Changing of the Guard

Part One: It Must Go On

Cover:Extreme close up of Donovan and Brite sneering at each other over a pair of crossed swords. Brite is in half-monster form, looking very much like some demonic gargoyle.
Alternate cover: Donovan lying in a pool of his own blood, his throat torn out, his sword laying to the side, just out of reach. Text beneath the image reads: "The Beginning?"

he fine metal rang out as the swords met between the two combatants. The smaller of the men reversed his spin and brought his weapon around in a low slash at the larger one's legs. The taller man leapt over the strike with such grace that he seemed to pause in the air... his hair hanging around him like a black halo. He came down swinging his weapon at his opponent's head...

*CLANG!*

Another block. The men stood face-to-face in the center of the old church. They leered at each other over their crossed swords... Brite's inhuman, blood-red eyes met the raging fury of Donovan's gaze.

"You're tired, old man," said Brite. The words were sharp and brutal... like his sword, and the fangs that hung from his mouth as he smiled. "and you're wasting good blood." Brite nodded at the wounds on Donovan's arms and legs... superficial gashes that nevertheless ran with fresh blood.

"You're older than I am," replied Donovan. He jumped back and repeated his earlier motion.... spinning and slashing, but this time at Brite's midsection. The monster moved to block, but Donovan quickly adjusted his swing and left a deep, diagonal gash across Brite's lower abdomen. Blood spurted in a sudden red gush... and then stopped as the wound's lips closed, puckered and healed, leaving nothing but a bloody tear in Brite's white shirt.

"And I shall KEEP getting older," Brite taunted. "while your body rots in this church."

"So you say," spat Donovan. He danced backwards and readied his sword. His movements were smooth and exact. Though he was in his late forties, his body and reflexes was still like those of an young athlete, though his face was as worn and haggard as a man in his sixties.

"Do you honestly think you can win?" hissed Brite as he began to circle around. "Is your heart telling you that you can defeat me... or are you in this to avenge the boy?"

"It matters not, monster."

"You follow me down the east coast to call me names, eh?"

"I chased you... hunted you... and you ran like the dog you are. Why run if I cannot beat you!"

"Vengeance, of course. I must say, you have excellent taste in students, Donovan. The last one was quite tasty!"

Donovan charged and attacked. His blade whistled as it sliced the air-

*CLANK!*

Brite blocked, then launched into a rapid series of lunges and slashes... each movement backed with inhuman speed and strength. Donovan easily deflected or avoided them all. His sword seemed to move of its own accord, sweeping and parrying with an unearthly skill that made Brite's strength and speed moot. The sharp clang of metal against metal echoed through the church as the pair fought up and down the center aisle. Brite remained on the offensive, increasing the ferocity of his attacks and driving Donovan back toward the altar. But with a surge of anger, Donovan redoubled his efforts... spinning and slashing at Brite like a man possessed, yet never loosing an ounce of skill. He forced Brite back a few steps, then faked a slash at his side. Brite tried to block, but Donovan spun and whipped the sharp tip of his blade across Brite's neck. More blood fountained as Brite backed away in surprise. He clamped a hand to his ruptured throat and scowled at Donovan as the wound healed.

"I'll wear you down," said Donovan with clenched teeth. "I chased you day and night... you had no time to feed. You're too weak to even fly... Now I'll wear you down and destroy you... FOREVER this time!"

Brite hissed and snarled at Donovan like a rabid dog. Inch-long claws sprouted from his hands, and his fangs elongated.

"Go ahead," said Donovan. "Waste even more of your energy... make it easier for me. Come on!"

With a guttural growl, Brite leapt high into the air, nearly touching the rafters of the church, then shot down toward Donovan. Donovan spun, ducked, and brought his sword upward in an awkward, but effective slash...

CLANK!

Metal met metal once more as Brite blocked the strike. The monster touched down on the other side of Donovan, but Donovan was already moving to block his attack. They traded parries, lunges and blocks once more... Brite's attacks were becoming stronger, but more erratic. They circled each other. Brite slashed at Donovan's neck. Donovan ducked and counterattacked... opening another deep gash across Brite's abdomen. He quickly blocked Brite's second strike, then jumped backward to avoid Brite's clawed hand as it reached for his stomach.

