Reaper

Reaper

 

 

The pale moonlight sifted through the church’s window pane. The rain drummed the roof into an orchestra of dissonance. Emptiness fills the benches and podiums where the devout once worshiped. Screams of pain and valor are echoed from outside into the church; Followed by gun fire.

 

“Bang! Bang! Crash!”

 

The screams slowly fade, until all is silent. Neither a word nor whisper is heard beyond the chapel door. The moon’s light shined brighter into the windows. The rain’s drumming slowly trickles away leaving an eerie silence that lingers within the shadowed chapel.

 

The silence is hesitantly broken by a faint sound of footsteps approaching the entrance. As the footsteps get closer they increase in sound and speed. The steps went from tip toe into loud smashes. A final loud stomp crashes, and the church doors slam to the end of the walls. A middle aged man, with a slender body, dressed in business attire, fearfully runs farther into the sermon hall as the entrance doors slowly shut. Ignoring the pain, he grasps his right bicep as it oozes out blood. Keeping as much pressure possible on the wound, the red seeps through his fingers. The pain doesn’t fade him, His body keeps charging, lost in the fear of whatever lies outside the church. He runs, his mind pushing him to go just that little bit farther, but this hope unfortunately get crushed. His foot curls and his body collapses on the hard tile in front of the pastor’s podium. His face is a flustered pink from slamming into the hard tile. His eyes knew that this was a fatal mistake. His ankle was now swelling. He tries to regain his thoughts and drags his body forward. With the strength he had remaining, the man pulled his body to rest his back on the podium. Blood continued to drip from the man's arm. His mind was adrift, thinking of all the things he would if he could escape this horror. He sat directly in the center of the chapel, his focus on the church doors. He knew that now his pursuer would catch up to him, regardless if he could still run or find a place to crawl and hide. Footsteps are heard coming from outside the door. His eyes tighten in fear;

 

The church door opens slowly and discreet. Light peers through the growing entrance of the door and a shadowed figure slowly steps in. The wounded mans injured face turns from pink to pale. Patient and secure, the figure fully steps into the church and the door slowly squeals shut behind him. The shadowed figure walks closer and his features become more discernible. Its face was a covered by a custom gas mask, designed to look like a skull. The masks sung a hollow breathing noise which got louder as he approached. The masks eyes were hollow black socket shapes only revealing darkness partnered with blood splatters and slight crackings. It held in each hand a special enhanced Leupold rifle, each with its fingers ready to fire. Its body was that of an armored man in custom Kevlar and mesh wire overcoat which shielded its entire body.  It walked slowly, rigid, yet patient through the sermon halls. Its eyes were locked in the wounded mans vision.

 

“Please let me go…” the wounded man uttered. “You’ve killed everyone else… The leader behind the whole operation is dead… There’s no need to harm me…Let me go..?”           

 

The masked man tilted his head to the side, as if intrigued by the wounded man’s plea. But his plea did not stop the pursuer’s efforts. He patiently grew closer to his new victim, like a puppet master ready to play with his new toy.  

 

“I know I have done questionable things, but I’m a good man honest! I never knew everything would spiral out of control like this…. Please! Spare me! I have a family!

 

The figure continued to creep closer to the wounded man. His steps were silent as if it were a wolf stalking its prey, but the silence of his steps were paired by the screeching of one of its rifles dragging on the rough tile. The loud noise disturbed the injured man almost as much as his pursuer’s presence. At this distance the injured man could discern various belts holstering knives and different bullet clippings that were strapped around its body. The loud squeal continued on for what felt like minutes, no hours until the gunman stopped a meters distance away.  The figure towered over the injured man like a being of supreme omniscience readied with firearms. The injured man tried to stand as some sort of respect for negotiation but stumbled. The loss of blood was too much, it hindered the man’s ability to stand. The figure kept his lifeless stand, leaving his hazed breathing to continue. It’s godless eyes pierce into the wounded one’s soul. The injured man’s shriveled voice cried,

 

“I once believed that I was helping out everyone… but…. I soon learned this to be a lie. I thought by… becoming one of the big men….. You know the ones in who could actually do something… I…I could change things.” The injured man lifted his left hand and let go of his wound. He put it up to face and peered intensely at the red stained palm. “How could I be so foolish…?”

 

A calm muffled reply came out of the figures mask.  

 

“Lowell. I have no doubts that you are an honest man. Unfortunatly, my line of work won’t tolerate you leave here alive today.”

 

The injured man, Lowell’s eyes secreted full streams of tears. “How can you live like this!? You murdered everyone! Every single executive of Loyal, Heavy Industries is dead! Some of them were even my friends… Why..?”   

 

The masked figure raised a rifle straight to Lowell’s forehead. Lowell wasn’t sure if he had crossed his boundaries or the figure grew impatient. Nonetheless Lowell kept a clear focus the gunman’s movements, for the next one might be it pulling the trigger.

 

The gunman spoke again with its voice muffled by the mask “I only do what the contract states. I’ve read your profile; I know that you don’t deserve death; let alone that bullet lodged into your right arm. You are simply a good man with unfortunate circumstances. I am sorry you came in my path… now ill give ten seconds to pray to your god.”  

 

Lowell, attempted to swallow the shallow words told to him, but they were large for his esophagus. He choked up a little and wiped away the tears from his eyes. He thought about all that he loved and all he wished he could do. Lowell knew at this point there was nothing left. This was to be his end. He closed his eyes and began to pray.

 

The two beings stood in the center or the church, surrounded by hard stone angel statues as they passively observe the events of a killer, kill again. The skull figure patiently waited with the gun pointing from his hand. The skull figure’s stance did not falter by holding the large rifle up with one arm. There was no sign of hesitation in his breathing, no signs of emotion at all. The gunman kept the gun pointing at its victim and solely honored the gift of prayer to its victim… then pulled the trigger.

 

“Bang!!!”

 

Rain hit the outside courtyard of the church. Stone angel statues cry their tears from the previous rain. The masked figure steps out from the church doors to review its previous work. It continued to hold its rifles in each hand prepared to gun down any stragler. The gunman see’s multiple masked figures like himself cleaning up a mess of bodies and gunfire. The many masked figures pick up their bullet casings and wiped away any evidence of their presence. A tall skull soldier walks up to Lowell’s murderer and salutes.

 

“Major Divyk— The mission objective is complete. We will have finished tidying up the area in the next five minutes.

 

The Killer known as Divyk, took off his mask and greeted his comrade. Divyk’s face was young, he was no farther than his late twenties. His pupils peered a heavy yellow hue and his hair was a ragged medium length slightly covering his eyebrows. His face remained cold and distant, leaving his original skull mask as an accurate interpretation to his real glare. His calm voice, spoke once again,

 

“Thank you private… Your service was very helpful. Our money should be transferred to us within minutes then.”

 

The tall skull soldier seemed to express a shine of glee through his mask and carried on with his duties. Divik holstered his rifles to a mechanism strapped to each thigh. His lifeless gaze looked up to the moon shine through the clouds. He could smell the fresh wet dirt aroma from the heavy rain. Though his face would not say a word, the moon amazed him by how it shined in the night. In a sea of dark, there existed some form of shining light. Divik gave a cynical chuckle to his own thoughts. He knew such optimism was useless in his line of work. His slight chuckled was brief, it slowly morphed into a solid frown. Divik looked back at the church doors and pictures of lowell’s lifeless corpse attacked his thoughts. He brushed off what was possible and whispered to himself, “I’m sorry.”