The world rushed to him like a whirlwind. All at once, a cacophony of sights, sounds and sensations overwhelmed him as his disorientation forced him to frantically attempt to try to determine where he was. Recalling that he had been violently jarred into unconsciousness, he groggily began to reconstruct the series of events that led up to his sudden awakening. As his mind reconstituted his memory, he was jolted into a panic when he realized he had no idea where Raylene was. Having seen her dragged off against her will by an unknown attacker galvanized his autonomic nervous system. At once, barely trying to control the terror he felt, he began to try to locate his wife and figure out where she was.
His vision, still blurry from trauma, now returned to him as he began to look around. His clothes were inexplicably sopping wet. Struggling to move, he could feel that his hands and legs had been restrained. The bindings, although shoddily done, were still terrifyingly and frustratingly effective. Attempting to restore operational calm, as a small corner of his disciplined mind began to assert reason. His captors must have had to hurry to transport and bind him for fear that he would wake up before they could secure him.
He accelerated his respiration in an attempt to steel himself to struggle free from his bindings. Cain didn't have much of a chance to take more than three or four gasps of air until an extremely powerful blast of frigid water savagely crashed into his suspended form. The pressure of the ice-cold water slammed into his body like ice daggers, robbing him of his ability to take a full breath. The pressure was immense and pounded his chest with the force of what felt like a jackhammer and smashed his body into the cinderblock concrete wall behind him. Coughing, sputtering and bruising from the force of the water, he tried to swivel, turning his form to the side so that there was less of a profile for the person firing the water at him to hit.
Through the pain, terror, and near asphyxiation, all he could think about was his wife and where she was. Mercifully, the stream of water began to abate, and the high-pressure bombardment waned. Cain gulped lungfuls air. While the world swam into focus, his vision began to clear. As he assumed, he was chained to a cinderblock wall so that not even his considerable strength could simply rip the rope from the wall. His head rolled backwards allowing him to squint through blinding neon lights which cast a harsh and sterile glow over the grotesque room he was in. Despite being well-maintained and clean, the walls were walls adorned with macabre collection of harnesses and blood-stained torture tools.
Without warning, the unbelievable force of highly pressurized water pounded away at him again just as he managed to get one last full breath of air. The geyser-like fire hose frustratingly prevented Cain from determining just how many people were in the room. It felt like the icy water would rip his skin from his skeleton. With his senses understandably stunted, Cain couldn't come close to discerning the personnel that were present, where they were or how much danger he was really in.
After what seemed like an eternity, Cain felt the pressure of the hose relent and life flow back into his body as he filled his lungs with as much air as he could, preparing for the next barrage. While his vision readjusted, he heard, but not saw a lone figure enter the room through the farm double doors. The clicking of his stride echoed in the room as the man's fine Italian shoes splashed through the shallow pools of water on the floor. Cain knew the sound and gait of his walk well before the man uttered a word. That same recognizable English accent cut through the haze in his head, providing him with a focal point for his hatred.
"The Sword of Cain," the voice began laden with smarmy disdain and sarcasm.
"You know, it continually amazes me how individuals with such power and promise always fall victim to hubris and arrogance. It's almost as if the inherent need in human nature that drives us to compete for scarce resources in order to obtain material wealth continually fails us when met with a modicum of success. Take for instance, your situation Cain."
An alarming scraping sound filled the room as Cain heard what must have been a metal chair being dragged across the floor. Hanging his head low, he attempted to determine the position of the chair. His eyesight was still recovering from the stinging punishment of the water, so he relied on his hearing. The Monitor sat and continued his oration. Fortunately, it was Cain's only play. Understanding the man's penchant for soliloquys, he intended to capitalize on understanding why they had captured him alive and what they hoped to achieve with his torture. The Triumvirate did not take prisoners, making his mere survival and torture an obvious anomaly.
"An illustrious and highly successful loyal servant. A dedicated and frightfully talented physical force to be reckoned with. An unbelievable reputation of fear, which is well deserved, might I add. All these elements are the perfect mix and combination for an individual in your line of work. A Sword of the Triumvirate. A weapon whose usefulness is questionable when not dispatching those you are instructed to."
