Nocturnal Types - Chapter 1

Prologue To be human. If ignorance is bliss, then humans are quite possibly the happiest species on the planet. We arranged it this way. We have told billions of lies to keep you very blissful. I have told so many lies. Lies that defy measure or blended so well with the truth that the lie never stops and soon it becomes truth. This story however. This is true. That is why, in your...blissfulness, I must first explain to you a fact that is required to even grasp at understanding. The first and foremost fact of this world, We control everything. Now that is a gross oversimplification, but still holds some merit. It’s not as if we tell you, the individual, to put your left sock on before your right every Tuesdays, Thursdays and third Saturday of the month. You are but one among the many. Your sock habits go unnoticed by us. However, if we wanted your entire city/county/neighborhood, the populace, to start this habitual sock behavior, that we can do. Controlling the populace is the best way to control the individual. The shepherd guides the flock, not the individual sheep. Controlling the individual takes a personal touch, a one-on-one basis if you will, as apposed to the mass techniques of the subliminal, the delta-gamma wave, the sense and nerve manipulation. You will never fully understand this concept of control. Never. It will become clearer as you read. Things will unfold before you. Sections of your mind you’ve never used may awaken and begin to question things around you. This is your first step towards leaving your bliss for the true and terrible torments of knowledge. It will scare you. It will disturb you. Most of all, you’ll wonder how you never saw it before, and you will hate. Hate yourself. Hate those around you still locked in their bliss. Hate us. If this thought excites you then please, continue. I would advise all others to seek their excitement elsewhere for this is only the first of the truths I will share if you. You may ask yourself why I have chosen to write this at all. The best answer I have is that I have no answer. Perhaps, I wanted to tell this story to some who do not know it. Perhaps, I’ve lost what little mind I had left. More likely, I’m just so fucking disgusted of the lies I needed to rinse my mouth with a little truth. In the end, this question, you’ll have to answer for yourself.

Chapter 1 8:14 PM It had been a good day. The debate had swung well into Congressman Gary Stevenson’s favor. As predicted by his campaign manager the questions had centered mainly on the issues made popular by the media. Health care; would he strive to increase benefits from the Government Health and Wellness Plan? But of course. His party predecessor had implemented the plan, but he would be the one to perfect it. Schools; Would he improve the quality of after school programs? No. He would put into motion plans to improve the overall quality of schools, no matter what time of day. And of course, Anarchist attacks; What is going to be done to identify these Anarchists? They’re motives? They’re numbers? National Security was his greatest concern. He would work to develop new technologies and methods of investigation to find these criminals and bring them to the justice they so blatantly desired. Every word a lie. Half truths. Deceit. He knew little about the health plan. Why should he? He was privately insured. But limiting the amount of benefits per person would definitely increase revenue for other special projects. And what was the point of improving the educational system when the students don’t give a damn about their education? Too busy getting high or knocked up. His mind flashed briefly to college, the parties, the girl whom he pressures into getting an abortion, her suicide. He brushed the thought aside like cobweb. No. What he would do will be to increase the punishment for juvenile offenders. He grinned to himself. They’ll stay after school no matter how crappy the programs if they don’t want to live out their childhood in a cinder block cell. Anarchists? Well, the Anarchists were just the new thing to hate. They certainly posed a greater threat than the terrorists before them. Or the communists before them. And so on, and so on. The main threat of the Anarchists was they had complete anonymity. They operated in the US. They’re numbers were apparently great. And yet to date not one surviving Anarchist member had been captured. All knowledge was speculation. But one group could not break a nation. They’re attacks merely unified it. A common enemy to hate. It would be the platform for his campaign for President, but nothing would ever really be done. All according to plan.