Donovan spun and slashed... his sword sliced through Brite's wrist, severing muscle and tendon... Brite's demonic hand hung limp on the end of his arm, attached by a thin strip of flesh.

"ARRRRGGGG!" Brite backed away, but Donovan pressed him with a fierce offensive. Another two slashes glanced off of Brite's sword, then a sudden parry sent the monster's blade flying into the air. It landed silently on the carpeted floor on the other side of the church. Brite jumped backwards, spraying the church with blood from his nearly severed limb. Donovan charged after him. Brite grabbed a pew and ripped it from the floor. He threw it at Donovan, but Donovan deftly avoided it and continued his charge. The pew demolished the altar behind him.

Brite glanced at the door, and then at his arm. The flesh was beginning to grow back... but slowly. Too slowly.

Donovan rushed him, Brite slashed with the claws of his good hand, but Donovan spun to one side at the last moment. He brought his sword across Brite's lower chest, leaving a trail of deep red in its wake. He twirled and slashed again... and again... blood and bowels spilled from twin furrows in Brite's gut. Donovan jumped back and struck a fourth time, opening up a gash in the monster's throat. He spun and let the blade fly once more.

"ARRRRGH!" Brite staggered back, narrowly avoiding a decapitating strike. His wounds sealed... but not completely. The regeneration halted before the muscle could knit together, and the wounds opened again as Brite's healing force failed. "DAMN YOU!"

"Running out of juice?" said Donovan. "You look like you need a refill... too bad you won't be getting it."

"I shall drink my FILL when I'm done with you!"

"You'll not leave this church, monster!"

"FOOL! You cannot slay me... I am FOREVER!"

"There's no one left to resurrect you... your servants are dead. I shall burn your body right here in this-"

"DIIEE!" Brite charged... a bleeding wreck that left a trail of blood in its path. Donovan prepared to make the killing blow... but he never got the chance to deliver it.

The blade came from behind. Sinking deep into his back and puncturing his left lung with one thrust. It was less than an inch away from his heart.

"DIE so that the LORD may FEED!" shouted the woman.

"AARRGH!" Donovan faltered, and Brite struck. One swipe of the beast's clawed hand unsealed Donovan's abdomen, just as Donovan's blade had done to his own. "UNGh!"

Donovan dropped his sword and fell to his knees. His mind reeled. He grasped his gut, trying to stop the bleeding. It was a wicked wound... he felt his intestines trying to slip out between his fingers.

"...ungh..."

He reached for his sword, but a booted foot kicked it just out of reach.

"No more games, old fool." said Brite. His words forced fresh blood out through his own pierced throat. He reached down, grabbed Donovan by the shoulder and hauled him up onto his feet. "It's over. Your precious Crusade ends here... with you."

Donovan opened his mouth, but Brite bit down on his neck, driving his fangs deep. He reared back, tearing a chunk out a chunk of Donovan's flesh, then clamped down onto the gushing wound.

Donovan felt what little strength he had fading as the monster drained him nearly dry. He tried to struggle... but there was nothing left within him. Suddenly Brite pushed him away. Donovan fell to the ground, where he lay face-down in his own blood.

"BAH!" Brite spat out a clot of Donovan's bloody flesh. "His cursed blood holds no nourishment!"

"Take ME, my lord!"

The woman who had struck Donovan from behind stepped forward and ripped the yellow robe from her body, exposing her nakedness to her lord. She extended her neck towards him.

"Drink of your humble servant," she pleaded with almost orgasmic urgency. "PLEASE! Drink of me!! TAKE ME!!!"

"No," said Brite. "I will find nourishment elsewhere... You must gather those that remain so we may rebuild what this fool and his whelp have destroyed."

Brite kicked Donovan's shivering form, cracking one of the man's ribs.

"But master, your wounds-"

"You fear for one who is eternal? DO AS I SAY or you shall NEVER feed my hunger. Leave this miserable thing here to die."

Brite kicked Donovan again, this time with enough force to roll him over onto his back. Donovan's eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling.

"GO!"

The woman gathered her robe and scampered away. Brite looked down at the unmoving Donovan for a few moments. He kicked the limp body a third time, then turned and limped from the church.

The heavy wooden doors slammed closed behind him, and Donovan jerked and coughed up a lungfull of blood. He listened as a car door opened outside the church, and then closed. Donovan reached into his pants pocket and felt for the small object he had hidden there. He didn't bother pulling it out... he simply pushed the button.

