JOHN FINNIE (35y) 2023, 18.02
The Police Headquarters' lights were off, the office block dark and foreboding. A flag flapped in the breeze in the dusk sky. John walked behind Marty, keenly aware of each footstep echoing in the parking lot, the city noise dimmed and distant. For once Marty quipped no jokes, his gun cocked and aimed ahead, his brows furrowed, his stance tense.
The uniform made Marty seem altogether a stranger. A man from a cops and robbers movie, not his friend from school. The years seemed to fall on John's shoulders all at once. They were older now, past the vigour of youth. It was a sobering moment, made all the more solemn by the darkness and silence that greeted them.
Whoosh!
The sword cut past him, froze his heart for a second. Glancing behind, he saw Semila grinning her gold-toothed joy, armour donned. She looked fucking badass, even more than usual. He smiled and she returned it.
Once Marty had arrived at John's place, earlier that day, they'd sat for an hour discussing their plan, convincing Marty of the fact that the world was at stake. Now, each understanding their role perfectly, they headed for their epic moment, the final confrontation. Time to take down the Collector. God, he was glad Marty had left the office to meet with them, had believed him. He'd been there since the beginning. Since Tom. The only one who had believed him. Well, besides for Semila of course, and Samantha-- she was a different story. She was in love with him. That was different. Marty...Marty was his only buddy, back from the dead and now risking his balls for John and the world with it. Marty pushed the front door open slow, pointed the gun at the shadows. Nothing. The three shared nervous looks, then Marty stepped in, John and Semila close behind.
'Hello? Boss?'
Silence. Marty clicked his gun's barrel against a door to the left, it creaked open. Sounded louder in the dimness. They followed the passage, John twitching at every noise. They ascended the steps to the second floor where the interrogation rooms were. Somewhere ahead a light went on, flickering, making that tinging sound.
Marty turned to them, whispering, 'He's probably in the fourth room, the Chief's favourite. Unless there's been a confession...' he trailed off and John bit back his anger.
'Dad isn't the Collector, Marty. I told you the truth.'
'Yeah, I know John. C'mon, what do you take me for? It's just, the Chief--Blake--he's known for his interrogations. Brutal Blake they call him. He always gets the guy. Always. Sometimes we here the suspects screaming from downstairs. It's bad, some of the suspects come out without teeth. He beats them till they spill the beans...'
Semila's eyes widened.
'All I'm saying is he could've got a false confession from your Dad given enough time.'
Horror and nausea soured John's gut. They had to get in there ASAP. He'd lost his Dad once, he wasn't going to do it again.
'Okay, everyone to your positions. I'm going in.' Marty tucked his gun into his belt and strode casually to the interrogation room, flicking on the passage lights as he went. The lights flickered, kicking to life slow, one or two refusing to go on at all.
From across the room, Semila smiled at John then shuffled behind the curtains. John crouched behind the desk closest to the door and pulled out his camera. He snapped a picture of the office and tucked the photo into his jeans' back pocket. This had been part of the plan. In case something went wrong, they could come back here. A second later a loud bang came from room four, but John's eyes were trained before him where a slightly older version of himself and a still as sexy Semila from the future appeared out of thin air. The Future John turned and gave him a wink. 'Things are going to get feisty and confusing any second now,' he shouted, no longer looking in John or Sem's direction. 'If you need us, I'm John Two, Sem is Sem Two. Got it?'
They had no time to reply. In the same moment, it seemed the shadows quaked, trembled, and in mists and vapours other creatures appeared. Things like Grimsol, black, rotten teeth, knobbly skin, hooves, horns, long clawed fingers, teeth like knives. And many of them.
'Sem!' was all John had time to scream as he leapt away from the desk where a newly materialised demon pounced on him. Fuck, this hadn't been part of the plan. Regardless, the Future John seemed to have expected it. John ran, skidding to a stop between Future John and Semila who each had a sword at hand, their backs to him. Semila leapt from behind the curtain, glanced briefly at her future self, then put her back to John too so they formed a protective circle.
Future John screamed, slashed at a demon, ichor splattering. The demon screamed but didn't relent. With a powerful swing it met John's sword with its nails and swung its right leg at his torso. Future John was ready with a kick of his own. Future Semila and the other Semila engaged demons with ferocious swings of their swords, Future Semila holding two not one. Flashes of light sparked on impact, ichor splattered, and John felt fucking useless standing between it all.
He nudged Future Semila's back and she snarled at him. 'What!'
'Gimme a sword.'
She sliced through a demon's face as it bit at her neck, the top half flopping to the ground as ichor squirted up.
