A Killer in Red

A guard sat quietly by a frosty window, staring out at the crashing waves of the cold ocean below. His helmet discarded, the man took a bite of a protein wafer, chewing it calmly and swallowing. A pair of frail, wrinkly black hands–one of them clutching a silver knife–crept up behind the guard, silent, unnoticeable. One hand covered his mouth while the other dragged the blade across his throat, slicing the skin apart quickly, quietly, sending a stream of blood gurgling down his chest. The man struggled for a moment, but before long, the neck was drained of blood, and the man sat still. The helmet was placed back on his head, concealing the wound, and the guard continued to stare out at the turbulent sea.

I set my knife back in its sheath and crept away, continuing down the dark, damp hallway. Rain poured upon the windows like gunfire, echoing loudly against the flimsy aluminum roof of this facility. Lightning struck outside, followed soon by a BOOM of thunder. A guard paced back and forth through a hallway, stopping periodically to check the corners. I stood calmly against a wall, listening to his footsteps, waiting for him to approach me. He stood just around the corner from me, gazing out the window as lightning struck another building far off in the distance. I waited a moment, then jumped around the corner. The man shouted right as the thunder BOOMed, but nobody heard his tortured screams. Even in death, Storm aided my success.

I dragged the guard around the corner, sitting him up carefully against the wall. I wiped the blood off on my thigh–further bloodying the black bandages that covered me from head to toe–and continued down the hall. There were a few doors down here, two on the right and one straight ahead. The door on the far right was slightly ajar, but the one closest to me had a faint glow of light emanating from underneath. I leaned against the door and listened closely, hearing two distinct voices having a conversation. They both seemed to be male, somewhat husky, though one of them was croakier, tired, like that of a chronic smoker. I gripped a pair of throwing knives and took a deep breath, then swung the door wide open.

I flung the knives at the two men quickly, and though one of the blades stabbed the guard in the eye, the other only hit its target in the shoulder. The guard shouted and ducked for cover behind a table, as I sprinted toward him. I jumped over the table, kicking him square in the jaw, and came down hard, slamming my fist into the side of his head. I took the gun from his hand and fired it at his head–BANG–before he could retaliate, then ducked behind the table. Several loud footsteps ran down the hall outside, and barged into the room. I stayed behind cover, keeping quiet as they cautiously searched the room.

One of the men walked toward the table, and as soon as I saw his foot planted on the floor beside me, I sprung into action. I stabbed my knife into the guard’s foot, then rose quickly, driving the blade through his jaw, killing him instantly. The other two men in the room began shooting at me, and though I used their ally as a shield, one of their bullets hit me in the shoulder. I managed to evade them long enough to duck around the corner of the small room, where I then readied my pistol. I dove out of the corner and fired the gun wildly at the pair, hitting one of them in the chest and the neck, but only managing to pierce the other’s knee.

Both he and his deceased ally fell to the floor, but the survivor continued to fire on me as I hid behind the table. I laid still for a moment, counting his bullets until I was sure he had fired thirteen shots. I jumped back over the table to finish him off, but he fired one last shot, hitting me in the side. I fell to the floor, clutching my wounded gut, as the guard quickly reloaded his gun. Before he had a chance, I raised my own weapon and fired it at him, tearing a new hole in his forehead. I sat still, catching my breath, and slowly rose to my feet. 

I checked my shoulder, seeing a stream of viscous reddish-black blood pouring from the bullet wound. There was a similar injury on my side, though this one was bleeding much more rapidly. Both shots had torn straight through my red jacket, leaving holes in the fine leather. I pulled out a roll of black bandages from my pocket and carefully wrapped up the wounds, making sure they weren’t bleeding. The sleeves of my jacket hung down over my thumbs as I tried to mend my injury, and though I tried to pull them up, it just didn’t fit me. I pulled my hood down and cracked my neck, then slowly stepped out of the room, still clutching my side. 

The door on the right side of the hall–presumably where those men had come from–was wide open now, but the door at the end of the hallway was still shut. I walked over to it cautiously, listening for any voices or breathing, but I heard nothing. I slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside. The office was dark, seemingly empty, save for the desk in the corner and a couch across from the door. On the couch laid a sleeping man, his ears covered by large headphones, blasting heavy metal music of some kind. I walked over to the desk, which was covered in papers, drugs, weapons, and a roll of electrical tape. I picked up the tape roll and glanced over at the man, still sleeping, completely unaware that everyone in this facility was dead except for him.

