Dark Guardian: A New Dawn Page 3

  “And what makes you so certain?”

  “Because we have a guardian protecting us.”

  ***

  Today, every headline was about the two-year anniversary of Richardson’s death.

  The papers were finally taking a break from talking about the one subject they had beaten to death a thousand times over: Tripton’s and Crown City’s Guardian.

  The Guardian, the same man who had slain so many of Eric’s friends. The night that the costumed freak had first appeared, Eric found his comrades dead in an alley. Ever since then, The Guardian had taken out his friends one-by-one, and now nearly all were buried and gone.

  Holding a crumpled up newspaper in his clenched fist, Eric looked at the men who surrounded him. Two men armed with handguns stood on either side of him. Dressed in their dark coats and jackets, they stared at the second group. Behind him were a few small crates of the shipment he had brought in.

  The leader of the second group was a lank man who stood a few steps ahead of his three armed goons. He and his men were dressed in similar attire as their counterparts. In the leader’s hand was a metal briefcase that Eric hoped was full of the promised payment. If not, then this would not end well for anybody.

  The warehouse was worn down by age. All the windows were either broken or cracked. A little light from the outside leaked in and illuminated the otherwise dark building. Cracks and potholes covered the entirety of the concrete ground and the once colorful paint was now barely even visible. The columns themselves looked like they would collapse at any moment. The high ceiling was covered in a layer of rust that had formed over the course of decades.

  Around the room were numerous empty open crates that had been sitting there ever since the warehouse had closed down. Many of them were broken down and turned into firewood by the homeless, but a few still remained intact.

  All the criminals that stood in the empty warehouse waited for Eric to speak. Letting go of the newspaper, it slowly fell to the floor as Eric’s voice finally broke the silence. “I hope you double counted the money, Raul.”

  Raul ignored the remark. “Are you sure we’re safe here? Sure there won’t be any interference from any…lunatics?”

  “One of my men spotted him close to 53rd half an hour ago.” Eric wordlessly motioned for the man on his right to go and take the briefcase. The man began to make his way to collect the money as both parties kept their eyes on one another, making sure there would be no deception. One wrong move, and this building would turn into a kill zone with nobody walking away with their lives. But the goon quickly walked right in front of Raul. Looking him in the eyes, the goon reached over to take the briefcase…

  Suddenly, one of the windows exploded. The goon’s head jerked to the side before he collapsed with a bullet lodged in his brain.

  Every man’s heart clenched with fear as they saw the corpse lying in front of them. Standing wide-eyed, they all looked at the dead man, paralyzed from doing anything.

  With their adrenaline finally kicking in, they dismissed any of their hesitation and shock. A few of them instinctively aimed their weapons and began to blindly fire in the direction of the now-shattered window. A steady river of bullets flew out of the window and toward the adjacent rooftop; the roar of the gunfire completely consumed the building, instantly converting it into a battleground.

  Seeing no use in further shooting at a manless target, Eric raised up his hand and motioned for his remaining subordinates to hold their fire. The lackeys obeyed almost instantly upon seeing the command. Seeing what was happening, the other men soon ended their barrage of bullets as well, but kept their weapons pointed toward the rooftop.

  There was a long silence.

  Eric and the rest of the dealers expertly reloaded their weapons. One of Raul’s men slowly inched forward a few steps towards the shattered window, trying to get a better look at the rooftop.

  “Is he dead?” someone called out.

  Before the question could get answered, a single bullet split open the man’s skull. He fell onto the dirty floor, weapon sliding across the ground.

  Another bullet flew through the open window, this one running straight through another man’s neck. He fell to his knees as he let out a gurgled sound, desperately gasping for air. This time the men did not hesitate. They ran for cover while blindly firing at their blanketed attacker.

  Bullets deafeningly roared, shaking the warehouse’s walls. A fourth thug was shot twice in his spine and once in his head as he ran away; his back sharply curved inward as he let out a quick, piercing bellow before collapsing.

  Now completely exposed, Raul was under fire.

  The first bullet missed him and flew less than an inch above his skull as he ducked behind a column. He felt it graze a few strands of his hair. Trying to catch his breath, he pressed his back against the column as he held his handgun with both hands. Sweat covered his face and drenched his long coat as his body trembled with fear. Raul could not believe how quickly and mercilessly this attacker had slain four men.

  Raul heard Eric and his one remaining lackey relentlessly firing away at the sniper from their cover, hoping and praying that a lucky bullet would kill this killer and end the deadly siege. Raul suddenly heard another yell as Eric’s last henchman went down with a mortal wound. Eric roared as he attacked with a semi-automatic weapon he had wretched out of a corpse’s hand. The bullets raced towards the barely visible target. But the sniper did not waver and did not retreat.

  And he most certainly did not die.

  A bullet drove straight into Eric’s forehead. He was taken off of his feet before loudly falling onto his back. The room became silent. No one survived the massacre except for the one hiding behind the column.