The world came to him now through his ears. He heard the continual dripping from the fire hose held in the grip of a man very close to him. He could barely make out that there were more bodies in the room by listening to the faint sound of feet shuffling behind the Monitor's voice. He assumed another individual must be positioned by the valve control for the fire hose, where undoubtedly there would be a fire extinguisher, and if he was fortunate, an axe. Estimating the number of individuals in the room to be at least three based on the sounds they made, he began to employ a cold reasoning that would be his only chance at survival. He set aside the fact that he had no knowledge about the opponent that defeated him and that spending cycles trying to relive that experience would not serve him in the here and now. Using his physical senses, he turned his intuition to the Monitor. Based on the subtext of fear and an almost imperceptible trembling he heard in the despicable man's voice, which was in practiced contrast to his verbal condescension, it was unlikely that he would bring a force of just three or four to guard him. He knew there must be more, perhaps just beyond the grim chamber where he was housed. The Monitor continued.
"Personally, I knew this day was long overdue. Historically, whenever an organization or government cultivates a warrior caste, citizens and government officials alike become fearful of them. During peace time, when there is no one left to kill or fight what does a warrior do? Will they simply be content to sit and wait, honing their skills for the next state-sanctioned combat?"
The Monitor paused for effect, as if granting Cain time to think about the impact of his words.
"Or will the warriors begin to look at the people that they were cultivated to protect as weak, undeserving fodder for conquest? Do they eventually start to believe that they could govern best? Why shouldn't they? They are stronger, faster, and fitter. They are also outside observers that have the luxury of witnessing the foibles and faults of the ruling caste.
What happens here Cain is that this feeling of animosity and mutual realization of this situation grows and festers between the organized state and legislative bodies and the militaristic warrior caste. This continues until one day, someone breaks. It might first come as a passion-driven accident or a carefully orchestrated means of manipulation by either side into forcing action on the other. However, once the first transgression occurs, the result is the same.
Civil war, revolt, rebellion and struggle between the warrior caste and the establishment. Years and years of protracted strife and destabilization of a once powerful society and government leave them open to foreign invasion and takeover. Once proud civilizations topple into chaos throughout history based on these repeated series of events."
The Monitor finally paused for effect, taking a breath before continuing what appeared to be an emotionally driven dissertation. From their earlier encounter in the evening, Cain surmised these thoughts and feelings were much his own. He had painted plain allegory for his relationship to the Triumvirate organization and used the villainous warrior cast as a euphemism for Cain and his actions who he believed was planning to rebel against the Triumvirate.
"And do you know the moment at which this degradation of once proud nations and societies begins," he proceeded to ask, his deep accent and controlled speech now becoming more frantic and edgy as he began to orate his conclusion.
"The exact moment when the weapons of war begin to think that they are better than everyone else," he spat venomously.
The water hit him with the Monitor's conclusion as he had expected. The chest cavity-caving force of the water threw him back against the wall again, ravaging his form, tearing and tattering what was left of his suit with high pressure concentrated sheets of water. Even before the water dissipated this time, he already heard the Monitor forcefully shouting.
"So how does a government become a controlling military presence within the world if the force that they build to fight their own battles ultimately turn on them and tear apart their society?"
From the tremor and timber of his voice, he knew that the man was building to some momentous event, so horrible that even given Cain's situation, he was fearful of the outcome. As if on cue, the rusty hinges of a large metal door made a wrenching noise as it was muscled open.
"The government must find a means of controlling the warriors. They must find something so precious to the warrior and control it such that the warrior is often fearful to cross the ruling body politic for fear of losing it."
Cain's heartbeat skipped. It felt as though there was an empty pit beneath his heart as it sank as if in free fall. He slowly realized what was happening, piecing together the various ramblings of the Monitor's monologue. His eyes, watering and blurry, widened with purposeful realization. His form stiffened as his mind reeled with what he knew the Monitor was building towards.
"Fear of loss is what keeps the warrior caste in line! Fear of losing their way of life! Fear of losing what is familiar! Fear of losing what they love most!"
He reached a fever pitch in his verbal tirade as the audible thud of a body being thrown to the concrete floor was more felt than heard by Cain. The limp form of his wife rolled lifelessly onto her side. He felt as though he couldn't breathe, as if every breath was being stolen away and he was suffocating. Frantically Cain writhed and struggled at his bonds as stark panic with an undercurrent of frustrating wrath setting in. He broke with his training and uttered a guttural primal growl of fury and rage. His helplessness infuriated him as he stared and the sinister, grinning maw of the Monitor. The man pulled an ivory black pistol from the small of his back, brandishing it and looking at it retrospectively as he continued.
"And so, the Triumvirate takes this action. To end the Sword of Cain and to provide an example to the rest. To send you to your grave knowing how you were responsible for the senseless slaughter of an innocent life that you would easily have given your own for!"