Outside, a vehicle bearing one unholy occupant exploded... yielding a brilliant ball of flames that consumed the car and everything nearby. The flames danced in the night, casting weird, almost joyful shadows through the stained-glass windows

Donovan coughed and smiled. He rolled over onto his side and struggled to pull off his shirt. He tied it tight around his gaping abdomen, grabbed his sword, and crawled to the church's door. He had lost a lot of blood... too much. He should already be dead. He knew there was only one reason he wasn't...

"It Must Go On," he murmured as he crawled outside. "It Must... Go... On..."

ason Brooks left the quiet little bar just after midnight. He stopped and yawned... the sleeves of his tan trenchcoat riding up on his long arms as he stretched.

"Man, it's too early to be this tired. Bar-hopping never was my thing... especially not this bar."

Jason was never a frequent patron, and in fact, had only been inside the place twice. Once to use the phone, and tonight to spend a few hours agonizing with his coworkers about the buyout of the company. Rumors of layoffs were flying wild and free with no management efforts to deny or confirm them. People were worried... most were young programmers who'd never been fired before. The whole idea was inconceivable to them, but at 27, Jason had been through the takeover/buyout mill enough times to know how it really worked. He decided to join their Friday night worry session and inject some reason into the whole mess. It didn't work. Everyone ended up drunk, and Jason decided he'd better leave before he was too toasted to find anything else to do except drink. Hell, none of his friends had any reason to worry anyway. It was a tight market for computer programmers, especially in this city. No matter who their new bosses would be, they certainly wouldn't be so obtuse as to slash the best development team in the company. Jason was more concerned with his own fate... the new 'powers that be' would probably make him take the promotion he'd been rejecting for the past year. Writing research programs was one thing.... but team leader? Supervising the same bunch of friends he'd just been tossing back shots with? Hell, that was just one step away from the dreaded management level... at which all intelligence, common sense, and job skill were sucked out of a man's brain like waste out of an airplane toilet.

"Nope," said Jason. "No sell-out... to hell with the corporate ladder."

Jason paused under a streetlamp, where the golden light made his brown skin appear bronze. He enjoyed a few breaths of the clean city air. Rock Springs was what Jason liked to call a 'new city'... growing fast, but with enough rural history and pride to keep the developers from going crazy with greed. It wasn't a corrupt cesspool like most older cities... and it wasn't drowning in the waste-products of its own success like LA or Atlanta. The air was still clean, and the roads were never clogged enough to warrant 'On The Spot Traffic Coverage' even during rush hour. Crime was on the rise, but then so was the police department, who just the other month opened their multi-million dollar Crime Lab Facility on the other side of town. No more waiting for weeks for DNA tests and such... they'd do it right here in town in just a couple of days. Or hours. Jason's team had worked on some of the software for the police science-nerds, and he knew more about their capabilities than the average cop did. Impressive stuff... and even a little scary if one bought into conspiracies and such.

Jason was trying to decide on plans for the rest of the night when a car rounded the corner a few blocks away. It was a large older-model car... probably an 87 oldsmobile of some sort... and it meandered from one side of the street to the other as came in Jason's direction.

"I'll be damned," said Jason. "What's wrong with this guy?" He stepped back from the curb and squinted to see the man behind the wheel. He couldn't make out anything but a slouched outline, but whoever it was must have been too drunk to STAND, let alone drive. The car ran up onto the one sidewalk, then pulled off suddenly and headed straight for the opposite one. It veered away just in time to avoid taking out a fire hydrant. The car kept moving...picking up speed as it got closer. It zigzagged a few times, and then made a sharp turn... heading directly for Jason.

"WHOA-HEY!!" Jason jumped backwards as the car careened into the light pole. There was a pop and a bright flash, and the streetlight went out. Immediately, the driver's side door opened.

"HEY!" shouted Jason. "Hey man, hold up! You damaged the pole! Don't get out, you could get electrocuted!" As soon as the man cleared the car, Jason gasped. "Oh my GOD!"

Electrocution was obviously the least of this man's worries. He was already dead.

It was an older man... probably in his fifties. Jason couldn't tell what color the man's clothes USED to be, because they were all covered with fresh blood. His shirt was tied tight around his abdomen, where the edges of a deep, bloody wound peeked out from the cloth. He had another wound on his neck. It looked like something had taken a bite out of him. Or several bites.

