Chapter 1
The room is shrouded in shadows, the moon’s glow filtering through the window, and the remnants of the nightmare still cling to the edges of my consciousness.
The same nightmare as always, back when me and Blackrose were still together.
My chest heaves as I struggle to separate the dream from reality. The disorientation lingers, the horrors that unfolded in my mind casting a long and haunting shadow. I run a shaky hand through my tousled, dark hair, in an attempt to shake off the lingering unease that clings to me.
My eyes dart around the room, I am alone, and that’s how I like it in moments like this—the familiar furniture, and hum of my computer and mask nearby. The reassuring solidity of my surroundings just made these moments easier to shake off I often tell myself when I bury the pain.
Approaching my computer I look at my face, or rather the face I choose to wear from now on. It was my pride and joy, my masterpiece.
It wasn’t just the cutting edge of technology it was the bleeding edge. And it was all mine. This beautiful mask is a technological marvel, boasting a clear glass front, its surface unusually thick. As the mask syncs with the computer, the glass lights up with a soft, pulsating glow. Download 84 percent complete read on the computer, which was sending information to the mask.
Suddenly, an email notification pierces the digital silence, and the thick glass lights up with the incoming message. A video plays, and on the screen appears a woman with striking yellow and red hair, a vivid contrast against the virtual canvas. She appears to be rather annoyed by the video message.
“Ghost!” The video’s audio statics before coming clear.
“Ghost I know you are fucking there! You can’t tell me you don’t need any extra money, so stop dodging me! Ping me back, damnit!” she exclaims before the video abruptly cuts off.
Delta...Why do you even bother?
Why do you insist on reaching out to me, when all I do is ignore you?
You are a strange one...But I at least owe you a reply...
Later on maybe...
I reach out, fingers brushing the sleek surface of the mask. The cool touch sends a subtle shiver through me, a sensation both comforting and unsettling some would say.
I gaze lovely into my mask, as I long to put my true face back on. This horror I became later on, is no longer who I am when I put on my face. As my hand lingers, I feel an inexplicable connection to my mask. It was the one thing that’s still true about me, and as I ran my fingers across it I felt more and more alive. Setting my face back down, I look at the counter, 95 percent. Not much longer now.
With a deliberate motion, I grab the remote, and the room responds to the glow emanating from the TV. The screen flickers to life, revealing the visage of an older man, his bald head gleaming under the studio lights. His voice, rich and seasoned, narrates the day’s events, a comforting backdrop to my contemplation.
Beside him, a young woman with vibrant red hair captures the screen, her presence injecting a youthful energy into the news broadcast. She speaks enthusiastically, her expressions conveying a mix of gravitas and optimism.
The musical promo ended as the anchors were given the ok to speak and with that, the red-haired woman began to speak.
With a determined look on her face, she leaned forward, addressing the viewers with a probing question, “Mutants, are they going to school with your children, and what is our government doing to protect us from them?”
The bald anchor with an air of seasoned authority, leaned back in his chair, countering, “Now, let’s not forget that mutants had their side of the state, and people kept harassing them. What about that Rita?”
Rita, not easily swayed, countered sharply, “Their heritage? You ask all of us hard-working citizens to not only provide free care for these things. You also asked us to give up our land, which we paid taxes for, and you tore down our idols and icons. Then you turn around you ask them to give it over to a bunch of mutated hornheads?”
Leaning forward even more, “The hell you think will happen, people are going to get angry and rise against the bull!” Rita said in a fiery tone.
Richard sighed, trying to steer the conversation away from offensive terms, “Hold on now Rita, that’s a very offensive term. The correct term is enhanced individuals, and not all of them have horns.”
Rita wasn’t letting up, her tone challenging, “Wow, Richard, are you really and I do mean defending these people now? You’re looking mighty suspicious, Rich. You want to tell us something?”
Every night it’s the same with these two, they are always playing off each other’s toxicity, and in the end, both go home with fat checks and an adoring fanbase willing to kill for them, but these two don’t even know their names. Some would call this madness, but they know it by another word. Politics.
I rise from the chair having had enough of these two and their constant verbal dance off. I turn the TV off, I had enough of it all for one night.
I felt a subtle tension lingering in the air I could almost taste it, normally this told me I needed to be on guard. But tonight I had no contracts, no one coming my way I wonder why I felt it. Death should not be in the air tonight but it was.
The LED mask, now completing its download, pulses softly as it comes online. I approach it with a sense of anticipation, and finally, I can feel complete again. Without my true face, I always felt so empty, I could always see memories of my dark past, scars and burns may heal with time, but this emptiness never does. It only grows more and more vast. Every day trapped in my flesh is another day I want to end it all, but I can’t.
Not when I have so many targets left that is.
The only illumination comes from the ambient glow of the LED mask. Time to return to my search for the one who trapped me in this hell.
