Confession of Pain

Plague. The name itself did not exactly scream of a maniac, but the freak’s record certainly did. He had been a target of who knew how many analyses and investigations, but very little had come to light except an ever-increasing pile of bodies. It would be only a matter of time before he slipped up, go after somebody too prolific, or tangle with one of the metahuman population that was simply out of his league. That lot were not always the forgiving sort they were made out to be in the endorsement materials. The figure crouching in the darkness had been looking forward to collaring this one. He had heard theories about the mystery man’s involvement in various cases from his unearthly mentor, Sundown, and she in turn from her masters at that strange investigative agency she answered to – the Light. The attacks were random, which meant there was no real trail to follow, but if one maintained vigilance, eventually the tiniest crumb would bring him to a confrontation. Luck would be helpful, too, but he disliked admitting to any belief in luck. Huddled silently just outside the open window with his thick, black cape pulled around him and the brim of his wide hat pulled over his masked features, Agent Afterdark sat, watched, listened. Indistinguishable from a balcony gargoyle, merging with the umbra.

Sundown would not be far, in case he needed back-up, but as the door to Minister Frost’s otherwise empty office slunk open, and Afterdark continued to watch, he felt himself tense, his muscles like a bundle of wires. The glimmer of an ivory beak. The polished flick of a cane. He was familiar with Plague’s chosen motif. The contradiction sickened him a bit, but it also intrigued him. He would have liked to have concocted his own theory on this brand of insanity. Time for that when the nutcase was behind bars. Now was the time to make himself known. A cloud of dark blue smoke poured over the floor, encapsulating him up to his calves before rising, and Plague’s ears were assaulted by a horrible, mocking laugh, echoing inhumanly loud all around it, its source as adept at living without illumination as himself. The people of the underworld had names for this phenomenon. A goddamn vampire, the Master of Men’s Minds, that walking nightmare. Evil men did not fear the night. They feared what lived within it. Plague was about to have his first meeting with exactly what they meant.

The aggressor did not make himself apparent right away. He would stall to give Frost as much time to run away as possible first, and likely trailing urine in his wake. Disgusting, but signs he was still alive. Afterdark would not be shocked that the man had his dirty little secrets to hide, which would come to light in due time, and perhaps someone would be better off with him defeated or out of the picture, but the fact was that what Plague had in mind was nothing short of pure murder. He already had the blood of the bodyguards and other men on his hands. Afterdark could make a healthy enough guess from the sounds from outside just moments before, and he regretted their deaths, but if he had lost Frost, he might have lost his point of entry. Plague’s maintained confidence was nice. Refreshing, even. It would stop his muscles from succumbing to atrophy from lack of use. One thing Afterdark still had from his youth was the enjoyment he derived from a good scrap.

“Now, now, old boy,” he taunted, “I think we’re both partial to a bit of showmanship. After all, it takes a certain kind of outright, self-gratifying pretentiousness to speak to Frost the way you just did. I mean, really, using Latin to open your ultimatum? Read a lot of Gothic horror in school, did you? Probably weren’t the most popular in your class. That is, if you even went to school. Yes, that might explain a few things, I suppose.”

He advanced on Plague. The pair of them were competing to get the drop on one another, turning their respectively finely tuned senses and tools of silence, in his case his softened boots, into weapons. They would enter and leave sight of each other over and over, neither wanting to give themselves away for longer than was needed.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve no doubt the minister has a lot to answer for. Politicians just can’t seem to help themselves on that front. Goes with the territory. In a more ideal time I’d be right beside you bringing them to justice…but I know your reputation, and the evidence, if you think I’ll allow you to get away with killing a man in cold blood, you’re dead wrong.”

Agent Afterdark killed this thread. They are not eligible for EXP.

Eightball gains the EXP in this thread.

Trashed.