There was now way he should have been walking around.

<<He didn't hit the pole hard enough to do THAT, did he?>>

The man stumbled towards Jason, and then collapsed.

Without even stopping to think, Jason ran over to the man. He looked even worse close up. His skin was deathly pale... almost totally white. The only color was the blood smeared around his mouth and neck. There was also a large knife sticking out of his back.

<<He CERTAINLY didn't get THAT in the accident.>>

He looked like he was already dead... except for the fact that he was still breathing.

Jason knelt by the man, and realized that he had absolutely no idea what to do next.

"Are you okay? No... no, of course not. Uhh... DAMN I wish I learned first aid." Jason looked around. The street was empty, but the bar was close by. "HELP! HEY I NEED SOME HELP OUT HERE!"

"...shhh...."

Jason looked down. The man was looking up at him. He reached out and grabbed Jason's hand. Jason wanted to pull away, but the man's grip was strong... especially for someone in his condition.

"...do... do you accept?" he whispered.

"What?" Jason looked back toward the bar. The door opened, and a few people saw them and started running their direction. Someone ducked back inside... presumably to call 911.

"...please... you're the only one.... don't let it die..."

"You're not gonna die," Jason lied. "You made it this far... we got people calling for help right now! You just hang on-"

"...crusade...do you accept..."

"Accept what? What are you talking about?"

"Please!"

The man's grip tightened as a convulsion shot through him. He was dying.

"Hold on!"

"WHAT HAPPENED!" someone shouted. It was Anthony, one of Jason's co-workers.

"...please.... you must... accept..."

"OKAY, OKAY! Fine! Whatever... just save your strength... you're gonna be okay if you just hold on!"

"...say it.... say... say you accept..."

"What's he talking about?"

"I accept, okay? I accept whatever you want... just-"

The man's grip suddenly went from incredibly strong to nonexistent. He sighed once... and never inhaled. Jason felt for a pulse... one of the few first-aid procedures he actually knew how to do.

"He's dead." said Jason. The rest of the crew from the bar arrived and crowded around. They inundated Jason with questions.

"What happened?"

"Hey, Jason... what was he talking about?"

"Was he saying something?"

"What did he say?"

"Were you talking to him?"

"Did you see him hit that pole?"

"Did you get any blood on you?"

"We called the police... they're on their way..."

"Is he really dead?"

"Oh, God... I've never seen a dead guy before."

"What HAPPENED to him... he's all messed up!"

"Is that a knife!?"

Jason waved his friends back... not out of respect or to preserve the scene, but because he wanted some air. All of a sudden, he wasn't feeling to well. He was cold, and his blood felt like it was bubbling in his veins.

"Hey, Jason..."

"I don't feel to good. I don't... I don't feel good at all. Somethin's wrong..."

"Was that guy sick? Did you get any of his blood on you?"

"I dunno... "

"You were touching his hand when I got out here," said Anthony. "Maybe he-"

"Not that kind of sick, Anth. I saw a guy die and I just don't feel right, okay? I'll be f-fine."

Anthony said something, but his words were lost in the shrieking sirens that signaled the arrival of the police. Two patrol cars stopped by the curb and the officers took charge. One pair of cops started moving everyone back while another pair started poking around the dead man's car and body. Jason kept his distance, but couldn't stop his eyes from fixing on the officers' guns. Jason's stomach gurgled and clenched.. Even in their holsters, they reminded Jason of things he'd been trying to forget for years. He wanted to get away from them...

"Anyone see anything?" said one cop.

"Uhh..." Jason stepped forward timidly. "Yeah, I was...uhh... here." He told the officer what happened, and the cop wrote it all down, along with his name address and phone number. When they offered him a ride home, Jason accepted. He knew that the cops were just trying to verify the address he'd given them, but he suddenly didn't feel like walking.

Once he got home he was too tired to go back out. He shrugged off his clothes and, lacking the energy to hang them up, left them on the floor beside the bed. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and started wondering what was wrong with him. He was tired. He had chills and his blood still felt like carbonated ice-water. Maybe Anthony was right... maybe that man DID give him something? And what was all that business about 'accepting'? Accept what? Some disease he'd been carrying?