* * *

A man laid still, fast asleep in a bathtub. His arms laid limply on his chest, tied together with strong tape at the wrist. His ankles were in a similar state, taped together so he was unable to stand up or walk. The man had muddled gray skin and short black hair, with a patchy gray beard. He wore a thin black bodysuit, leaving little to the imagination, and nothing else. He opened his big black eyes slowly, saw where he was, and began to panic. He took quick, anxious breaths, struggling and wiggling around in the tub, attempting to scream–though his mouth was covered by tape. After a few moments he calmed down, and started to examine his surroundings.

“Nus Garoth,” I murmured, flipping through a thick, black wallet. “That’s you, right?” The man–Garoth–nodded his head hesitantly. I pulled a small photo out of the wallet, and examined it closely. Pictured was Garoth, standing beside a woman and a small child. The woman was smiling, she had light skin and brown hair. The child had dark brown hair and mixed skin, and was giving the cameraman a toothy grin. I put the photo back in the wallet, and continued flipping through it. Next up I found a black card with a blue chip of some kind. 

I held it up, tilted my head, and asked, “What’s this?” Garoth mumbled something, but I couldn’t hear him with the tape covering his mouth. I sighed and leaned over, taking the tape and ripping it from his mouth.

“Ah, jeez, do ya gotta be so rough?!” Garoth scoffed. “Hey, what’s your problem, man? I was just taking a nap-”

“Do you know who I am, Garoth?”

“Uh, you’re that guy that’s been runnin’ around killin’ folk, ain’t you? Hey, what’s your name anyway, you never left any survivors to spread your gospel.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Well sure it does, how else are people s’pposed to recognize you? You walk in the room, people shout, ‘Hey! It’s–that… guy…’ ” Garoth looked down at his feet, then back up at me. “You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?”

I held the card up once again, and asked, “What is this, Garoth?”

“Nus,” he sighed. “Everyone calls me Nus. And that’s just my Scaler, man.” I looked back at the sleek, black card, which was heavier than an average credit card, and a tad bit larger. I set it back in the wallet nonetheless, and dropped the wallet on the sink counter. I sat on the toilet, staring down at Nus, and picked up my knife.

“Frostburn,” I uttered. “Where is he?”

“Who’s Frostburn?” Nus asked, the slightest crinkle of a smirk forming on his lip. I sat up and knelt by the sink, taking Nus’s arms and holding them up. I held the knife to his wrists–to the tape–and he let out a soft sigh of relief. I took a deep breath, clenched his arm tight, and scraped the sharp edge of the knife down his arm. Nus tensed up and shouted frantically, trying desperately to pull his arm away, but I held him in place.

“HEY, STOP IT, STOP! AHHG!!” he screamed, as I finally pulled the knife away. A large, deep gash ran down the length of his forearm. “WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!” 

“Frostburn,” I stated simply. “Where is he?”

“I DON’T FUCKING KNOW!” Nus shouted, still trying to pull his arm away from me.

“You’re from M-63, aren’t you?” I queried, dropping the knife and grabbing the wallet from the counter.

“What gave it away?” Nus seared, pulling his arm close to his chest, clenching his teeth. I took the family photo out of his wallet and showed it to him. 

“You have a family.”

“Greatest detective in the galaxy,” Nus sneered. “Are you threatening them?!”

“I’m making an observation,” I muttered, tossing the photo into the tub with him. Nus looked down at the photo, bit his lip, grinned slightly, and glanced back over to me.

“That’s my wife, Sera. I met her in preliminary school, back at-”

“You won’t get sympathy from me,” I sighed. “Frostburn, now.”

“We named my daughter, Asie, after Sera’s mom. She died before I ever-”

“Shut up, Nus,” I grumbled, picking up the knife again. 

“Do you got a family?!” Nus shouted, somewhat frantically. “C’mon, I know you do, why else would you be doin’ all this? This is revenge, ain’t it?” I knelt down beside the tub and took Nus’s arms again, now pressing the knife’s edge against his other arm. “Come on, Mr… uh,” Nus glanced at my bloodied jacket. “Mr. Red, I’ll tell you all I know!” 