The finality of the words struck Cain as hard as any weapon ever had. In a surrealistic haze, he almost existed outside of time, watching the events happen while he was experiencing them. His mind was continually locked in a cycle of reality rejection and acceptance. The realization that his wife was about to lose her life was more than he could bear to process. At the sheer finality of what was about to happen, Cain experienced reality out of sequence. He found himself screaming at the top of his lungs in a guttural, tragic down that made his throat hoarse.
"NOOOOOOO!"
His vision became blurred by water, but it wasn't from the hose. This water stung his eyes as burning hot tears formed in the corners of his vision. Every sight, sound and smell became exaggerated while his mind raced, trying to find a way to save her. His body was no longer in his control, leaving him to writhe and jerk violently on instinct alone based on a primal urge to kill the people that threatened his mate. His wrists bloodied against the metal shackles as an all-encompassing furor overtook him.
"NOOOO!"
He roared again as the pins holding the shackles into the wall began to work themselves loose from the concrete. On the ground, he saw his bruised and battered wife roll and moan. Her face brandished multiple lacerations and scrapes. Her evening dress was torn and tattered, and she clung to what was left of it in order to cover herself. The right side of her face was swollen from repeated impacts of significant force and her legs and upper thighs had scratch marks that ran fresh with blood. She had been bound, ravaged, beaten and tortured as Cain could easily see from the rawness of her wrists and ankles.
"No!"
He screamed yet again at her whimpering as the Monitor bent low, placing the cold metal barrel of his gun to her right temple. Grabbing her roughly by her hair, he pulled her up causing her to expel a ghastly scream that cut Cain to his core. Anger, rage, guilt, repentance, and fury were all bombarding his mind as he realized the finality of what was happening. The Monitor's index finger slowly caressed the trigger and his wife stopped screaming. He had seen now in his wife what he had seen in others so close to inevitable death. The amazing calm and resolution that comes with the certainty of death rather than the frantic and frenzied fear that comes when death is a likely probability.
"No!"
This time, he hissed in a whispered tone, pleading with fate. Ready to give anything to save her life, he tried to speak, to negotiate, but his voice was stuck in his throat. He inhaled hard, fighting back reality, fighting back time, attempting to assert his indomitable will on his surroundings in order to find a way to prevent the inevitable. He squeezed his eyes shut, and turned his awareness inward. Through a last futile attempt to subvert the will of the world, he pulled against the infuriating shackles that bound him as hard as he could muster.
His stomach burned and his skin chaffed with fresh blood from opening scrape wounds pouring down his forearms from his savage thrashing. He used his back as leverage against the wall to continue to weaken his bonds. The men in the room, watching the exchange and deriving their own level of satisfaction and sadistic pleasure, were thrown into motion as they finally assessed the weakness in Cain's bonds. The Monitor shouted as they approached him but it was already too late.
"Don't get close to him! Don't touch him!"
His frenetic struggle had freed his legs which he used to scissor the body nearest to him. Wrapping his legs around the man's neck, he used his height to gain mechanical leverage on his shackles. Now cantilevering his body off the hapless man closest to him, he bore down on his weakening cuffs, stressing the metal to the point which it came tearing from the concrete wall. Gravity pulled him down, and he took the man with him.
As they hit the ground, he assumed that the remaining two of the Monitor's men would most likely draw their guns. Fighting for the life of another was significantly different than fighting for his own. He realized this soon after he began to accomplish what he would have deemed impossibility otherwise. Driven by fear, fatigue, betrayal and rage, he rolled onto his knees, ensuring that his left knee was forcibly balanced on the man's larynx as he lay on his back, scrambling to get to his feet. The world came to him in flashes. His vision cleared and all conscious thought fled him. He sank a few inches, barely registering that the man's throat now lay crushed under his kneecap.
The Monitor fired at him as best as he could, but Cain was a moving target. He rolled, launching his battle-weary form at the second closest man dressed in a midnight black jumpsuit. Slamming his booted heel into the man's knees, Cain waited until he crumbled underneath his own weight. Winding for a staggering uppercut, Cain delivered it with bone-jarring accuracy and fervor, shattering the man's jaw as he continued to fall to the floor, unconscious. The last enforcer drew the Israeli Desert Eagle from his holster and fired almost point blank. On a normal day, against a man of Cain's caliber, it was almost too easy to dodge. However, given the killer's current state of mind as his enemy squeezed off a shot, Cain vanished, materializing only to crush the man's windpipe with a vise-like grip. Making strangulation noises and sputtering his own fluids, Cain wrenched the gun from his hands.