"...great, that's all I need now..."

Jason was trying to decide whether to go to the hospital when he passed out.

"ake up."

Jason opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. For some reason he'd expected his memories of the night before to be fuzzy and remote... but no, there they were, as clear and plain as if it had all happened five seconds ago. The car. The weird man soaked in his own blood. Death. The cops and their guns. The memories merged with some very strange nightmares... not the 'wake up screaming' kind, but the surreal, 'question your own sanity' kind. The last one ended with someone yelling at him to wake up. Jason shuddered and looked over at the clock. It was 7:00am...

Jason frowned. There was absolutely no reason for him to be up this early on a Saturday. None whatsoever... especially since he'd been drinking last night and passed out on the bed less than seven hours ago. He rolled over, fluffed his pillows and tried to will himself back to sleep.

"Get up."

"Wha-" Jason threw the covers back and sat up in the bed. Someone was talking to him. He looked around frantically, but saw nothing out of place in his bedroom. "Who's here!" Jason slowly reached for the crowbar he kept under the bed.

"Get up, man! We've got WORK to do!"

"All right, you want up, you GOT up!"

Jason jumped out of bed and nearly tripped over the clothes he'd left on the floor. He stumbled, caught his balance, and stood perfectly still in the middle of the room, brandishing his crowbar like a professional thug.

"Who's here? Anth? Is that you..."

"I don't know who Anth is, but I'm not him. My name is Donovan Wilde. We've met once before... last night. When I died."

"Uh-huh..." Jason couldn't quiet place the voice's location. It seemed to be close by... but from no particular direction. It was everywhere. "Dammit, Anth..." Jason walked over to his clothes and began searching through them.

"We don't have... what are you doing?" said the voice.

"I'm looking for your transmitter, Anth. You caught me with that trick once this year... hidin' crap in my clothes. I ain't falling for it again. And pretending to be that dead guy was in SUCH good taste. I mean, really."

"I'm not a joke, man! This is serious!"

"Uh-huh. That's what you said last time. What was it then? Aliens?" Jason didn't find anything in his clothes, so he started searching the room. "All right, where'd you hide it? Did you sneak into my apartment last night? You did, didn't you! You sneaky bastar-"

"LISTEN!" The sudden increase in volume made Jason jump. It sounded like someone was shouting directly into his ear. "My name is Donovan Wilde. I was dying, and the Crusade was dying with me. I needed someone to take it up after me and I chose you. You accepted. Do you remember that? Do you remember accepting?"

Jason stopped and stared at the wall in front of him. His heart beat faster, and he felt his skin grow cold. Accept. The man from last night asked him to accept something. Was Anthony there to hear that?

Yes... yes, he was just walking up when Jason agreed to... whatever.

Jason shook his head and smiled..

"Almost had me there, Anth. Okay, come on... where's the transmitter?"

"Look, I understand your confusion. You don't understand what's going on..."

"Uh-huh... keep talking. I'll find it." Jason searched the lamp by the bed and found nothing. He picked up the alarm clock and shook it. "Keeeep talking..."

"Usually there is time to prepare... but I was taken by surprise. I had to choose quickly... and I chose you. When you accepted, your life was forever changed. Whatever destiny or fate you thought lay before you is no more. That life has ended. You are not the man you were, and you never will be again. You are now the latest in a long line of Crusaders... a heritage that goes back thousands of years. Unfortunately, you are raw and untrained... unprepared. And in a great deal of danger. We have work to do. We have to get moving before-"

"You put it in my STEREO, didn't you! So help me if you MESSED UP my SYSTEM..."

"DEAR GOD, MAN! WILL YOU STOP YAMMERING AND LISTEN TO ME!!!!!"

Again, Jason stopped.

The voice. Loud and clear. VERY loud and VERY clear. Coming from every direction and NO direction... which was impossible unless...

Jason's hands flew to his ears. He searched for the earpiece that must be there... but his ears were clean.

"No, there's nothing in your ears or on your head," said the voice, which sounded just the same even with Jason's fingers in his ears. "I am QUITE dead... as you saw last night. You are hearing me with your mind. Other than psychics and sensitives, you are the ONLY one that can hear me. My name is Donovan Wilde, and I am your Guide."

"What?"

Jason looked around once more.