“Where is Frostburn?”

“Look, I don’t know where Frostburn is-” I raised the knife up to his throat. “But I know how to find him! I swear, I’ll help you!” I paused, and lowered the knife. Nus cleared his throat, bit his tongue, and looked up at me. “There’s this place on Licentia, Facility T2-R1. You can find all you need to know about-”

“That’s the main headquarters for the Podders,” I remarked. “You think I don’t know?”

“I-I, wait, um-” Nus stammered, as I raised the blade once again. This time I stabbed him in the shin, sending the blade deep into his leg. He screamed once again, but I shoved a dirty washcloth in his mouth before he could get anything out. He bit down on it and hollered in muffled agony, a single tear streaking down his face. 

I reached over and grabbed another tool from the floor–a hair curler. It was already plugged in and turned on, glowing a soft orange. He saw the branding tool and yelled even more, shaking his head violently, but I didn’t care. I clamped the curler down on his leg, cauterizing the wound and burning him in the process. Nus tensed up and screamed, but I didn’t burn him any longer than I needed to. I pulled the curler away rather quickly, and set it down on the floor.

“Frostburn,” I stated, pulling the gag from his mouth. Nus took quick, stiff breaths, seething in pain, biting his tongue. As the pain lessened, and the burn cooled, so did he, gradually calming down. He looked at the photo again, still resting on his chest.

“My family is in danger.”

“Yes, they are. And if you don’t-”

“No, not you,” Nus scoffed. “Frostburn. He’s got everyone’s information, including mine and Sera’s. If I talk, they die.”

“If you don’t talk, they suffer.”

“Better than execution, right?” Nus chuckled weakly. “I’m just saying, Mr. Red-”

“Scarlet.”

“Huh?”

“I… like the word scarlet better.”

“Well, your jacket is actually more of a crimson…” Nus murmured. “But, alright, Mr. Scarlet. I’m just saying, I’d rather die in this bathroom than put my family in danger. Surely you can understand that, right?” I nodded slowly. “Look, I can’t tell you where Frostburn is–not that I would know, anyway–but I can tell you how to find him.”

“Tell me.”

“There’s something on Caligo that he’s supposed to be keeping an eye on, y’know? If you can find it, maybe you can-”

“It? What is it?”

“Well, I don’t actually know, but-”

“Then you don’t know anything,” I uttered, picking up the knife again.

“Would you stop that, already?” Nus sighed. “Come on, Mr. Scarlet, I’m trying to help you here. Giving me another scar ain’t gonna make me more useful, is it?” I glared at Nus and dropped the knife, sitting back down on the toilet.

“We’re getting off-track. Frostburn.”

“Look, if I tell you where to find him, will you let me go?”

“Depends on how much more of my time you waste.”

“He’s probably at the Podder facility on M-63, that’s where he meets with his boss.”

“I don’t recall there being a Podder facility on M-63,” I remarked.

“Look, Mr. Scarlet-”

“I don’t like that either.”

“We have facilities all over the galaxy, everywhere. This facility is one of the most secure and secretive-”

“Then why do you know about it?”

“Well, I have my ways,” Nus chuckled.

“You were sleeping on a couch when I murdered six of your allies,” I recounted.

“Look, it’s called Facility M3-A2. Volucris. I’ll give you exact directions, if you really need it. I just need you to promise me my family will stay safe, please?” I looked down at Nus, then at the photo on his chest, and sighed.

“You got an exact location?” I queried, rising to my feet.

“Yeah, uh, it should be… six-twelve, Mancom street, downtown.”

“Don’t move,” I ordered, walking over to the bathroom door. I stepped outside, into the main cabin of the Alternator. The interior walls of the ship were a sleek gray, with glowing panels of fluorescent red lights spanning the length of the hall. The bathroom was at the very back of the ship, the last door on the right when standing in the cockpit. I walked through the cabin, back over to the cockpit, opening its metal hatch and stepping inside. The Alternator was parked on the rocky gray terrain of a random moon in the Maron system, simply because I deemed it inconspicuous enough to perform this interrogation. Once seated, I started up the engines and lifted the ship into the air.

