men $5,000,000 each for it to be done. The brown-eyed man took out a Polaroid camera and snapped 3 pictures of the dead Pope, and 10 shots of the carnage around them. Mr Guerra would want to see these, as proof of the job being done. Laughing, both men made their way out of Vatican City, stopping only to kill a few survivors here and there.
"HOLY SHIT THAT WAS AWESOME!!!!!" Arin Ilejay shouted out loud in the van to Matt, who looked equally excited. "Yeah man that fucking gas bomb was nuts! Shit, I want one!" Matt yelled back as both men high-fived each other and cruised towards a field where a chopper was waiting for them, laughing and joking about what had just happened, and pulling grotesque faces at each other for maximum effect.
2 hours later, aboard a private jet, Matt and Arin were headed to Mexico, to hide out with one of Mexico's most notorious drug kingpins, Oscar Guerra, a shadowy figure in the War on Drugs and no doubt one of Mexico's most brutal and violent inhabitants. It was Guerra himself who had been the mystery caller, him who had ordered the attack on the Vatican, him who had ordered the hit on the Pope. Matt and Arin were understandably slightly nervous going back to Mexico, as it was so close to home, and they were being hunted with zeal by their own government. But Oscar had offered his fullest protection, and also employment as hitmen. Oscar promised great pay, security, and all of the drugs and women they wanted... all they had to do was carry out dangerous missions for Oscar, missions he would entrust to no-one else. And Matt and Arin already knew that he was making good on finding Zacky, the snake who had betrayed them. Zacky would be in their hands any day now.
Holy shit!!!
3/18/14