"As a Crusader you are given five gifts. One of them is the Guide. The ghost of the one who came before you... that's me... will be your mentor until it is your turn to pass the Crusade on to another, at which time YOU will become the Guide for the next-"

"This is messed up," said Jason. He snatched up his clothes and quickly got dressed. "...messed up. I'm not believing this... I'm outta here, Anth... I'm coming to kick your ass."

"You can't walk away from this... I don't even know your name."

"My name is gone... I'll figure this out after I get some air."

"Air won't help you. Come back here!"

Jason opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The apartment building used to be a luxury hotel. It was converted into almost-luxury apartments years ago, but outside the rooms it still had that 'hotel' feel... a row of doors on each side of a tight hallway. Brandon, one of Jason's neighbors, was walking down the hall. He was a spoiled college kid who's parents obviously had no idea how much alcohol and parties their money was buying. The kid was dressed in his bathrobe, and looked like he was just returning from the elevator... probably escorting last night's girlfriend out before today's girlfriend called. Jason saw him and gasped.

He was surrounded by a yellowish-orange glow. It was like a corona or a halo... only it was much thicker and surrounded his entire body. It wavered slowly, like the flickering of a candle in slow motion. Most of it was bright orange... but there were quite a few dark splotches that swam around in the glowing mass... flowing and undulating... merging and separating like a mutant lava lamp on LSD.

The spots frightened Jason. The way they moved... like fishes or eels. They looked almost alive.

In fact, as Brandon approached, the larger splotches seemed to change their movements... they began gathering on the side closest to Jason.

"Oh, God..." He backed away.

"It's called Discernment," said the voice of Donald Wilde. "You're not ready for it. Back away from him..."

"Hey, what's up, dude?" said Brandon. The boy got closer, and the black ooze suspended in his aura started reaching out towards Jason.

Jason quickly jumped back.

"I, uhhh..."

"Dude, you don't look too good. Gotta hangover?"

"Get out of here," said Wilde.

"I... I gotta go..."

"Hey, I know the feelin' man. Tomato juice and fried chicken work wonders... The greasier the better."

Jason backed towards his apartment, but Brandon walked right past him. One of the inky splotches suddenly lashed out and touched Jason's arm. There was a flash... not of light, but of pure, horrid darkness. And then...

"Please stop..."

"What? WHAT? You were with it a minute ago."

"I changed my mind! Get OFF of me!"

"Nuh-uh, bitch... You can't just lead me on and then change your freakin' mind soon as we get to the bedroom... SCREW THAT! We're doin' the deed... right here, right now!"

"Stoppit, Brandon! Lemme GO!"

"You'll like it! I alway's leave 'em satisfied!"

"HELP!"

*SMACK*

"SHUT UP!"

"...please..."

*RIP!*

"...please stop..."

"I'll buy you a new dress and panties next week..."

*rip!*

"...oh, God, please..."

"I'll give you something to call God about... UNGH!"

"AIII-"

*SMACK!*

"Shut up and enjoy it! This feels good right? Right? Say it!"

The scene faded as fast as it had begun. Jason was staring at Brandon as he continued past... not even one second had elapsed. But he had seen... he had heard.... Brandon... Brandon and the girl...

"Oh, God," Jason felt nauseous.

Brandon stopped and turned around.

"Hey dude, don't throw up in the hallway, man..." Another black splotch reached out for Jason.

"AAA!"

Jason turned and ran for the elevator.

"Aww MAN, don't puke in the ELEVATOR man!!!"

The elevator doors opened, and Jason barged into the tight space before he realized that someone was inside. Jason didn't know his name, but he'd seen him before on his way to work. He usually wore a suit, but today he was dressed in jogging shorts and a tank-top... just about to go for his morning run.

He had an aura similar to Brandon's... and the entire left side of it was one dark stain.

Jason started to scream, but the sound of the elevator door closing snatched the air right out of his lungs. He was trapped.

The man looked at Jason and smiled.

"Early riser, I see."

"Uhh... y-yeah."

The darkness slowly stretched toward Jason. Jason backed himself into a corner and started shaking. The man turned away and watched the elevator display... but he kept talking while his black stain oozed toward Jason.

"Get a head-start on everyone else. You'll go far, that way. That's what got me where I am today."

Jason gave a very un-masculine yelp as the darkness touched him.