'Fucking hell John! Bring a fucking weapon next time!' She shoved the sword in his hand, and they headed slowly for room four, cutting a path through the demons. John tried his best to fight like the others, but he had no experience with sword fighting. Blood throbbed loudly in his ears as he watched a demon leap four-footed over a desk, its claws digging into the fake wood for purchase. It flew through the air, claws out, headed straight for his face. Man up, he cursed, but his mind imagined those dirty teeth digging into his cheek, the nails tearing his flesh, and on impact he cringed, thrusting the sword in front of him. A flash of light went off and John opened his eyes. The demon squirmed at his feet. He'd done it. The thing had a huge cut across its jaws, but it wasn't giving up.
It swiped at John's feet and John leapt up, bringing his sword down like some World of Warcraft hero for the finish. The sword cut deep, the demon's eyes widened and the vigour left it, then all signs of life. As John watched it turned to ash.
'Aaaaahhhh!' he shouted, hefted the sword in the air. He felt suddenly alive--adrenaline? Some kind of battle berserking? He had no idea, but it felt fucking awesome. Semila roared at the demons with him, and Future Semila scowled at them as she cut down another demon. The fucking things wouldn't stop coming though, and soon the floor looked like a mix between a mortuary, a scene from dungeons and dragons, and a burnt down building with all the ash on the ground, floating in the air, dancing around their kicks and slashes. Shit had got real.
One demon managed to gauge a chunk of skin from Future John's shoulder, blood flowing down his arm, his back, but Future John seemed none the worse for wear and ignored it completely as he snarled and cut down demons. One demon broke past Semila, lifting its claws to hack down Future John who seemed the best fighter there. Future Semila, without a backward glance, turned on her heel, swinging the sword in a great arc that nearly cut John on its way to the demon's back. The demon lifted a hoof to kick Future John down, but Future Semila's sword bit into its back and it fell forward. Against Future John.
Future John stumbled as the demon's weight pushed him down, missed a swing of his sword at the demon he'd been fighting. The demon smiled and brought its clawed hands down together at Future John's head. Shit, if Future John died, they all died. Right here. Didn't they? Faster than he'd thought he was capable of, John blocked the demon with the sword, cut up through the thing's gullet, retreated with a fucking smile, and watched its ichor bleed onto Future John.
The fighting continued in a rush, a blur, and they found themselves before room four's door. John felt as if he was coming out of a haze, his head dizzy, his limbs warm, aching. There were cuts on his legs where claws had hacked straight through his jeans, his arms, his ass... fucking hell! He wiped at his face and it came away bloody. Still he couldn't really feel the pain and he hoped it'd stay that way for a while longer.
Future John turned to him, gripped his arm. 'It ended worse the first time, that's why we came back. That photo was the best thing you could've done.'
'John, you're talking to me now? Wasn't that a rule we had? Don't talk to yourself in the past?'
'Ah' --Future John shrugged, grinning through his ichor and blood splattered face-- 'who gives a fuck, right?' He looked at Future Semila, the only one without injury, just ichor in her hair and on her nose. She returned the smile as she wiped the sword clean on a near-dead demon corpse at her feet, and John swallowed a wave of arousal--had to be the leather catsuit, the smear of ichor on her nose. Was it wrong to want an angel? He looked away. Maybe one day...
'C'mon John,' Future Semila said to Future John, 'Let's get the fuck out of here, eh? Looks like the other you's got shit down pat.' She nodded towards John.
'Right.' He looked up, John and Semila met each other's eyes, and the two disappeared into thin air.
The thought hit John: Where was Marty? Oh no!
'Semila, where's Marty?'
'Got to be in there.' She cocked her head.
John still held the sword Future Semila had given him, not sure how it was still here after they'd disappeared, but grateful for it all the same. The pain flared--little flames all over his body, and the warmth in his limbs suddenly felt a little more like exhaustion. 'Will this kill the Collector?' He threw the sword's pommel an inch from his palm and caught it again.
'I hope so.' Sem lifted her sword. 'Ready?'
John didn't want to talk, afraid he might collapse. He lifted his sword like she had, ignored his aches and the weakness in his arms, nodding.
She went for the door.
'Sem?'
She froze, hand on the doorknob, and looked back at him.
'Will this save her? Will we save Charlie if we kill him?'
For a second Semila looked away, then sighed. 'Fuck I hope so, I know as much as you. In the future you said we had to kill Blake, save Dad and Marty, and find the photos.'
Emotion overwhelmed John and he bit back tears. Was it too much to handle or was this some kind of post battle breakdown? He remembered Tom again, the blood, the panic, the bombs, the noise. This had been so different to that, but what he felt now echoed the feelings he'd fought as he pushed over his school desk and ran home. A tear cut his cheek.
Semila's expression changed and she patted his back. 'There there. Suck it in gay boy.'
'Heh,' he half laughed and shoved her.
'You ready now?'
He tightened his grip on the sword's pommel, using both hands. 'Ready.'
© Steve Ford and Joy Cronjé 2018