He felt the concussive force of the bullet leaving the chamber and travelling down the barrel before he heard it. The bullet tore from the rifled barrel and penetrated the closest enemy. Passing first through skin, then muscle, then shattering bone, the round exited and imbedded itself into the floor. The remaining shadowy figures frantically descended on Cain's still bound form, but regardless of his impediments, they would soon realize they were no match for one of the most illustrious Swords of the Triumvirate that had ever lived. Cain was a predator and what most knew as common knowledge, the most dangerous animal was a wounded one. Even though he was unused to utilizing firearms in favor of his blade, the powerful gun barked in his hands, holing and dropping the other two figures.
A gun lacked the certainty and finality of his sword. While the bullets perforated the figures, a bladed weapon allowed him the confidence that his enemies would never rise again. Despite this, he found himself spinning towards the Monitor who had edged closer to the far wall of the dank chamber and clutched Raylene from behind. Time slowed as Cain's gaze drifted from his wife's frantic blue eyes to the Monitor's anger-filled and darkening gaze. She whimpered as the man's gun pressed into her temple. Cain froze, dangerously watching an inevitable sequence of events play out before his eyes.
As a highly effective assassin, he could easily discern a killing intent. It was usually reflected in the eyes of his opponents. Something about the brow line and the trembling of an enemy's pupils indicated the moment someone decided to take a life. Cain watched now as a familiar series of micro expressions settled over the Monitor. His eyes grew wide in anticipation of the fated outcome, but he allowed himself to a sliver of hope.
His wife was not weak. He knew all too well that Raylene had the heart of a lion. Her own expression changed, hardening and becoming more resolute. Unable to catch her before she acted, Cain watched as she erupted into a body-thrashing attempt to get free of the Monitor. The struggle only lasted for about a second, but Cain would never be able recall the sound of the Monitor's gun firing into his wife's midsection, nor the sound of Cain's own weapon discharging. Moving with a rage-inspired swiftness, he firmly planted the barrel of the gun as close to the monitor's face as he could before pulling the trigger. The lower half of the monitor's face was blown clean from his head leaving Cain looking into his lifeless, half-face.
He took time to process what the actual series of events were before a slow horrific understanding settled on him. Realizing that despite an unrelenting will to save his beloved, he had been too late. He tragically gazed down at wife in fearful disbelief. Laying sprawled at his feet, her eyes once so full of life and love slowly dimmed and flickered like a candle was slowly burning out.
At first the sobs came as soft convulsions. Like a dam breaking, the volume of his cries slowly increased, each breath now wracking his body as he crouched over Raylene, cradling her motionless form. The Monitor's bullet had torn through her mid-section, spilling blood in a neat circular pool under her body. Anguished cries and shivering loss descended upon him while the life of his love slowly trickled away. He looked up, to the left and right, tears and sobs still coursing through him while he cursed the heavens. He hadn't let go of the gun yet, a fact which had more and more interest to him with each passing second. All he had left in life was gone. He hid away from her the worst of what he was. An entire life of blood, violence and crime he had shrouded from her had finally caught up with him. And it was his fault.
Before he knew it the cool brushed metal of the Desert Eagle was pointed at his temple, with his own finger on the trigger. He had never thought much about an afterlife. A strange fact he now thought, given how much he dealt with death on a frequent basis. All Cain knew for sure in this tragic moment was that he couldn't go on without her. Lifeblood fleeing her limp form, he longed to join her and end his tortured duplicitous life and embrace the silence and peace of non-existence.
"Cain..."
Her voice jolted him out of his grief-stricken panic. Still outwardly convulsing, he fell silent, tears still flowing, and looked into her dimming eyes. She coughed, struggling to gather enough breath to speak to him. With each attempt, a little more thick, dark blood fled from her lips and tricked down her cheeks.
"Cain... promise me..."
He was speechless, sitting motionless, not stirring, not weeping and not even breathing. His mind filled with what he knew to be false hope that perhaps everything might still be alright. Perhaps if he could get her to a hospital, they might be able to stitch her back together and even stop the internal bleeding and -
"Promise me..." she struggled, attempting to bring her face closer to his.
He realized she was using every last erg of strength she had left in her body. She was a warrior in her own right, fighting to pass on a simple message to her husband, before she left him alone in the world.
"Promise me that you will get them for me..." she said through clenched and bloody teeth, locking her eyes with his one last time.
Her blue gaze burned brightly and then flickered out.