"...can't DO this to me! YOU KNOW you approved the loan, but now you're telling people I acted on my OWN!"

"You did. This is all your doing, not mine."

"But it was YOUR account!"

"Which I let YOU handle. Everyone knows that."

"But YOU approved the loan, not ME!"

"Can you prove that?"

"WHAT!?"

"I said, can you PROVE it? Because if you can't, then it's your word against mine. And I've been here a lot longer than you!"

"You BASTARD! I trusted you! You said you'd HELP me! You said you'd SUPPORT me on this!"

"I lied."

"But I'll lose my job! I've got a WIFE and a NEW BABY! I can't get FIRED!"

"Does it really look like I care, Sanders? I mean, come on... this is the real world. Do you think anyone here cares about you except you?"

"You BASTARD!"

"But I'm a bastard with a job... which is more than I can say for you, Sanders. Now get out of my office..."

The elevator door opened, and Jason bolted for the front door. He ran through the lobby, deftly avoiding the few people who were milling about... each of them draped in a bright multicolored aura... and each aura bearing some black stain. Some were almost clean... and one was almost completely black. Yet each splotch, no matter how large or small, reached out for Jason as he ran passed. The people were oblivious to what their auras were doing, but the darkness sought him nonetheless. It wanted to touch him. It wanted to smear its filth onto him. Cover him up and drown him in it.

"AAAAIIIGH!!!"

Jason ran out onto the street.

Was it always this crowded on Saturday morning? Joggers. Construction workers. Early shoppers. Tourists. Dozens and dozens of people!

The COLORS! THE DARKNESS! And it was all for HIM! All coming for HIM!!

Jason clamped his hands over his eyes. He gave a low whimper as he forced back the fear. But it wouldn't go away. Even with his eyes closed, he KNEW it was out there!

He heard someone walk past. Something dark touched him...

"Next time I tell you I want dinner ready when I get home... DAMMIT, I MEAN I WANT DINNER READY!"

*SMACK!*

"No! PLEASE DON'T!"

*CRASH!*

"Don't MAKE me hurt you again!"

Jason gasped for air as the vision faded.

"Now that I've let you experience some of what you've become," said Donovan "maybe you'll listen to me."

"Go away!" Jason yelled. Several people stopped looked at him. "PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Hey, mister... are you okay?"

A man and his wife walked up to him. The man's aura was almost clean... almost. But the woman... DEAR GOD what had she done! She was like a MONSTER! A walking column of inky darkness!

Jason didn't want to see. He didn't want to know. He couldn't BEAR to know!

He turned and ran away... away from the crowds... away from the apartment building... away from everything. Donovan Wilde's voice bellowed at him, but he didn't listen. He heard the words... but their meaning never made it past the tide of terror that was rising in him. Donovan may as well have been speaking Chinese.

Jason ducked into an alley a few blocks away. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath. He kept his eye on the street, and winced every time someone walked past. He couldn't look at them. He couldn't... So much darkness..

"Panic is a perfectly normal reaction," said Donovan. "But you simply don't have time for this."

"...go away... oh, please..."

"We have work to do. The Discernment is a tool... I can teach you how to use it. You'll never be able to turn it completely off, but you can learn to live with.... wait... wait, you're not alone in this alley..."

"Wha-"

Jason turned and saw the shapes at the rear of the alley. Two men. Their auras were swirls of dark orange in a sea of blackness. One man had a gun, and it was pointed at Jason.

"Don' move."

"Run, Jason... " said Donovan.

Jason was frozen to the spot. The man had a gun. A gun. The gun. Jason's heart thundered in his chest. Donovan was screaming at him. He didn't move. The gun. Such a big gun. Just like the one... like the one.... it couldn't be the same gun, could it? No, that was nonsense...

But it was still a gun.

"Give up da money." said the unarmed man.

Jason didn't move. He didn't even hear what the man had said.

The gun.

"Get 'im!"

One thug lunged for him... as if he expected Jason to try and run. How silly of him... Jason wasn't going anywhere. There was a gun pointed at him. A big gun.

The thug tackled him and they both hit the ground.

For the slightest instant, Jason caught a glimpse of something moving towards his head. It was a fist... and it was holding a large rock. He saw the darkness of the aura reaching for him... but before the visions began...

*CRACK!*

To Be Continued...

copyright 2005 by Dark Icon Entertainment