He looked out the window of his campaign bus. A huge mural had been painted on both sides. “VOTE STEVENSON!” it proclaimed in large red, white and blue letters. “Your vote will save lives!” was written below it. It was borderline browbeating. The public ate it up. They cheered him on as he pushed his platform, hard, at every opportunity. Going so far as to proclaim himself the savior of America from the Anarchist threat! The cityscape from the bus’ windows was beak. Or rather the brief glimpses of the city seen from between the retainer wall. The light from the police escort flashing on the wall's white surface caused him to look away. Other than his campaign caravan and the police escort, Highway 405 was empty. It had been closed on both north and south bound lanes for his security. L.A. traffic was a killer. He smirked. He never care for Los Angeles, but California was an electoral gold mine. L.A. was its heart. If he could lie through his teeth enough to convince two-thirds of it’s population to commit to him, California would be his. Returning his attention to the interior of the bus, he took in his surroundings. Most of his employees were jabbering into cell phones at the rear of the bus which doubled as a makeshift office. Work never stopped on the campaign trail. All thirteen of his employees were crammed together like sweat shop workers, setting up everything for the continuation of the debate. His small Secret Service detail sat quietly in the remaining seats on the bus. They busied themselves by performing a multitude of tasks Stevenson did not fully comprehend. He really didn't care what they were up to as long as they kept him breathing, that’s what really mattered. Normally, they would travel separately, but the field office had been worried that he was shaking the Anarchist cage a little too hard thus justifying the need for personal security at all times. Of the three agents, Robert had been assigned to his person. While the other agents were in charge of other preformentioned tasks, Robert was to be his shield. A job he took much too seriously. Followed him around like a damn house cat. A six foot five, 250 pound house cat. Very paranoid too. Nothing was safe. One of these days, Stevenson thought he’d catch him testing the TP in the John to make sure it didn’t cut his ass and bleed him to death. Whatever. Breathing, that’s what mattered. “Sir.” 'Speak of the Devil,' Stevenson thought. “Yes, Robert?” Stevenson replied dryly. “Are you felling alright, sir? You seem distant.” Robert gave him a concerned look from across the aisle.

“Just fine, Robert. Thank you.” “Are you sure, sir? Have you eaten anything that tasted metallic or otherwise odd?” “No, Robert, I haven’t been poisoned. Just thinking. And while thought could be considered poisonous, not really a health threat, is it?” “No sir.” Stevenson smiled. “Good.” He checked his watch. 8:29 p.m.. He sighed to himself. Another ten minutes and they should be at the hotel. Maybe he’d order some room service to celebrate his victory. His thoughts drifted in and out, making him unaware that his watch was approaching 8:30. 8:29:58 8:29:59 8:30:00 The entire rear of the bus was engulfed in a deafening roar of light and fire. The windows shattered in their frames. All thirteen members of his staff were consumed instantly. They didn't even had time to scream. Bits of metal and gore flew in every direction. Stevenson’s brain could not process all the input it was receiving. Only one thought ran through his mind, ‘Is this real?’ 8:16 PM Since sundown, two hours previous, the Rider had been waiting in this abandoned lot. The lot was walled in after several accidents involving the highway's retainer wall and a precarious fall. Walling the lot in had created a place for deviants to gather. A place of seclusion fit for all sorts of nasty deeds. The most popular of which appeared to be littering. The lot had become filled with garbage and rot. It truly was a disgusting sight. Garbage bags, food scrapes, needles, baby diapers, used condoms. The Rider would be surprised if some one's remains weren't hidden somewhere in the mess. The mounds of filth seemed to shiver with the movement of the insects and rodents bodies buried beneath it. The only light from a single dirty Sodium streetlamp. The yellow light reflected from the handles of her throwing knives sheathed in the front of her jacket. When she shifted the knives' points would dig into her skin, drawing blood. Her helmet had grown hot and humid. The stink from the lot had begun fermenting inside. It mixed with her sweat and stuck to her skin. Her perspiration caused her black leather riding suit to stick and bunch in places. Her long blades pressed painfully hard into her thighs. The

soft, throaty rumble of the bike sent vibrations through the Rider’s legs that made them numb. Every moment was ecstasy. She was filled with the thrill of the hunt. No. Even better. A slaughter. The distraction of her body only intensified experience. She knew how the thrill would change her. She could predict it like a rolling storm on the horizon. Soon her heart would pound, her blood would race, her skin would tingle and she would move like a shadow of death, stealing lives with her blades. None would survive. She shifted in her seat, checking her timer. In just under thirteen minutes, the slaughter would begin. The highway had been blocked from all commuter traffic to cut back on the body count. Her vantage point of highway from lot was poor at best. The lot sat about fifteen feet above the concrete river adjacent to the northbound lanes. When the retainer wall for the highway had been built, the city had not taken into account the highway's slow decline in relation to the lot edge. The result was a four foot gap and a fifteen foot fall. Looking through the gap, she could only see the southbound lanes. It was more than enough. Time had slipped past and her victims grew near. Red and blue light danced around her as the bus passed below. She walked the bike to the edge of the deadly gap. She checked her timer. 30 seconds. Her muscles tightened. The leather creaked in protest. One final task before she could begin her mission. She pressed shuffle on her MP3 player. Music filled her ears and she gunned the engine hard. The back tire smoked and squealed, finally caught, and launched her from her position above the highway. She hit the concrete hard and she heard something give way in the bike. It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered but killing. She righted the bike just in time to watch the entire rear of the bus disintegrate into flame. The remainder of the bus slopped to the ground, losing its rear support, shooting sparks and grinding bits from its underside. The side of the bus now read “E STEVENSON!” in charred letters. The first car braked hard to avoid crashing into the fireball. The second car wasn't nearly as diligent. It slammed into the back of the first car setting off a chain reaction. One car slammed into the other creating a wall of metal and flesh. A single police cruiser swerved to the left around the wreck. The cruiser's right side tires lifted up off the ground. To their credit, the driver kept control of the vehicle long enough to bring it to a sliding stop between the cars and the bus grinding to a halt father down the highway. A single policewoman exited the fortunate vehicle and began trying to help assist those that had been trapped in the crash. Some unknown fluid caught fire, the flames wrapping around those inside. The policewoman backed away from the blaze. Even through the music the Rider could hear the anguished cries of the burning victims. It fueled her blood lust, her shadow cast by the overhead light of the freeway flailed and whipped wildly around her. She ripped back hard on the throttle and the bike shot forward. She sped obliviously towards the pile-up. Her pulse pounding in her hears to