I glanced back behind me–into the empty hallway–to check that Nus hadn’t escaped. As if he had the capabilities to do such a thing–he seemed practically useless. I plugged M-63 into the ship’s navigation system, then honed in on the coordinates the guard had given me. They were in the Agil slums of the lower Maraconi continent, which figured, seeing as Nus was a native Agil. I thought for a moment that this may be a trick–after all, how convenient was it that an Agil was leading me right to the Agil ghettos? But then again, his race wasn’t particularly well known for their intelligence, nor their expertise in combat. Worst case scenario, I could just hop right back into the ship and leave.

I headed toward M-63, which was currently on the other side of the Maron system. Between it and me was the giant orange star of M-1, its fiery flares whipping and snarling at the ship as it soared past. I checked the coordinates again, and peered out the front windshield, trying to catch sight of M-63. As the Alternator accelerated closer and closer to the small planet, I got a better look. It seemed that nearly every inch of the planet’s surface was a shade of golden yellow, almost like a ball of cheese–or more accurately, sulfur. The only portion of this great sphere that wasn’t yellow was its giant, all-encompassing ocean of magnificent violet, which took up the entirety of the planet’s southern hemisphere.

My destination was on the southern boundary of M-63’s lone terrestrial continent, a town called Volucris. The majority of M-63’s Agil population was delegated to this tiny, dull, wretched shantytown by the Maraconians, who had a long and tumultuous history with the-

“ESCAPE POD LAUNCHED!” the ship’s computer suddenly and loudly announced.

“What?” I murmured. I checked the computer screen, expecting a visual error, but instead it showed the current location of the escape pod, which was quickly accelerating toward the surface of M-63. “WHAT?!” I shouted, jumping out of my seat and sprinting down to the end of the hall. “NUS?!” I yelled, running into the bathroom, only to find it completely empty. The tape was cut apart, laying in the tub. The family photo and my knife were missing completely. I stepped back and stuck my head through the ladder hatch in the back of the cabin, peering into the cargo hold below. The escape pod in the back–as the ship suggested–was missing. 

I got up and ran back to the cockpit, diving into the pilot’s seat and looking at the computer. According to the ship’s tracking system, the escape pod was about to land on a residential street in Volucris. I grabbed the steering wheel and flew the Alternator straight down to the surface as fast as I could, quickly approaching the impoverished Agil town. As I flew over the crumbing brick structures of the rickety brown slums, I kept an eye on the tracking system, seeing that the escape pod had already landed. I approached its location in a matter of seconds, and cautiously parked the Alternator in the middle of the cramped street, careful not to crush any cars or pedestrians. 

I stepped out of my seat and headed toward the back of the ship, making sure I had my pistol, a knife, Storm’s jacket, my bandages, and any other supplies I might need–though I didn’t expect to be needing much. I climbed down the ladder into the cargo hold and opened up the back ramp, then stood with my gun ready. I waited patiently for the ramp to be lowered all the way, keeping my weapon at the ready, but thankfully, nobody was waiting for me on the other side. I stepped out onto the dry, cracked pavement, and quickly found the lost escape pod on the other side of the street. 

It had crashed on the side of the road, crushing a small car underneath its weight. An alarm was blaring from within the vessel, and red lights were flashing. The windshield was cracked, and as I approached the pod, I saw that its back door had been left wide open. With my gun held to my chest, I climbed into the ship, carefully inspecting it, but I found it to be empty. I stepped back out onto the street, glancing around, and saw a small droplet of blood on the pavement. I saw another drop just a few feet away, then another, slightly smaller drop, and as I followed the sparse trail, I found a nearby apartment with its door left wide open.

It was a relatively small house, made up of brownish-orange bricks with a flat roof, somewhat like an adobe building. The white door was open, but no light emanated from within. I walked up to the door, still gripping my gun, and glanced inside. The front hall of the apartment was an utter mess, with papers and glass shards scattered on the floor, furniture turned over, and even a few doors torn off their hinges. I stepped over a framed photo on the floor, which was cracked, and probably the cause of all the broken glass. Pictured in the sepia toned photo was a Maraconian woman and–presumably–her daughter, walking happily through the yellow desert.