  Raul looked up at the exit to his right. It was so close. There was barely any open space between him and it. Before the sniper knew it, he could make his move.

  Raul’s heart beat faster. Faster. And faster. His grip on his gun tightened and it felt like he would crush it with his own strength. This was the moment he needed. He needed to seize it if he wanted to live to see another day. He leaned to the side a bit, still protected by the column. With one hand holding his gun, his other formed into a painfully tight fist. Without thinking he suddenly darted toward the exit, running faster than he ever remembered running before as he blindly fired at the assassin.

  Two steps into his run…

  Dead.

  ***

  A man clad with a black ski mask over his face and rifle draped across his shoulder walked into the building through the exit Raul had been unable to reach. He paused for only a few moments to look over his handiwork.

  Unfazed by the tremendous sight of carnage, he headed toward the metal briefcase, causing rats to quickly dart away from it. With a swift and fluid move, the man pulled off his mask, revealing his face—William Jones.

  William picked up the briefcase with his free hand. The ex-soldier then pulled out a small silver device and quickly placed it into his ear. “It’s all good here. Targets are down and I’ve intercepted the tradeoff. I’ll dispose of the drop-off and rendezvous back with you.”

  There was brief static before Ethan’s voice came. “Good job. I’ll be out a little longer and meet you back at the warehouse.”

  Chapter 4

  Cost of War

  For the past two years, Crown City’s downtown district had been overwhelmed by the protestors almost every day, essentially closing streets to any through traffic. Today, the procession of marchers continued to clog the roadways and sidewalks. Tens of thousands of people had shown up today. Men and women of every race, color, and creed were a part of the march. Every day more and more people showed up in support. And that number would continue to grow until they captured victory.

  Three helicopters loudly hovered over the melee as newsmen kept their cameras pointed, trying to capture the best angle they could. Along the streets, reporters stood facing cameras with their backs turned toward the march. Just li
ke they did every day, they tried to speak above the noise to describe the scene to the world.

  At the front of the crowd and seen along the streets were numerous military Humvees, slowly moving, waiting to respond at the first sign of trouble. They made sure to keep no less than fifty yards between them and the crowd, keeping their turrets full of tear gas canisters ready and aimed at the procession.

  Soldiers and police officers lined the edges of streets as they watched the marchers boisterously march on. Armaments prepped and ready to be used—guns, batons, tear gas, etc.—all they needed was the signal from their commanding officer that the time was here. However, they knew the order would not come. It never did.

  And so the procession continued, monopolizing the streets, stretching as far as anybody could see…

  ***

  Near the front of the marchers, Adam looked to his left and to his right with pride. With every passing moment, his mind and heart filled with more courage to stand with “the brave.” He was a part of something—a movement—that would forever be remembered. He could do his part to help his nation’s hero.

  Usually never one to be outspoken, Adam marched in silence. But he felt the spirit within him was just as loud as the shouting voices yelling all around him.

  “Give us back our country!”

  “Down with Gonzalez and his thugs!”

  The passion of these men and women could be felt in the air. Adam breathed it in, as though he were inhaling energy fueled by the protestors. The zeal could be heard in their voices.

  “No more corruption!”

  “The injustice stops here!”

  “We’re taking back our futures!”

  Adam felt his energy surge with each step. He felt even more invigorated with each word that was spoken and more galvanized with every person he saw. This was really happening. He was really a part of this.

  And then, he saw him.

  Looking up at the darkened sky, Adam saw a lone figure standing at the edge of a rooftop. It was high up. The figure was small. It was too far for anybody to see unless they were looking for him, and Adam was always looking for him. It was impossible to confirm who it really was, but Adam knew. He knew who was always watching over them. He was there. Always there, waiting, protecting—their watchman, their angel…their Guardian.

  ***

  The warehouse was always cold, and today was no different.

  Ethan had not been one to care about the condition of the base, but William had slowly put it back together over the course of their mission. The worst parts of the decaying floor were fully repaired. The rest was still a work in progress. The square columns were not fully restored yet, but at least they did not look like they would fall apart at any moment. The walls were free from any rust and dirt. The high ceiling was now starting to look anew as well.

  Ethan leaned back as he looked at his computer monitor. Flashing from the screen was the day’s news. The recorder sat next to Ethan’s computer. A conversation between a group of men came out of it—the voice of the new president, Gonzalez, as he spoke to a group of his confidants. Unbeknownst to them, a well-placed bug had taken note of every word spoken just two nights prior. Ethan listened as the men desperately tried to find a way to come out of the “mess” without succumbing to the opposition. As each man offered an idea, the others seemingly shot it down by pointing its countless flaws.

  A beep sound came from one of the monitors.

  Ethan’s attention was suddenly drawn to the monitor linked to an outside security camera. It showed a man breaching the perimeter of the property as he hopped over the closed gate. In one hand, the person held a silver-metal briefcase.

  Recognizing the man as William, Ethan guessed he was carrying “the prize” from his successful mission.