beat of the music. Her speedometer climbed rapidly. The bike had reached a speed of one hundred twenty miles per hour before slamming head first into the obstruction. Seconds before, the Rider had perched herself on the seat on the balls of her feet and pushed off fifty feet in a vertical arc. Her timer beeped as it reached zero. The bike exploded. Several gas tanks ignited. The blast pressure crushed many of the survivors to death, others suffocated on the oxygen-less air around them. None survived. The policewoman was attempting to radio for help when the Rider came flying over the top of the wreck. She watching in wide eyed amazement as in the space of a second, all of the throwing blades from the Rider's jacket buried themselves in her face and chest. The officer's body fell to the highway, the Rider landing in a crouch next to her. As she stood her shadow fell over the body. The shadow moved across the policewoman lifeless form, the silver blades vanishing into its pitch black. The shadow moved of its own purpose, creeping over the Rider's body depositing the blades into their sheaths. Her blades replaced, she strode confidently toward the bus. 8:35 PM You ever have one of those days where you feel like something is going to go wrong? So your on edge all day until finally at the end you're so tense and nervous that you make a mistake that causes something bad to happen? Mark Lucen was having one of those days. And when you work for the Secret Service, you can’t make mistakes. Luckily for Mark he didn’t make any mistakes. The back of the bus he’d been riding in exploded in a ball of Hellfire instead. Lucky, lucky Mark. He had not been knocked unconscious by the blast. His eyes were seeing double and the ringing in his ears was deafening. He was covered in soot and his side felt numb. The air was filled with smoke that did nothing to help his vision; it made every breath hurt. Still in his stupor, he found his partner, David, lying next to him. He grabbed David by he shirt front and lifted him onto his back. He took a few shaky steps towards the rear of the bus. Some of it was still burning. Making it through the fiery gauntlet unscathed, Mark set his partner on the concrete of the highway. Mark dropped to all fours coughing and hacking out the last of the smoke. His eyes still stung, but began to clear. His ringing ears calmed He turned to tend to his partner. What Mark had not noticed in his shell shocked state was the large piece of shrapnel buried in David’s neck, nearly decapitating him. David was very, very dead. The sight switched a circuit in Mark’s brain. His side went from numb to feeling like somebody had dropped a cinder in an open wound. Inspecting the area he found a small, thin plastic piece lodged in his side. He knew better than to remove the object as it would increase his blood loss. He doubted if he could anyway. It had become slick with his blood. Senses clearing further, Mark registered movement. His eyes locked on the figure standing about thirty feet away. Black leather. Black helmet. Knives. Definitely not one of police escort. His hand fell to his side arm. Shaking, he brought himself up into a kneeling position. Knee and one foot flat on the ground, he looked more ready to propose than shoot anybody.

He leveled the gun the best he could, “Freeze! Secret Service! On the ground, now!” His voice was hoarse at best. The Rider began moving leisurely towards him. “Final Warning! Stop or I will open fire!” She didn’t stop. Mark fired. There loud THWANG! sound with red spark. Mark wasn't sure what happened. The Rider was still advancing towards him at a casual pace holding a long, flat blade in her hand. He fired again. THWANG! Mark could see that the spark occurred a few feet in front of the her like the bullet was hitting something that wasn't there. Mark continued to fire, pulling the trigger in rapid succession. Every shot, even those far outside of the target area, was unable to penetrate the barrier At five feet away, Mark fired his last shot at the Rider with no effect other than the red spark. The Rider knelt before the agent, brandishing her long blade for him to see. Mark stared at the blade upon which all his bullets had been caught, not in some random fashion, but lined up like row of buttons. The most fantastic of which was the last bullet, still smoking from the barrel, caught precariously on the very tip of the blade. He had never seen her move other than her casual walk. The Rider began pushing each one off with her thumb making a small plink! sound as they hit the ground. The blade appeared undamaged by it’s ordeal save for a small black circle were each bullet used to be.