I moved past this, into the first room on the right, which appeared to be a living room of sorts. There were a few wooden chairs in here, though most of them were completely destroyed, leaving nothing but a pile of twisted splinters. There was a television of sorts–well, not exactly, it was more like a box of strange glowing lights and sounds–but it too, had been destroyed. The box was shattered, torn off its table, which itself had seemingly been looted, as all the drawers were open and emptied out. The walls in this room were absolutely plastered in various photos, most of them not even framed. Pictured in them were the Maraconian woman and the young girl I had seen in the other photo, but alongside them was Nus Garoth. 

I walked through this room into the next, which appeared to be the kitchen. Unlike a traditional kitchen, there was no fridge here at all, which–as far as I could tell–was a purposeful decision. There was a big black brick oven of sorts stuffed in the corner, surrounded by a mess of counters and drawers, most of which were open and tossed apart. The floor was covered in various food items, mostly meaty red things and yellowish vegetables, which I tried to step around, but it was nearly impossible–they were everywhere. 

I moved through this room back into the hall I had started in, finding a short staircase leading into some sort of basement. The lights weren’t on down there, but I didn’t need them anyway. I held onto my pistol and carefully walked down the cold, stone steps, keeping an eye and an ear focused on my surroundings at all times. In just a few moments I reached the bottom of the stairs, which just happened to be another short hallway. There were only three doors down here, one on the left, one on the right,and one straight ahead. Each of them were open except for the one to my left.

I walked up to the door on the right first, nudging the door open and peeking inside. It seemed to be a bathroom, plain and simple, with black tiled walls and pale orange lights. Like every other room in this house so far, the bathroom was trashed. The cupboards were torn open, toiletries strewn on the floor, curtains pulled down from the shower, and worst of all, the toilet seat had been left up. I stepped back out of the bathroom, seeing nothing of note, and continued down the hall. I was about to open the door on the left when I heard something further down the hall. At first, I didn’t recognize it, I thought it might’ve been an animal or a malfunctioning machine. But as I crept closer to the source of the noise, I realized what it was: sobbing. 

Painful, hushed sobbing, the sound of a man too vain to truly let his emotions out. I carefully approached the door, pistol in hand, staying as absolutely silent as I possibly could, listening to the stifled sounds of bitter tears. The dark sienna wooden door was slightly ajar, and as I stood beside it, I quietly nudged it open. It appeared to be a child’s room, probably that of a little girl, judging by the doll-like toys littering the floor. The toys were everywhere, scattered about haphazardly, joined on the floor by tossed-up furniture and wrinkly clothes. Kneeling in the center of the room, facing away from me, was Nus.

He held in his hands a shattered globe, half-filled with a translucent violet fluid. Within the sphere was what appeared to be three figurines made of clay, one of them having gray skin and black hair, while the others were more yellow. On the base of the globe were the words My Family written in scribbly black ink. Nus gripped the globe tight, splintering some of the glass into his palm, but he didn’t seem to care. He cried through the pain. I spotted my knife laying unattended on the floor by Nus and took a step into the room, stepping on a piece of glass almost immediately. Nus heard the quiet chink of the glass breaking, and turned to face me.

“Oh. I didn’t see you,” he chuckled weakly. “You kinda look like a… shadow–in the corner of my eye. Well, a red shadow, maybe. Lose the jacket and you’d be practically invisible.” I kept my sight fixed on the knife; unmoving, silent. Nus looked back down at the globe in his hands and sighed. “I don’t know where they went. They were here last week, when I left.” He looked back up at me. “How long was I unconscious earlier?” I didn’t respond. Nus looked away, back down at the globe. “Probably just a few hours, I bet. It had to be Frostburn, right? Once he found out I was missing, he ordered them to…” Nus sighed, lowering his head slowly. He bit his tongue, struggling to hold in tears, but I saw them streak down his cheek. He took a deep breath and turned to face me once again

“He’s gonna kill them,” Nus choked out, his voice cracked and weary. “If he thinks I snitched, he’ll kill ‘em both. You gotta understand, they’re in danger, it’s happened before-”

“How will Frostburn kill your family if he’s already dead?” I asked dryly, stepping closer to him. Nus laughed slightly, quietly, almost like a whisper. 

