Midnight Run

What it is. I'm back at it finally… after what seemed like a timeless age. So much has changed since I last spoke to you. Peace in my life has become non existent. There's an age old saying that goes there's always something. Darkness continues to inch into who we are and what we stand for. Man thinks they now play the hand of God. A false God and familiars that try to control with an iron hand like so many they condemned in centuries past. Who are we really? Are we really “US”? What happened to us? Egos, greed, and every sin that can and will lead us to death… get it? And what is “US” really upto you ask. Your real reason for coming here to see me… more dirt on the nation we call home that they don't want you to see and understand.

Details are still blurry, but last Wednesday there was an unexplained quake off the coast of Chicago; 7.5 with a radius of less than a quarter mile in diameter. The media ate it up and shit the news out quickly. Insignificant because there wasn't any loss of life huh? Turns out at the epicenter is an old munitions facility that up until recently was left abandoned and forgotten. So who accessed this abandoned site? Terrorists? Unlikely as Intel suggests there's one point of entry with an Encrypted password that resets every 48 hours. There are other security measures of course, but the password is a dead giveaway to one entity… “US”. Now who of US is it? Easy… the President’s pawns: WALrUS. She can't seem to stay away from her billion plus dollar business and is using them secretly as a proxy for her own military… weapons development and testing… that's them. Do I know the type of weapon they are operating on? No, but no doubt its a small enough caliber of a deterrent to level a whole city block… do the math… we're not at war right now with anyone surprisingly, so who would it be used on… US… the only US that matters if we don't side with the bullshit. Protect yourselves… I for one don't want war… but I feel betrayed… and I'm sure you do too. We have a constitutional right to bear arms and protect ourselves, but we must do so the right way. Everyone has a motive for doing something, but is it pure? Tell me how you're fighting the good fight and getting the word out. Leave comments. Thanks as always for opening your eyes to read this shit.

-Shadow-

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Felt good to write a piece again, Marcus says to himself as he walks to one of his favorite spots in New York City: his rooftop. Though in the nick of the Bronx, he was able to see just about everything the night skyline offered, to include a jam packed Yankee Stadium, the World Trade Center and the Chrysler Building to name a few places. This was his thinking and reflection spot, which is why he chose this apartment after his discharge from the Army. The thought of coming back to where he left seemed backwards, but his reason for coming back was to rebuild and start to make a difference. The Bronx was now worse off than ever; the death of his mother adding to the decades long burnt toast stench that filled the air. What he did wasn't ideal as it didn't bring in any money for a general discharge, but to him it made a difference. Marcus loved to write since he was in the 3rd grade, especially fiction. But as life went on, he had to give up the fake for the real life and put his thoughts on paper.

He could have started an autobiography by the time he was 20, moving out on his own and joining America’s Army. He was faithful to the uniform and the flag even in the midst of unfaithfulness with the relationships he tried to cultivate. He always wanted someone he could relate to long term, someone that shared his interests, but as long as he served that was never to be. He came close to finding love with Alaina Santiago from New Jersey, but while she stayed back over 100 miles away, a stray bullet increased the distance hundred fold; sending her to heaven with her lord and savior while Marcus burned in living hell. He found out about the death moments after a mission and pleaded with his superiors to return home to see her buried. Unfortunately for him it was always mission first. Her death broke him and forced him to be discharged on a Chapter 12. He would be deemed unable to get a steady job as a result, but that didn't matter. He was smart, had a stash to last him about two years and lived from place to place on bare essentials. Even he was surprised he hadn’t completely lost it yet, especially with his nighttime profession; a true righter of wrongs.

Shadow, otherwise known as Marcus Reks lived a double life: a Voice and a Sword. The people needed a voice of encouragement, so they knew what was really true to inspire change. A voice however, was often not enough. Examples needed to be made and there needed to be a protector. Someone watching from the darkness ready to spark light; for a cost yes, but still yet a just cause. Most nights he and a hacker friend Bernadette Dimaggio who called herself Cynd3r would look for work, signing up to take out targets of interest. His payments were often from whatever he picked up from his victims at no cost to the requestor. It was like he was a Robin Hood except instead of giving back the merchandise, he gave them peace of mind. Speaking of which, he hadn’t spoken to his partner in crime in awhile. He pulls out the throwback burner flip phone and speed dials option 1. An italian raspy voice answers after two rings.

“Whats up Sh-Sh-Shadow?”

“Cyn, you killing me with that DJ cut,” Shadow chuckles “Whats up tho?”

“Nada, gaming as usual. Headshots galore if you wanna come join in on the fun?”

“Maybe. Nice night out for real...have you seen any work yet?”