As I move towards the wardrobe I notice a shift in the air, it is as if the peace in the mouse burrow was disturbed by the ambush of the snake.
Perhaps I have been out of my skin for too long and I am simply jumpy as they say?
Opening the wardrobe all that was in it was a collection of suits. Black tactical gear awaiting me. The fabric is cool against my fingertips as I run my hand over it. The tactical gear, sleek and form-fitting, molds to my physique, my true skin, and the only skin I feel comfortable in. It feels like protective armor, both physical and psychological for me.
The act of dressing each night became a ritual, each piece of the gear fitting into place with a reassuring click or soft rustle. I felt at peace in my suit, which was more like my skin than the body I was in now. With the final clasp, I look at myself in the only mirror around and ask...
Is this who I am, or what I have become?
In a compartment behind the armor is a small picture Its worn edges and faded. The image is of a happy family but it’s partially burned. The Edges only share the father burned out, the mother holding her daughter, and a Son looking out to the ocean.
I carefully take the photo into my hands, feeling the delicate paper under my fingertips.
Turning the photo, I notice the partial burn marks that mar the once vibrant scene. The name “Calliope” is inscribed on the back but the rest are burnt over.
“Happy birthday little sister,” I say tearfully before putting the picture back in its safe place.
Wiping away the final traces of tears, I approached my Mask, the true face that held back all the tears. As I started to place it on, however, the escalating screams from the neighboring apartment became more audible.
The sound was accompanied by a series of violent crashes and the unmistakable shattering of glass.
“You better hope he gets the money down there bitch, or we will have a good time with that mouth of yours again.” One voice says in a gruff tone.
“Come on sweet stuff, just come back to the club and dance a few nights, give some nice service and I am sure the boss will let you and your man off.” another voice says
“Please just give him time, I swear he is on his way down there with the payment, just please.” I recognized this voice, it was my neighbor.
Sarah, Stacy I couldn’t remember her name, she and her deadbeat boyfriend always had issues. He either stole from the wrong one or borrowed from the wrong one. Sometimes in hell that could be the same person.
Lost in my thoughts I didn’t notice the knock at my door until it turned into a bang.
Who was there, concerned neighbors or the idiots from next door?
I do not have visitors of my own, I always keep to myself. If it’s not a job I prefer to be uninvolved in the affairs of others, but the violent commotion next door was becoming an annoyance. Especially if it was spilling over to my docile. Ignoring the annoyance of the persistent knocking, I decided to only check it after bandaging my face and selected this in place of my true face. Bandages slowly wrapped around my head, they were soft and dingy after reuse.
No one should see me without my face, a rule I lived by. Only a select few earned the privilege to glimpse the features beneath my mask and live to tell the tale. Tonight, however, the bandages would have to suffice.
The knocking was once loud at one point but slowly they grew faint with every bang, as if losing hope with every strike. With a resigned sigh, I finally opened the door, expecting the usual figures — loan sharks, or perhaps the old woman from the far end of the hall she often came by. But that was not who was here tonight. To my surprise, standing before me was a small girl, no older than five or six, clutching a worn-out doll.
Her innocent eyes met mine, filled with a mix of fear and curiosity.
“Do you know where Miss Chiyo is?”
She asks in a quiet tone, shuddering every time she hears glass break or scream.
For a moment, I hesitated, before shaking my head, what was a child doing here?
She shudders again as the woman next door screams louder and the men continue to taunt her.
“Mommy said go to Miss Chiyo and hide, but she isn’t opening her door.” She was barely able to get out as tears built in her eyes.
“Where is your father?”
“I don’t have one, its just me Mommy and Roy.” She responds quietly.
“Who is Roy?” I ask.
“He is mean, he makes mommy do stuff that makes her cry.” She responded in a broken tone.
Before she could get another word out, the screams of the woman next door caused her to go silent, the tearful child dropping her doll in fear.
“You bitch get out of there. You think you can fucking cheat us, we are going to ring your neck out!”
Bang, Bang Bang!
The banging on a door and the shattering of glass intensifies.
the frightened child dropped her doll, tears streaming down her face, I felt a pang of sympathy for her innocence shattered by the chaos beyond the walls. Her sobs echoed in the dingy apartment, a stark reminder of the harsh realities of life in Hell. Moving swiftly, I guided her to a chair in the kitchen, a small oasis of calm amidst the storm.
I couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at me. This child, like so many others, was an unwitting victim of circumstance, thrust into a world of darkness she didn’t deserve. None of us did yet for some reason, this world, just keeps kicking us repeatedly in the stomach.
There is only one thing that can be done now. One thing that can make everything right. I move to my mask, pick it up, and gently place it over the child’s head. She will wear my face for now, while I dawn the face of a monster to solve her problems.
No more crying family, you know what must be done.
“Calliope, play cartoons,” I instructed, activating the AI within the helmet-like mask. With a soft hum, the AI came online.