“You really think you stand a chance? He shoots ice, you won’t get near him before he-”

“I’ve dealt with him before,” I muttered. “He took my family too.” Nus stared at my blank face in silent solemness for a brief moment, before turning away again. He lowered his head, sighed, and finally uttered a phrase.

“Ferodus. Facility N4-G1. It’s a cliffside warehouse, on the outskirts of Glaces. I’ve had shifts there a few times, met him once. You can expect at least a couple dozen men inside, maybe more outside, patrolling. He’s there most days, scheming, or whatever.” Nus sighed, dropped the globe, and slowly reached into his pocket. I inched forward a bit, my gaze still fixed on the knife, and slowly pointed my gun at his head.

“You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?” he whispered, pulling his wallet out of his pocket.

“You lied to me. You stole my knife. You crashed my pod.”

“You’re just like him, aren’t you,” Nus chuckled, opening the wallet.

“What the fuck did you just say?” I spat, clutching my pistol tighter, keeping an eye on what he was doing. He pulled the photo of his wife and daughter out of the wallet, and gazed quietly into their eyes. I clenched my jaw, fingers trembling slightly, ready to pull the trigger, but I hesitated. Slowly, calmly, I lowered my weapon.

“If I were to let you go, would you return to Frostburn?” I questioned. Nus glanced back over at me, but he still retained that solemn demeanor.

“I got no choice, Red.”

“Yes, you do. Find your family, get them to safety, it can’t be that hard-”

“You don’t understand, if I don’t come back, he’ll just kill ‘em. But maybe, just maybe if I come back and explain–tell him I escaped or somethin’–maybe he’ll believe me. Maybe I’ll get my family back. But I gotta try, don’tcha understand? I have to.”

“And if they’re already dead?”

Nus sighed, laid his head in his hands, and explained, “If they’re fine–no harm done–I’ll get them and we’ll escape together. But if they… if he–Look, if I get there and… and they aren’t there, if they’re… gone… then, well, I’ll just go back to work like nothin’ is wrong.”

“If I find you there, I will not hesitate to kill you,” I warned him.

“Then you better make it quick,” Nus glowered, staring down at the floor. He reached over, slowly, and grabbed the knife, staring at it. “You better kill me in one shot, Red, and if you could-” He turned to face me, his buggy black eyes staring into my soul. “Don’t make it hurt more than it needs to.” I hesitated for a moment, but soon nodded and stepped away, leaving him with my knife. He looked down at it and chuckled weakly. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it back. One way or another.”

* * *

A guard sat quietly on the cold, flat roof of a warehouse, staring out at the crashing waves of the frozen ocean below. His bulky black helmet fit snug around his face to protect him from the frigid night air; he pulled his silver thermal blanket closer, tightening it around his limbs. A pair of smooth black hands, one of them clutching a bloodstained knife, crept up behind the guard, silent, stealthily, like a shadow. One hand grabbed him by the throat while the other plunged the knife deep into his neck, severing the spinal cord and killing him near-instantly. The man didn’t struggle, he made no noise; he died quickly, relatively painlessly. The man was left just as he was found, snuggled up in his metallic blanket, staring out at the frozen sea.

I crept along the roof quickly yet quietly, hopping over pipes and wires, careful not to make any noise. Puffs of whitish-blue snowflakes drifted calmly from the sky, powdering the metal machinery and my crimson cloak with their eloquence. Though the warmth of the buzzing machinery quickly melted the little snow that dared rest upon them, any amount that made my cloak their home were welcomed with cold, apathetic shoulders. I followed a ventilation system across the roof, leading me to the far corner of the warehouse, where I found a fragile hatch with a removable lid. I lifted the hatch into the ventilation system and ducked my head through.

Peeking through here, I could see the interior of the warehouse. There were at least a dozen–maybe more–guards milling about, carrying supplies from one place to another, watching the corners, guns in tow, but one man stood out to me more than the others. An Agil of moderate height, with dull gray skin and short black hair: Nus Garoth. He stood close to me–facing away from the vent, of course–leaning against the railing of a balcony. Nus was holding a photo, which, even from this distance, I could tell pictured himself alongside his wife and a young girl. He closed his eyes, gripping the photo tight, as a single tear traced its way down his cheek.