Post by Pietro Granitus on Sept 6, 2024 17:27:58 GMT -6
Kazadus gripped the cracked steering wheel of his beat-up van, a grimace tightening his scarred face. The engine wheezed and sputtered as he navigated through the crowded streets leading to Metro City's business district. The vehicle, a worn-out van from a defunct plumbing company called "Good Guys Plumbing," barely ran on its rusted wheels. The faded logo on the side was chipped away by age and neglect, leaving only a few letters visible. “Good Guys,” Kazadus thought bitterly. “They couldn’t have at least painted over that?” He cursed under his breath, feeling every bump and pothole as the van jolted beneath him. The government had made him a deal, one he had thought would be fair given his past and the risks they expected him to take. They promised him a house—a place to live and keep his head down between hunts. What they hadn’t mentioned was that the house would be in a part of town that was practically a war zone, where gunfire was as common as the rain. The walls were paper-thin, the plumbing creaked at night like a dying animal, and the rats were big enough that he half-expected them to try and mug him someday.
And then there was the van. He had hoped for something with a bit of power, something fitting for a man on a mission like his. Instead, they gave him this relic. A van that stank of rust and old tools, where the AC was busted and the seats felt like they’d been upholstered with concrete. He had to start it three times today before it finally decided to cooperate. He'd learned quickly that pumping the gas twice and saying a silent prayer was the only way to make it roar to life—if you could call that pathetic sound a roar. The cash had been the final straw. They handed him an envelope with a few thousand dollars, and Kazadus had thought he was set for at least a couple of months. But he hadn’t accounted for inflation; things had changed a lot since the 1970s. What he thought was a lot of money would barely last him a month with today’s prices. He’d felt like a fool when he realized it. “Damned crooks,” he muttered, his knuckles tightening around the steering wheel until they went white. “Got me hunting monsters for crumbs.”
Kazadus looked out the van’s grimy windshield, eyes scanning the city that had grown like a cancer since he last walked its streets. Skyscrapers of glass and steel loomed over the crowded sidewalks, casting long shadows over the people below. People everywhere, but they all moved the same—heads down, shoulders slumped, their faces lit up by those little screens in their hands. “What did they call them? Cell phones?” he thought, his lips curling into a frown. It seemed like every person he passed was lost in one, their lives absorbed by the glowing devices as they walked without purpose or awareness. He wondered how they could be so engrossed in something so small when the world around them was so big and full of danger. Maybe they just didn’t want to see it, or maybe they’d grown numb to it. A lifetime ago, his senses would have been on high alert walking through a place like this—every alleyway, every rooftop, every passerby a potential threat. But these people? It was like they were blind to it all.
“Good thing, too,” Kazadus grumbled. “Makes my job easier.”
He turned his attention back to the road, weaving through the congested traffic with a patience that had been earned through decades of combat and survival. His mind drifted to the bounty he was after—a gang that had sprung up almost overnight and spread like wildfire across the city. They called themselves "The Syndicate," and they were no ordinary group of thugs. They’d moved in fast and violently, staking their claim with a string of brutal robberies and drug deals that left bodies in the streets. At the head of it all was some superpowered gangster, a figure who had already earned himself a fearsome reputation in the underworld. “Dante ‘The Inferno’ Reyes,” Kazadus muttered to himself, recalling the briefing he’d been given. “New kid on the block, real hothead, they say. Super Strength, maybe some kind of fire manipulation. Killed three guys last week just for looking at him the wrong way.” The Syndicate had gone from a whisper in the wind to a roaring blaze, and the heat was starting to spread to parts of the city that were supposed to be safe. It was bad for business, bad for politics, and that meant it was bad for the people pulling his strings.
He knew he was being used. Pointed like a loaded gun and fired at whatever threat the government deemed worthy of extermination. He was their hunter, their "Kazadus," tracking down the dangerous and the damned. But he also knew how to play the game. This was a world of bargains and power, and Kazadus knew that the more useful he made himself, the more leverage he would have. If it meant taking out some new breed of criminal, so be it. As he neared the business district, he could already feel the shift in atmosphere. The streets became cleaner, the buildings more polished, and the people dressed in suits and ties looked just as miserable as the folks in the poorer parts of town. The wealthier parts of Metro City might have been more polished, but they were just as rotten at the core. Kazadus chuckled to himself at the thought, a bitter, mirthless sound.