“Not exactly. Sadly it's been scarce lately. Don’t mind the break from putting my fingers to work tho...wait...that didn't sound right...backspace that please buddy.”

“Nope...too late for that my friend...scarred for life haha.”

“Damn...oh well just...don’t have a field day with me.”

“You’re making it worse you know that right?”

“Oops...anyway you coming over to kick ass or not?”

“Yeah I’ll head over there soon. Be there in like an hour or so, cool?”

“Okie dokie, I’ll get the Root Beers and Smirnies ready for ya.”

“You da best Cyn. Catch ya soon.”

“Ciao boy.”

In the midst of everything Shadow was grateful to have to have someone like Cynd3r on his side. Not only could she geek out like he could, but she was very talented at what she brought to the table. She was always book smart, but what pushed her to her present day was a rape at the hands of a jock from College named Dylan Cross, whom with a little digging she learned was an executive at the WALrUS Corporation. She would eventually get noticed and hired by Northrop Grumman who paid all of her student loan debt so long as she agreed to follow suit with the direction of the U.S. Government. It was here she learned some of the most vile secrets she would eventually disclose to her friend, which would start him writing and exposing the wrong behind the administration. Not wanting to be on the same side as her rapist, Berna left Northrop Grumman with a massive debt on her hands. Fortunately before leaving the company, she sent an encrypted message with the details of few known facilities performing government funded weapons experiments. The message caught the eyes of a resistance group stood up to expose and eliminate corruption. She was asked to do a one time mission that would pay off all of her debt. All she had to do was disable security and defenses on one facility which contained experimental bio weapons. During the mission, Berna was able to remotely write a malicious, encrypted code that short circuited the entire facility. The facility was engulfed in flames which spawned the retreat of the rebel group, leaving Berna to take the fall. As the smoke began to overcome her lungs, a lone figure pulled her out of the flames moments before the place exploded. Before she passed out in his car she barely let out the words

“Who are you?” to which he replied “A friend.”

He took her to the hospital, leaving her a calling card with a message of his own. He would need a hacker and she would be it. She later contacted him and the two became partners ever since. Good times.

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The familiar scent of the Brooklyn-bound D train filled his lungs as the irregular shaped pentagon cars pull into the 170th Street station. The aged stainless steel doors open, allowing him safe passage into the short ride to 125th street. He takes his seat across from a teenage girl, blonde with her hair in a messy highlight tipped bun; the standard for most women on the run these days. Probably a long day of school, social status updates and part time work. Where did she even have the time to do schoolwork or have quality time with family? This was a question no one could provide an honest answer to, because everyone, especially New Yorkers had to find their way to cope while chasing the dream. If that wasn't the true definition of a New York minute, the struggle would indeed break you. He knew this being a New Yorker himself.

‘Hmm… maybe that's something worth writing for my next blog’ he says to himself, before pulling out a pad. Perfect timing, as O.C. and Apollo Brown's “For the People” sound off in his ears; the percussions heavy and the lyrics profoundness forcing his hand to start another masterpiece. As he starts to write, he noticed a couple of males, ranging in their 20s and 30s stepping into the train. He could hear them over the sounds of his music and at quick glance he could quickly deduct they were probably members of a gang or set. Given the territory and bandana colors he guessed Zulus. He resumes writing, until a couple taps on his shoulder break him out of the zone once again.

“Yeah what's up?” Marcus asks, looking up in their general direction.

“I digs that jacket my nigga. Shit dope as fuck, ” one says in a voice much deeper than his age.

“Thanks man.”

“Where'd you get it from? Been looking for something fresh to deaf for months now”

“Outta town, long time ago.”

“Shit… aight then. Gotta step my shit up for real. How much? ”

“Two hunned,” Marcus replied in NY style accent.

Out the corner of his eye he saw three of them swarming over the blonde who just woke up startled; her mascara showed signs of exhaustion from crying. The thugs comments confirmed the notion.

“Why a good lookin snowflake like you crying yo?”

“Keep telling these bitches not to fuck wit no rocker niggas!”

“Shorty wit all this shouldn't be crying over nobody girl, lemme take you home wit me mami,” one says trying to slip his hands up her skirt

“Hey! I don't think she's interested. Leave her be. She probably got enough going down as it is.” Marcus replies, forcing all eyes on him. The girl looked at Marcus, scared but her eyes saying ‘thanks for standing up for me.’

“You need to mind yours my nigga,” the thug says pulling a pistol out. Some of the other thugs follow suit pulling out their weapons.