Mark looked into the dark abyss of the reflective face mask, whimpering as he spoke, “Wha..what are you?” The Rider raised her hand to his face, cupping his cheek in her palm, while sinking the blade so deep into his heart the front of his shirt was touching the hilt. The Rider stood. She was very close to her goal now. Looking from the corpses at her feet to the burning tunnel of the bus. She strode confidently into the still burning bus. A loud blast filled the interior. The right side of the Rider’s helmet evaporated under the force of the shotgun’s slug. Robert racked the shotgun and fired again into the Rider’s gut. Before the agent could load another shell into the chamber, the Rider had

cleared the distance between them. It was more like she vanished then reappeared rather than actually moved. The Rider's blade cleaved the military grade shotgun in two like cutting through smoke. The halves fell from Robert’s hands to the floor. The first shot had completely torn away the ride side of the Rider helmet, exposing her dark green eye. Robert backed away from her as the eye flashed to yellow, the pupil elongating like a cat’s, just for an instant. Jade removed her helmet, casting it aside carelessly. Her long black hair flowing out of it. Robert continued to back up as she shook out her hair and brushed it convenient position behind her ears. She removed her earphones, turned off the player. She stared at him coolly, “I really liked that helmet.” Robert reached for his side arm. There was a flash of silver as several throwing knives were embedded in the Robert’ hand and forearm. The pain made Robert gasp and drop the gun. Several other knives sunk into Robert thigh and knee, the tips piecing bone. Robert cried out and fell backwards to the ground. “I already lost my bike. That wasn’t enough for you? Had to blow up my helmet too?” Robert was losing a lot of blood. The knives were starting to feel like shard of ice. “You humans really are selfish, you know that?” Jade began to swing her long blades. Over and over and over. Robert screamed for the few seconds his head was attached. She continued cutting the body piece from bloody, quivering piece. When her blades began screeching against the metal of the bus' floor, she stopped. She raised the tip of her weapon in her mouth, gently sucking the blood from the blade. The metallic taste of the blade augmenting the sweet taste of the blood. ‘Delicious.’ Jade thought. 'As always.' She stepped over the unidentifiable meat bits formerly named Robert. At the very front of the bus she found Congressman Gary Stevenson curled into a ball whimpering in his own urine. Jade looked down in disdain at the human. Sure, nearly getting blown up and watching everyone die around you: Not a good day. But this?

She had been human once. It seemed long ago now, but she remembered having strength. She always stood up after her father knocked her to the ground. Even after he had done…that. 'But did you ever do anything to stop it?' She pushed away the dark thoughts. Who cares if she didn't? Most people would have killed themselves after half of what she lived through. She pressed forward each day. No matter how much obscene filth the world threw at her she endured it. Jade liked to think that resolve caused Canius to choose her. He had never told her, and she suspected never would, but it was nice to believe she lived through that nightmare for any reason. And here this doughy, little shitball cowering in a corner in his own piss and puke was going to be the next President. She frowned, her disdain rising. 'Whatever. Who cares?' she thought. She found a mini-fridge with some bottled water and a few candy bars. She opened a bottle, put her thumb partially over the top, and flicked some water at him, “Hey. Congressman. Snap out of it.” Stevenson felt cold drops hitting hit neck and scalp. Someone was calling his name. He looked away from the floor to the water and the voice. A young Asian girl was flicking water at him from a bottle. The girl couldn’t be no more than eighteen at most. Her features spoke of Asian decent but she was clearly of mixed race. Her green eyes shone back at him. “Good. You’re coming around.” She spoke softly in a smooth voice. He tired to speak and choked. She handed him the water. He drank it greedily. “Who are you?” The girl sat across from him, opening a bottle of water for herself. “Me? I’m Jade. I killed everyone.” She took a long pull from the bottle. Stevenson’s eyes grew wide and the color drain from his face, “ Oh please! Please don’t kill me! I don’t want to die! I don’t.” Jade threw her bottle at him. Stevenson cringed. “Oh, shut up! I’m not here to kill you. If I was I would have stuck you like the sick pig that you are and been done with it!” She sighed, opening another bottle of water and a candy bar. Stevenson’s mind raced, unable to grasp the situation. This young girl had completely decimated his campaign, his security, his fucking employees for what? To sit down and talk with him? “So why are you here? What is this? What is the point of all this destruction?”