He caught his reflection in the rearview mirror, his gaze drifting to the soft emerald glow under his eyepatch where his left eye had once been. The soul within, the one he’d come to call “Valandil” had been silent today, his cryptic whispers absent from his thoughts. Usually, he would offer some form of advice or commentary, strange bits of wisdom that often felt more like riddles. Yet even in his silence, Kazadus felt him there, watching, waiting, perhaps even judging. The soul seemed to know more than it let on, always keeping him on edge, unsure of whether to trust it or to tear it from his skull. “You still with me?” he muttered, knowing he wouldn’t get a clear answer. He’d come to terms with the presence, as much as one could. Like him, he was a tool, a weapon, just like any other, and he’d use it if it helped him stay alive. “Don’t feel like talking today huh? Suits me just fine.”
Kazadus pulled the van to a stop and killed the engine with a wheezing cough. He sat for a moment, feeling the rumble of the dying motor settle into silence, his grip still firm on the steering wheel. He took a slow breath and let his eyes wander, taking in the area around him. The business district was alive with activity, the sidewalks filled with people in suits and ties, the occasional skirt, or a polished pair of shoes clicking on the pavement. Men and women shuffled past each other with hurried steps, their faces a mix of fatigue and indifference, heads still glued to their cell phones. As his gaze traveled upward, he took in the looming skyscrapers of steel and glass—cold, sterile giants that seemed to reach endlessly into the gray afternoon sky. Yet, nothing seemed out of place. Everything fit the sterile monotony of a big city's business hub.
He decided to get a closer look. As he walked by the entrance of the club, pretending to be nothing more than a curious passerby, a young woman suddenly stepped into his path. She looked up at him with bright, eager eyes, her lips painted a deep red. She wore a tight, revealing dress that was too mature for her delicate frame. "You look lonely," she said, voice smooth and calculated, "Could use some company?"
Inside, the dimly lit interior was filled with music that thumped and vibrated through the floors and walls. The air smelled of expensive liquor and something more sinister, something darker that hung in the atmosphere like an unspoken threat. The remaining bouncers closed in around him, but Kazadus was already preparing himself for the fight. His mind was a storm of rage and purpose, the weight of decades of battle pressing down like a steady hand on his shoulder. The girl had said they would kill him. They didn’t know who they were dealing with. A hunter. A predator. And today, these traffickers and gangsters were the prey. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Dante,” Kazadus growled under his breath, his eye narrowing as he scanned the room of Dante’s armed guards. “And let’s see if you burn as hot as they say.”
And then there was the van. He had hoped for something with a bit of power, something fitting for a man on a mission like his. Instead, they gave him this relic. A van that stank of rust and old tools, where the AC was busted and the seats felt like they’d been upholstered with concrete. He had to start it three times today before it finally decided to cooperate. He'd learned quickly that pumping the gas twice and saying a silent prayer was the only way to make it roar to life—if you could call that pathetic sound a roar. The cash had been the final straw. They handed him an envelope with a few thousand dollars, and Kazadus had thought he was set for at least a couple of months. But he hadn’t accounted for inflation; things had changed a lot since the 1970s. What he thought was a lot of money would barely last him a month with today’s prices. He’d felt like a fool when he realized it. “Damned crooks,” he muttered, his knuckles tightening around the steering wheel until they went white. “Got me hunting monsters for crumbs.”
Kazadus looked out the van’s grimy windshield, eyes scanning the city that had grown like a cancer since he last walked its streets. Skyscrapers of glass and steel loomed over the crowded sidewalks, casting long shadows over the people below. People everywhere, but they all moved the same—heads down, shoulders slumped, their faces lit up by those little screens in their hands. “What did they call them? Cell phones?” he thought, his lips curling into a frown. It seemed like every person he passed was lost in one, their lives absorbed by the glowing devices as they walked without purpose or awareness. He wondered how they could be so engrossed in something so small when the world around them was so big and full of danger. Maybe they just didn’t want to see it, or maybe they’d grown numb to it. A lifetime ago, his senses would have been on high alert walking through a place like this—every alleyway, every rooftop, every passerby a potential threat. But these people? It was like they were blind to it all.
