Wicked Ones {bxb}

{Chapter 31 : Safety in Shadows}

Vinny leaned back as an ember passed his eye.

The sky was matted coal grey, with pillars of smoke and looming storm clouds. Men shouted over the anger of the flames—large, malicious flames that ate away at restaurants and shops, and licked through the roofs of battered cars.

And yet, for Vincent, the fire wasn't the most frightening thing around.

More terrifying were the SWAT teams, settled behind tipped vehicles, puncturing the smoke before them with bullet after bullet. Guns poured out like hard rain hitting aluminum; needling the air in persistent repetition, until they became only a boisterous static.

Then all fell silent.

The men shouted to one another, all else veiled by the wall of dense murk. The calls were returned, but still they could not see one another through the smoke. They were blinded.

Then suddenly, a body broke through. A man flung himself through the haze, and swung a amorphousfist. At first glance, there was no mistaking him to be a Wicked. There were no other possibilities.

From his knuckles, long black objects seemed to sprout. Some small like thorns, others like claws; sharp, slender crescents that glistened like glass in the light of the fire. The objects stabbed into the vest of a man, who dropped his gun as he was hurdled into the windshield of a parked car.

The others raced for him, beating at him with the blunt of their guns. One by one they were met by his monstrous fists. But it was as the last man had fallen that suddenly the Wicked was dealt a shock—one so powerful, he buckled to his knees. As his body fell, a figure appeared at the spot he once stood. A man dressed in a suit. A man veiled by sunglasses.

"Out of sight," Jahni ordered, hooking Vinny back by the shirt on his neck.

He couldn't understand why, until he heard the low rumbling buzz, then the glinting lights of a helicopter. He slunk back into the shadows with the others, watching in silence as the world succumbed to hysteria around them.

The city had been this way for days.

It started with the homicide of an anti-Wicked activist. They found the guy who'd done it—a Wicked, of course. Some poor southern rat, hoping to find a better life on the West-side. His powers bested him, and it was only after he slaughtered an officer in cold blood that he was brought down by the barrel of a sniper rifle.

Not a word was spoken by the government. It seemed, no matter the hell the rest of the country faced, they abided by the same general rule of thumb. They turned a blind eye to it all. Now the people were rioting.

They wanted an end to the Wicked ones—a cure for the disease. And as the government turned a cheek, they found that the cure could only be cultivated by their own hands.

Those who wished to kill, those who wished to save, those who wished to stay hidden: they were all much greater targets now. The news reported a dozen new Wicked deaths a day; each and every one a homicide that would go uninvestigated.

Some Wickeds were sick of waiting it out peacefully—many chose to fight back. In their hurt and rage, they destroyed everything they came across. Buildings, people, and more than anything, the reputation of Wickeds alike.

Jahni had brought them to watch the mess unfold. It was a lesson—a look into a looming war, barreling in on the horizon. But more importantly than anything, they were waiting for the syndicate to show, and it looked like the suits had finally exposed their ugly faces.

From the distance, they watched as the men spoke. First, the syndic with the taser, who steadily approached an officer. A nod and a handshake—that's all it took. And then the guns were pointed at the Wicked.