The Samaritan Cometh
Part 3: Hard Point
By Brian Lewis a.k.a Red Vector
Standing before the mirror, the uniform comes together in a kind of fearsome,
functional symmetry. Everything fits down to the last stitch, from head to toe.
Fingerless, black leather gloves the backs to which are attached hammered steel
plates. Heavy duty fabric black t-shirt stretches across my broad muscular chest. Dark
grey BDU pants cover my legs which are tucked into black leather combat boots with
toe caps that match the plates on my gloves. Holding up my pants is a black combat
belt with a buckle of the same hammered steel. Completing it all is the charcoal grey
leather duster almost identical to the one I’m wearing in the painting. I found the entire
ensemble in a black duffel bag lying on the bed, as if in preparation for a long journey.
As I turn away from the mirror, I see lying beside the duffel bag a sliver and black metal
suit case. It’s with an intense sense of déjà vu, that I open the case. I flip open the
case and see two 50 caliber Desert Eagle automatics. One is finished in a unique black
pearl chrome deeply engraved on its side is the word “Chaos.” The other is finished in
polished nickel chrome with the inscription “Order.” Obviously they are the inspiration
for the weapons depicted in the painting. Holding them in my hands, I come to realize
that they’re more than just an extension of my reach but an extension of my will.
Without hesitation, I place them in their respective shoulder rigs. They are a
comforting weight against my body
“Time to check on my uninvited guest’s” As I glance at the watch I liberated from
Benson’s wrist.
Opening the sliding partition that separates the bedroom from the rest of the space, I
turn off the light. Cloaking myself in shadow and the ambient sounds of the building, I
employ an ability that’s proving very useful. It’s an ability that allows me to also
suppress the sounds of my footfalls on the concrete floor, and any other sound in my
immediate vicinity. This is the same ability that was so effective in allowing me to
subdue my uninvited guests so quickly and quietly. They simply couldn’t see or hear
what hit them until it was too late.
All the lights in the space are off except Clayton’s work area, which is where they’re
being held. Standing out of sight cloaked in my stealth ability, I admired my handiwork.
Benson is stripped to his boxers, and secured to the cast iron post with the heavy duty
restraints I recovered from their vehicle. His struggles earning him some rough
treatment in the process, nothing minor just a concussion and a dislocated shoulder.
Watkins hasn’t fared much better, he’s duct taped to Clayton’s wheelchair. I don’t need
my enhanced senses to hear their conversation.
“Shit, man what happened?” That would be Watkins. “You look like you were hit by a
bus. And man, what happened to your clothes?”
“Don’t know,” his voice is weak in obvious pain. “I was maybe ten feet in….something
like a shadow…jumped me…grabbed my gun arm..felt like it was gonna tear it off..then
slammed me into the floor..like I was nothin…next I know I woke up like this…” His
voice trails off with a pained sigh.
“Serves you right, for coming up in here all cowboy and shit” he yells. “I knew that
attitude was going to get us killed one day.” He finishes.
“Maybe….. It’s..Gone..Left us alone.” Benson manages.
“You should be so lucky.” I say as I drop out stealth in front of the painting. As you can
guess it has the desired effect.