“Good thing, too,” Kazadus grumbled. “Makes my job easier.”
He turned his attention back to the road, weaving through the congested traffic with a patience that had been earned through decades of combat and survival. His mind drifted to the bounty he was after—a gang that had sprung up almost overnight and spread like wildfire across the city. They called themselves "The Syndicate," and they were no ordinary group of thugs. They’d moved in fast and violently, staking their claim with a string of brutal robberies and drug deals that left bodies in the streets. At the head of it all was some superpowered gangster, a figure who had already earned himself a fearsome reputation in the underworld. “Dante ‘The Inferno’ Reyes,” Kazadus muttered to himself, recalling the briefing he’d been given. “New kid on the block, real hothead, they say. Super Strength, maybe some kind of fire manipulation. Killed three guys last week just for looking at him the wrong way.” The Syndicate had gone from a whisper in the wind to a roaring blaze, and the heat was starting to spread to parts of the city that were supposed to be safe. It was bad for business, bad for politics, and that meant it was bad for the people pulling his strings.
He knew he was being used. Pointed like a loaded gun and fired at whatever threat the government deemed worthy of extermination. He was their hunter, their "Kazadus," tracking down the dangerous and the damned. But he also knew how to play the game. This was a world of bargains and power, and Kazadus knew that the more useful he made himself, the more leverage he would have. If it meant taking out some new breed of criminal, so be it. As he neared the business district, he could already feel the shift in atmosphere. The streets became cleaner, the buildings more polished, and the people dressed in suits and ties looked just as miserable as the folks in the poorer parts of town. The wealthier parts of Metro City might have been more polished, but they were just as rotten at the core. Kazadus chuckled to himself at the thought, a bitter, mirthless sound.
He caught his reflection in the rearview mirror, his gaze drifting to the soft emerald glow under his eyepatch where his left eye had once been. The soul within, the one he’d come to call “Valandil” had been silent today, his cryptic whispers absent from his thoughts. Usually, he would offer some form of advice or commentary, strange bits of wisdom that often felt more like riddles. Yet even in his silence, Kazadus felt him there, watching, waiting, perhaps even judging. The soul seemed to know more than it let on, always keeping him on edge, unsure of whether to trust it or to tear it from his skull. “You still with me?” he muttered, knowing he wouldn’t get a clear answer. He’d come to terms with the presence, as much as one could. Like him, he was a tool, a weapon, just like any other, and he’d use it if it helped him stay alive. “Don’t feel like talking today huh? Suits me just fine.”
As Kazadus drove his battered van through the congested streets toward Metro City's business district, he fiddled with the ancient radio dial, hoping to find something familiar to ease the tension building inside him. Static buzzed and crackled as he turned the knob, searching for a station. Finally, a beat-heavy rhythm blared through the speakers, almost making him jump. A woman's voice filled the van, singing explicit lyrics over a thumping bass line. It only took a few seconds of Cardi B's "WAP" for him to grimace in disgust. The vulgarity and the sheer brazenness of the song grated against his nerves. "What the hell happened to music?" he muttered, quickly reaching out and slamming the radio off. He shook his head, his jaw tightening. Music had changed a lot since the '70s, and from what little he had just heard, he hated it. The silence that followed was a bitter comfort, and he cut the wheel hard, pulling into a side street that would take him closer to The Syndicate’s suspected hangout. His memory was still faded, but he definitely remembered his music had a lot more taste then whatever that was.
Kazadus pulled the van to a stop and killed the engine with a wheezing cough. He sat for a moment, feeling the rumble of the dying motor settle into silence, his grip still firm on the steering wheel. He took a slow breath and let his eyes wander, taking in the area around him. The business district was alive with activity, the sidewalks filled with people in suits and ties, the occasional skirt, or a polished pair of shoes clicking on the pavement. Men and women shuffled past each other with hurried steps, their faces a mix of fatigue and indifference, heads still glued to their cell phones. As his gaze traveled upward, he took in the looming skyscrapers of steel and glass—cold, sterile giants that seemed to reach endlessly into the gray afternoon sky. Yet, nothing seemed out of place. Everything fit the sterile monotony of a big city's business hub.