“Whoa… chill my dude. I'm just sayin’ she doesn't look… “

“You ain't sayin’ shit nigga! Say somethin else and get a fuckin hole in ya neck got it?” The closest thug says pressing the barrel of his piece into the side of his neck.

“Yep. Got it…”

“Now since you wanna run your mouth why don't you run yo shit and put it right here next to my feet bitch ass nigga! I want that jacket too.”

Marcus with his hands where they could be seen looks over at the girl, who is crying again and terrified with weapons held at her neck as well. ‘Don't worry girl… we’ll both be okay after this… all I need is a few moments.’

“Let's go fucka. Take your shit off!”

He does ordered and places his backpack on the floor. Next is his jacket followed by his watch, wallet, and keys.

“I know that ain't all of it Mista Two Hunned. Hand over yo cell nigga.”

“ I… I can't do that just yet. My moms is in the hospital awaiting surgery… Let me call the hospital… Please.”

They all scoff at him.

“Think we give a fuck boutcha moms? I sure the fuck don't, but go ahead be my guest… long as I get that jacket and shit. You got like a minute.”

Marcus unlocks his phone and dials a number. Within two rings a voice answers. “Life Support.”

“Is there a pulse?” he answers

Within seconds, the lights flicker and explode with a loud pop. Everyone ducks including Marcus, who smirks as he knew all hell was about to break loose. On instinct, he grabs the arm of the nearest thug, wraps it around his own neck and tosses him into the seat glass similar to Taz in his ECW prime. The sickening impact forces the thug to drop his pistol. Marcus dives low for the pistol, taking two quick shots to the chest and knocking him backwards into the plexiglass window.

“Oh Shhh”

Before the other thugs could respond, Marcus blocks the swinging arm of one thug, ducks under and behind him, and strikes him in the base of his skull with the pistol. Like liquid, Marcus transitions to the next thug, shooting him in the right leg before scoring an elbow to the face and a stiff knee kick to the other leg causing him to stumble into the rest of his crew. He rushes in with a jumping split kick and takes on the remaining two thugs brandishing their weapons. Nothing felt better than this, the thrill of the fight all while embarrassing so called tough guys; if only his military days were this satisfying.

“Hey Look Out!!”

The girl broke him out of his toying around. Out the corner of his eye he sees the glow of twin pistols aimed at him. Marcus slides across the floor as the thug opened fire, swiss cheesing his own people. Marcus ducks under the seat to calculate a disabling shot. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, he heard the muffled scream of the girl who was taken hostage with a knife held to her neck.

‘Shit...really?’ Marcus mumbled to himself

“End of the line nigga! You done fucked up now...this bitch gon die if you don't hand over the piece to my dude!”

Marcus contemplates the situation quickly while looking at the frantic teen; her make-up in ruin from tears, not that it mattered anymore. It appeared he was out gunned and lost the advantage, but did he really? His trump card of course was they had no idea who he really was and what he was capable of. His plan was decided within seconds.

Marcus holds his arms up shoulder length, pistol loosely hanging in his right hand; finger on the trigger guard.

“Congrats...”

As the thug behind him approached to claim his prize, Marcus eyes glowed an eerie blue before becoming one with the surrounding darkness. Within seconds, he reappeared in front of the thug holding the girl and slammed a hard fist into his face, sending him backwards. As if time slowed down for him, Marcus grabbed the falling pistol out of mid air and pulled the trigger, putting a pinball sized hole in his chest. Before the remaining thug could open fire, Marcus appeared directly in front of him and put a bullet in the chest and head, stripping him of his life. On instinct, he places the pistol on the thug’s chest and cleans the weapon of all fingerprints before placing the murder weapon in the thugs hand.

He then turned around and walked to the teenage girl who no doubt would be scarred for life after tonight’s events; any kid in their right mind would especially seeing a human phase himself through the darkness to protect her. He was surprised she didn’t snapchat the whole ordeal afterwards.

“Hey, you okay? Don’t worry, I wont hurt you,” he calmly spoke.

“I...I know...t-thank you….who...what the hell... are you?”

“I’m what you see...Shadow...listen...if anyone asks you who did this, can you keep me a secret?” he asks, reaching into his backpack to grab a black and blue bandana and covering his face.

“Don't worry...y-your secret is safe with me...y-you made my night,” she says with a shaky smile.

Hearing that made him feel good inside. All he wanted to do was make a difference and send a message that he wasn’t taking any more shit from the streets...or those that got in his way. He responded with a hand on her shoulder and a nod before stepping off. He suddenly stops and turns to face her again.

“Hey...by the way, whatever made you cry, stay strong...it’ll pass...and thanks for the save,” he adds, disappearing into the darkness as the train pulls into the next station.