  Turning his attention back to the recorded conversation, Ethan scribbled down a few notes as he continued to listen. Apparently, Gonzalez’s public statements were not his true intentions. Resignation was hardly even mentioned in the meeting. Instead, there was a darker game afoot that could change the course of the revolution.

  The thick door quickly closed shut with a heavy thud as William came inside from the cold, only to be greeted by the chill inside of the warehouse.

  A few steps in, he entered the warehouse’s main chamber. In the warehouse’s main chamber, the first thing that caught his eye was the main computer’s three monitors. They were fully illuminated. This master computer was much more useful than the ones in Ethan and William’s individual offices. On this hard drive was everything that The Guardian might ever need: the ability to hack into nearly any other system, list of known criminals, satellite vision of the entire city, and the ability to locate almost anybody based on sightings. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Right now, the monitors displayed the computer’s search as it ran through some trajectories to locate an escaped murderer. At the same time, it was running a background check on Villanueva, digging up information that dated back to his childhood.

  In one area were the medical supplies, ready like they always were. In an open space near one end of the main chamber rested the tall poles that Ethan practiced on. Close to that were several other type of training equipment: punching bags, dummies, targets, practice areas.

  A large board stood under a spotlight. It completely covered in headshots of criminals and corrupt officials. Nearly all the faces were marked out with an “X”.

  Close to the board were several long tables. There were countless papers laid out on them, including blueprints of majority of Crown City’s buildings and files ranging from the general background of individuals to much deeper secrets.

  And in another corner of the warehouse, the dim ceiling lights reflected off of four parked sports bikes. They were all sleek, jet black, and fast. Faster than any vehicle that would chase them here in Crown City.

  There were several illuminated, clear displays lined up on one side of the grand room. The one in the middle held Ethan’s costume. There were two more spare ones on either side of it. Next to that, was a closet full of daggers and throwing knives. In another closet was a spare outfit of William’s black clothing and ski mask. In the same closet were plenty of handguns, three high powered rifles, and enough ammunition to last an entire war.

  Ethan heard William’s footsteps gradually grow louder and louder as he came closer to the office doorway, and only a few feet away from Ethan’s desk. Ethan shut off the recording as he turned towards his friend.

  William slightly smiled. “Don’t you believe in sleeping?”

  “Good job today.”

  “Same to you. I’m assuming those dead muggers found were your doing.”

  “I’m surprised it even made the news.”

  “Even in a city of nearly ten million people, the death of four punks will be noticed…or was it five?”

  “Six.”

  “Close enough.”

  William lifted up the briefcase to make sure Ethan took notice of it. “Nearly one million dollars…not bad for a day’s work, I’d say. I guess there really is money to be made by interfering in drug shipments and sniping mobsters.” He made his way around to the back of Ethan’s chair and looked at the computer screen. “Anything interesting in the papers?”

  “Is there ever?”

  “I’d expect it would all be details of your exploits.”

  “Not today.”

  “What then? Accounts of people you saved?”

  “Nothing about my exploits made the front page. It’s Richardson.”

  William’s tone became more serious. “Richardson? It’s already his anniversary?”

  Ethan nodded.

  “I guess criminals get memorials now on their anniversaries.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “So I met with Marcos and the gang.”

  “Was Villanueva there at the meeting?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did they say?”

  William took a seat on the armc
hair a few feet away from his friend. “They’re happy with the way the chips are falling. They’re saying that their sources tell them that Gonzalez will resign pretty soon and there’ll be emergency elections.”

  Ethan simply nodded.

  “But I’m guessing that you already knew this?”

  “I wouldn’t count on their sources.”

  “You don’t think he’s resigning soon?”

  “Not without a fight,” Ethan replied.

  “Is that what’s bothering you?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is?”

  “Tony. He seems pretty keen on winning the presidency.”

  William was clearly surprised by Ethan’s concern. “Tony? He’s one of the most influential members of the group. His muscle is what makes almost everything happen. What makes you say this?”

  “I stay on top of these things…while you are sleeping, I’m seeing what’s going on behind closed doors.”

  “I guess not ever sleeping has its advantages. How come Marcos didn’t tell me this?”

  “He doesn’t want to believe it. Tony’s not the man Tripton needs as its leader.”

  “I doubt he would win it though. Doesn’t seem to be as much of a household name as some of the others who might try for the presidency. If anything, Villanueva would win by a landslide. He’s the hero in a lot of people’s eyes, probably the most popular figure…after you.”

  “That’s the problem. Tony is not one who will take the loss lightly. He won’t support the new government. He has enough political and social power to severely weaken or even destabilize what will be a fragile government to begin with.”

  “So…what’s the plan?” William asked. “I mean, we can’t get rid of him. Without him, the movement would not be nearly as powerful or well financed.”

  “I’ll work something out.”

  “Do you need me to do anything?”

  Ethan shook his head.

  William was silent for a short moment. “So, your brother called today. Left a message for you.”