Then, his eye caught a smaller building nestled between two towering structures. It didn’t scream for attention, but there was a sleekness to it, a sense of exclusivity. The polished black stone exterior contrasted sharply with the dull corporate architecture surrounding it. No signs, just a dark, minimalist façade with a single, unmarked door guarded by a pair of large men in suits. High-class nightclub, Kazadus surmised. Despite it being the afternoon, a trickle of people were already filtering inside—business types, loosening their ties or freshening their makeup as they passed through the door. He almost chuckled. Decades might have passed, but some things never changed. People still needed a stiff drink after a long day of work.
He decided to get a closer look. As he walked by the entrance of the club, pretending to be nothing more than a curious passerby, a young woman suddenly stepped into his path. She looked up at him with bright, eager eyes, her lips painted a deep red. She wore a tight, revealing dress that was too mature for her delicate frame. "You look lonely," she said, voice smooth and calculated, "Could use some company?"
Kazadus stopped and gave her a sideways glance with his one good eye, his left glowing faintly under the eyepatch. Something about her struck him as off. She looked young—too young. "How old are you?" he asked, his voice gruff but steady. The girl hesitated, a practiced smile faltering for just a second. "Does it matter?" she replied with a hint of defiance. "It does," Kazadus said, his tone flat, but there was an edge beneath it, a warning. He'd seen this play out before. The young ones were always caught in something they couldn't escape from. His instincts were already on high alert. The girl went quiet, her eyes dropping to the ground for a moment, and when she looked back up, there was a flicker of fear in them. "I don't want to get in trouble," she murmured.
"With who?" Kazadus pressed, his senses sharp. She didn’t answer, but her eyes darted up to a window on the third story of the nightclub for just a split second. It was quick—too quick for most to notice—but Kazadus had spent a lifetime learning how to read people. His eye followed her glance to the tinted glass of the third-floor window. Then she looked back at him, and in a quiet voice, she said, "Fourteen." Something snapped inside him. A trigger pulled by a thousand memories of seeing the same thing over and over. The young exploited by the powerful, the innocent turned into prey. His face darkened, and he took a step toward the nightclub, his jaw set like iron. "Stop," the girl whispered urgently, her hand reaching out to grab his arm. "They’ll kill you, and they’ll send me back."
Hearing her say, "send me back," made his blood boil. Human trafficking. He had seen it before, fought against it, but it never got easier to stomach. These bastards had been hiding in plain sight. He looked at the girl and spoke. “Shut up and stay outside.” Kazadus marched up to the entrance of the nightclub as he pushed the line of people trying to get in out of his way, his posture rigid with intent. One of the guards, a massive man with a shaved head, stepped forward and tried to block him. "Back of the line pal." the guard said, voice thick with arrogance.
Kazadus didn’t bother with a warning. He grabbed the man by his collar and tossed him aside like he weighed nothing 20 feet into the air. The guard crashed into a parked car, the impact bending the metal and setting off its alarm. He could hear gasps and shouts from the bystanders who hadn’t yet fled the scene, but his focus was locked on the building in front of him. The other security guards, seeing their companion effortlessly thrown aside, immediately reached for their guns, hands moving under jackets and to holsters at their hips. Kazadus’ sharp eye caught the gang markings tattooed on their wrists and necks. Members of The Syndicate. Kazadus stepped inside, and as he crossed the threshold, he barked out to the few civilians lingering near the bar in a quick and sharp tone, "Get out!" His voice was like a whip crack, carrying a command that cut through their fear and confusion. The few patrons who hadn’t already bolted made for the exit, scrambling out past him in a panic.
Inside, the dimly lit interior was filled with music that thumped and vibrated through the floors and walls. The air smelled of expensive liquor and something more sinister, something darker that hung in the atmosphere like an unspoken threat. The remaining bouncers closed in around him, but Kazadus was already preparing himself for the fight. His mind was a storm of rage and purpose, the weight of decades of battle pressing down like a steady hand on his shoulder. The girl had said they would kill him. They didn’t know who they were dealing with. A hunter. A predator. And today, these traffickers and gangsters were the prey. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Dante,” Kazadus growled under his breath, his eye narrowing as he scanned the room of Dante’s armed guards. “And let’s see if you burn as hot as they say.”