Bliss Town has not had a break from storms in a while. If it isn’t the storms of the Toxic War destroying the world, it is the chaos of corruption and the Mama Bear Syndicate controlling their state, county by county. Now, the current turbulence of natural occurrence has been reduced to drizzle, but the damage is done from more than just heavy rain.
The Bliss Town Community Center is shot up and stained with the blood of the dead, and Samantha’s Spa is wrecked to condemnation. The ones that died there will no doubt leave their spirits behind to haunt the location.
Speeding away from the carnage, straight to the safe house, is Ramsey’s SUV. The mud kicks up in the driveway as it skids to a halt, and the door bangs open.
Mortimer scurries out, bloody, muddy and wet. He swiftly, yet carefully, pulls out Claribel’s limp and bloody body. Ramsey and his remaining coyote guards quickly exit the SUV and run ahead while Mortimer carries Claribel.
Rain drizzles on the group as they hurry to the safe house entrance. As soon as the door opens, Mortimer rushes straight to the kitchen. The house’s lights remain steady, despite the rumbling thunder and strong gusts of wind. He sets her down on the dining room table and removes her ruined jacket while Ramsey gets out a medical kit.
Ramsey's hands are steady, and Mortimer’s fingers tremble as he rubs Claribel's hair. The remaining coyotes stand guard, with one speaking onto a radio, but Mortimer is too focused on Claribel to listen to their words. He’s listening to her weak breathing and fading heart.
“You're going to be okay, Claribel,” says Mortimer.
Claribel’s eyes crack open to slits, and she struggles to raise her hand. Mortimer grabs her hand with both of his, and plants a soft kiss on her knuckles. Claribel's eyes shut again, and Mortimer presses her hand against his cheek and closes his eyes.
*****
Outside, on the top of a distant hill, a concealed female figure watches the safe house. They are protected by a tarp woven with fake leaves and twigs. The heavy rain pounds on the cover, and the dark clouds and thick rain adds extra cover for the location. Underneath the tarp, the female eagle lays prone, bundled in waterproof camouflage clothing, rifle in hand and eye focused on the safe house through their scope. Next to them is a radio, its digital numbers giving off a small glow, and another is a small radio playing rock music that is going directly to her ear through an earbud.
“Sky Eye, do you have an update?” says North Nermal over the radio.
“I do, Nasty Butler,” says Bridgette Baggs.
“Use my proper code name.”
“I forgot it.”
The following silence makes Bridgette smirk. She didn’t forget it, but she isn’t about to be an angel to Nermal after he convinced her to go out in the storm to watch a safe house to a crime lord. She could be (should be) doing literally anything else. Like delivering mail or watching formulaic romance movies on the HM Channel.
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“Have the Fixers arrived yet?” asks Nermal.
“Yep. The snake looked rough from what I saw. She might not make it. I also saw a ram,” says Bridgette.
“Was it the one Derrick described from his note?”
“Yep. Rings and colors all checked out. He also had four coyote guards with him. I don’t know if there are more inside, though.”
“Keep watching. I’ll have the others gathered soon enough.”
“How soon is soon enough? I have a job you know?”
“I don’t know. A day if I’m being optimistic.”
Bridgette frowns. “I’m not sitting out here for a full day when my job has snacks, drinks, and union perks.”
“Oh, come on. You know this is more fun than your day job,” says Nermal.
“I stopped doing this precisely because it was ‘fun’.”
“Well, hang tight, I’ll have relief coming as soon as possible. Then you can go back to your routine.”
“Thanks.”
“Nuke Baron out.”
The radio clicks off, and Bridgette rolls her eyes. “‘Nule Baron out’. Bleh. What a lame code name.”
*****
Back in Bliss Town, heavy rain beats down on Jayson, Dixie, Trafford, Derrick, and Lexia. Derrick is cradling Lexia in his arms, and Trafford is keeping pace behind the group, shielding himself from the rain with an umbrella and talking on his flip phone, sporting an easygoing smile.
The group travels through the alleys, passing graffiti with the winged DNA strands, and avoiding the sirens and swirling police lights converging on Samantha's Spa.
“Status report,” says Mr. Exe.
“The experiments are doing well, and we found Ramsey Prosper, but he got away,” says Trafford lightly.
“Did he really escape, or did you let him go?”
“A little bit of both. But we know where he is hiding, and he will be dealt with soon enough.”
“If you don’t stop playing games, I will personally make you stop.”
Trafford’s smile disappears, and his light steps gain weight as his eyes harden.
“You don’t have to be rude about this,” says Trafford, his voice heavy.
“Apparently, I do. You have a job to do, so do it. And I want a report on the experiments emailed to me by midnight.”
“It'll get done, boss.” Trafford looks at the group and smirks with a red tint in his eyes. “And you're going to love the data.”
*****
At Samantha’s Spa, police cars and armored vehicles screech to a halt, spraying rainwater into the air. Police hop out, wearing ponchos and armed with shotguns and rifles, and SWAT officers rush out of the armored vehicles, full clad in dark clothes and armor, and wielding heavy weapons and metal shields.
The red and blue lights swirl in the weakening rain, the water droplets drumming on the shells and windows of vehicles.
The police officers set up a perimeter, and the SWAT teams swarm in, with the shield wielders going in first.
The lights on their shields and shoulders shine in the dark hallways, illuminating bullet holes, blood splatters, and corpses. Some areas are blown out entirely, and the SWAT officers carefully step over the corpses while checking the rooms of the spa.
When they reach the circular lobby, they stare in disbelief at the shattered wood and large cracks spreading from the center, and the gaping hole directly lining up to a cracked wall across the street.
Another team is also stunned when they find Rolland, Dacre, and Shae. Still alive, but bloodied, bruised, and now their colors are gray, their hair has thinned, and crow’s feet border their eyes.
Rolland is the first to get up, groaning and rubbing his head. He squints his eyes at the bright lights and holds his hand up in an attempt to block it.
“Hey, cut it out! I can’t see a…” Rolland’s voice trails and his eyes widen at his hands. They are bony. Like an old man’s hand. He feels his face, touching the wrinkles. Then his hands rake up to his hair and he pulls out strands of white hair. Staring at the white stands in his hands, he sneers in disbelief. “Aw, man! This is gay!”