Jade had a mouthful of candy bar, “I thaid sthut up!” she flicked more water at him from her bottle. Water sprayed out in an arc. Jade drank the remainder. “Your making me waste my water! And these candy bars are gross.” She got up and waked over to where Robert had fallen to pieces. She dunked the candy deep into what had been his chest cavity. She pulled back, the bar dripping with red, congealing liquid. She took a test bite. A small smile spread across her features. “Much better.” She sat down again. The Congressman looked at her with appealing eyes. She took another bite of her blood bar. “So you want to know, huh?” The Congressman merely nodded, not wanting to speak and get the disgusting treat thrown at him. “I won’t tell you everything. Hell, to be honest the smallest bit I am going to tell you is so infinitesimal that you might not say it could be anything at all.” She took another bite. “It is, however, large enough to shake your very foundations of reality. Sure, did mine. Took some getting used to. Look at me, going on fifty and I still don’t get it all. Playing the messenger.” She shook her head, took a bite “On the plus side, I could eat a horse and not gain a pound. See?” She patted her flat stomach through the fist sized hole in her clothes where she had been shot. “Here. Feel.” She stood up and walked over to the man. He looked at her to see if she was serious. Narrowing her eyes, “I said feel.” The Congressman stuck out a hand and put two finger on the skin though the hole. It was indeed very muscular. At this point, Stevenson had figured out something very important about this girl: She was psychotic. “Right. Anyway,” she backed away from him standing with one leg crossed in front of the other. “I guess I should get down to it. You, Mr. Stevenson, are going to be President.” He blinked, as if not hearing correctly, “Did you say President?” Jade nodded. “Sure did. 428 to 107 electoral votes. Neat, huh? I'll let you in on a little secret. The voting system is kind of a sham. It's like pouring water in a cup with no bottom. Votes come in, they go out. Afterwards, we tell the masses who won." “We? The…The Anarchists?”

Jade laughed out loud. She snorted as she tried to get her breath back. Wiping a tear from her eye, “No. God. No. You really think this is just some simple Anarchist attack? That’s how we want it to look to everyone else and that’s the part you’re going to have to play, but no, not Anarchists.” She smiled wide, leaning in close to the Congressman, her fangs showing for all the world to see, “We are VanDeMar Corporation. Our control is absolute. We are the guiding hand for human kind. Haven’t you wondered why there aren’t police swarming this area like ants on a hill? Your bus fucking exploded! And no cops?" She smirked. "Well they're being diverted for the time being so that we could have our little talk." He sat dumbfounded, "Is that the reason for...for all this? To talk?" "No. Tonight was about believability. When the election happens, we can tell everyone that you've won. And they'll swallow that. It's so much easier if they actually believe it." He stared blankly. "You still don't get it?" she sighed. "To be honest, you don't really have to. If it helps, before tonight you were just another candidate, nothing outstanding. But after tonight, you'll be the man that promised to save America from the Anarchists, you were attacked for this and even able to fend off said attack. All you have to do is act the part. Understand?" He nodded, "Yes. I...I do." She pulled away, “Lovely. Oh and this is the part where I threaten you. You don't want to see me again. Right?” He shook his head violently. “Good answer. I can see why they chose you for President now. You obey orders, you stay quiet, and you even piss yourself at the first sign of a true confrontation. You are perfect.” She began walking away. He crawled after her, “Wait! How do I explain all this? What do I say? What do I do?” Jade didn’t even turn around as she waved him off, “It doesn't really matter what you say. But in the meantime, you’re a politician. Make something up.” “But I can’t…”

Stopping near charred end of the bus, she turned to face him, “You better.” The light from the burning wreck outside cast a strange light through the bus' shattered windows. It made the shadows dance around the girl. Jade, however, cast no shadow. "Please. Tell me. What are you?" She smiled. Her alluring smile twisting into a vision of horror. Her fangs grew long. Her eyes turned yellow. Gnarled, thick, yellow claws grew from the flesh of her fingertips. “Imaginary.” And with that one word, Jade vanished into the night. A piece of metal on the bus creaked as it swung back and forth. In the distance, the sound of police sirens grew louder. The smell of smoke and fumes filled the air. Stevenson, declared to be the next President of the of one of the most powerful countries of the world, threw up.