“Playing classic cartoons” The soft voice would say as the screen inside came alive and immersed her in the world.
“Full immersion on the volume,” I command.
Calliope will make sure she doesn’t hear one scream.
Calliope confirms the command, the smart AI within the mask slowly immerses the child in the cartoon, amplifying the sound of the cartoon until it drowns out all else. The cheerful melodies wrap around us like a protective blanket, soothing the frightened child and assuring her that everything will be okay.
**The Cartoons are of a Rabbit not singing a high school musical song about being a hare. Followed by the Cowboy’s version of Sweet Home Texas, I am coming home to you. The Whacky cartoons play in the helmet, and the sound is completely immersive.**
I will need to find a new location to lay low after this. Bodies attract unwanted attention and eventually, these two will be noticed.
I take a moment to unwrap the bandages concealing my face, exposing the scars and contours beneath.
Taking a serrated blade with a wooden hilt from its sheath I would bring it behind my back as I slowly walked out and over to the nearby apartment.
As I stepped into the dimly lit apartment, it was a disgusting sight. Trash, needles, mixed with dirty clothes and children’s toys strewn about.
It’s hard to tell if it looked this bad before they ransacked it based on how bad things are.
I could taste the intent of the goons here. They fed on fear, they broke family, relationships, and dreams all for the sake of money, power, and control. They feed off fear and use it as a weapon to control anything unfortunate to get caught in their grasp. I understood this nature well.
Because I fed on fear as well, and they are just my type of evening snack.
One figure continues to pound furiously on what seems to be a bathroom or bedroom door, while the other tears through the room with reckless abandon.
“Your man ran off on our boys, so he ain’t coming back so you know what that means don’t you? Your man can’t pay up, so you going to have to pay with some ass!” the larger of the men said.
Their actions halt abruptly as they catch sight of me, their expressions shifting from confusion to shock.
The largest of them, his features twisted into a scowl, demands, “Who the fuck are you?”
Ignoring idiotic goons before me, I continue to walk slowly into the dimly lit apartment, my senses on high alert. Every step is deliberate, and calculated, as I quickly scan over the area.
As suspected, there’s no sign of a firearm, at least not one that’s readily noticeable. Just muscle, slow dumb, and lacking the finesse of a true threat. But it hardly matters. Tonight I free a soul from Hell.
My grip tightens on the wooden handle of the serrated blade, its weight a reassuring presence at my side.
“You deaf boy, the man asked you a question. Who the hell are you?” the smallest of them demands, a sneer twisting his lips. “Some crackhead looking for a fix?”
His companion joins in the mockery, laughter bubbling up from deep within. “Get the fuck out of here you scarred-up pussy before we add some cuts to your look.”
Their taunts wash over me like a wave, but I remain silent, the serrated blade gripped tightly in my hand, hidden from their view.
“Hey buddy, we’ve had enough of your shit,” he snarls, his voice laced with defiance as he attempts to assert his dominance.
Highly annoyed he reaches out to push me out of the apartment, his hand making contact with my chest. But I’m ready for his attack, my instincts kicked in.
With a quick pivot, I evade his grasp and bring my steel-toed boot crashing down onto his foot with a resounding crunch. He howls in pain, his voice full of the agony of broken bones.
Seizing the opportunity, I follow up with a brutal elbow strike to his nose, the bone-crunching beneath the force of my blow. It wasn’t long before blood spurts from his nostrils, his screams more like groans now as he holds on to his nose.
Before he can recover I bring, the serrated blade flashing in from its hiding. With a swift, fluid motion, I slice through his throat with ruthless efficiency, silencing his cries in a gurgling gasp.
As his lifeless body crumples to the ground, a sense of grim satisfaction washes over me. One down, one more to go. Turning to face him I wave the blade and he thinks twice of charging me.
“You can live by doing one thing,” I growl, in an animalistic tone.
“You go to your boss, Tell him her, I don’t give a damn who. All debts for this family are Square. Understand all debts are paid up, and tell them to stop looking for her.”
He looks like he wants to protest but I do not give him a chance to.
“Or I can kill you and carve the message into your stomach. I don’t care.” I quickly counter.
The man before me trembles in fear, his eyes wide with terror. “Yo man, who the fuck are you?” he stammers, his voice cracking with panic.
With a sadistic grin, I step closer, my presence looming over him like a specter of death. “Just a ghost,” my voice carries a sadistic intent, “who gave you a fucking order. Now go!”
With a whimper of fear, the man turns and flees, his footsteps echoing through the silent apartment. But his escape is short-lived, as he stumbles and falls amidst a pile of dirty needles, slipping in the blood of his fallen associate.
As he lies there, trembling and terrified, I watch with cold detachment. They know who I am, they know what I will do. And in the darkness of Hell, there is no escaping the consequences of crossing paths with me
