Blue Eyes Blind

It’s taken weeks for Naramus to not only get back to Rendition but find out who was responsible for initiating the attack against him. Thankfully, he is no longer in search of answers. He has them. Raven’s Eye are the private security group who attempted to end his life.

He continues to be angered by how close a corporate entity that provides security services to the richest elite of the city got to killing him. They should not have been so successful and yet Naramus remains in the world of the living, in large part due to the cell regeneration, organ stabilisation and stasis enhancement which have been baked deep into his body by the very same corporation who own a majority share in Raven’s Eye, Atlas Incorporated.

He shouldn’t be surprised that those responsible for making him might want to put pay to his existence and yet he is. He expected his makers to hold more honour than that. Disappointment is how he believes it would best to determine the feelings he’s experiencing in the wake of such a discovery. Alas, it has done nothing to stop him seeking out Raven’s Eye’s base of operations. It’s real one. Not the corporate facing HQ that is emblazoned everywhere anyone with the reserves might wish to search for such things.  No, the real base of operations for the private security firm is far less presentable for they operate out of a long since disused sewer complex. Naramus, as he looks down upon what should be the entrance, is a tad impressed, but only a tad. To offer more than that would be to give too much respect to those without honour.

The time is nigh. Soon Naramus will descend upon his enemies. They are not the last he will face. They are simply the latest. Following them the katana armed man once more clad in carbontanium will have to dispatch Raven’s Eye’s masters, the board of directors for Atlas. That will likely be the easiest undertaking of his life and yet to fixate on it would be to deny the thrill of his eradication of Raven’s Eye.

He cackles at the belief that a bullet to the back of his head would be enough to kill him. Such things kill organic people not a hybrid of technology and flesh like the armour clad man with a sword hanging off his hip.

The time has arrived. Naramus smiles and leaps from his vantage point. He sails through the air, completing a front flip as he goes. Right after he pulls his katana from its scabbard, slashes, lands and then slashes again. The twin guards crumple to the floor dead. Naramus looks from left to right. No one else is present. For an entrance to a secret base of operations held by a company who specialise in security it strikes Naramus as decidedly lacking. If he were afflicted with such a limited existence there would be two public facing guards but another dozen or so obscured from view. Amongst them would be snipers ready to put down any target foolish enough to entertain the idea of infiltration and yet no such issue afflicts Naramus. He shrugs disappointed and then severing a hand from one of the dead guards uses it to grant himself entrance.

Within the katana wielder finds a single box decorated in finery which he has not an iota of interest in. He strides past it ignoring it entirely and enters the waiting elevator car at the rear of the room. He spins about, selects the lowest floor and is met with a denial. He sighs as it appears his credentials, by ways of stolen fingerprints attached to this severed hand, are not suitable. He selects the level above. Again he is met with a refusal. Naramus debates whether to return to the bodies, sever a hand from the other deceased guard and hope for better results. He performs no such action as he elects to run up the levels until he locates one accessible to him. Four failed attempts occur prior to him finally being granted success. The doors slide closed and Naramus feels the car begin to descend. The motion is barely noticeable or would be to anyone other than him. He would commend whoever built this elevator but if they are amongst the operatives in this base they will not survive.

When the elevator reaches the lowest floor it is capable of descending to due to the credentials the doors slide slowly open. Immediately Naramus finds himself faced with targets. They are startled by his presence; wide eyes are proof enough of that. Overcoming their disbelief they reach for their weapons but alas it is too late. Naramus cuts them down with a quick flurry of strikes. Then he goes on the offensive because calls of intruder roar to life across the subterranean former sewer system. Naramus would have to admit that he is impressed as it in no way looks like it might have served to shift human waste about. Rather, it looks as though it was bored for the purposes of serving as a base. He doubts the office spaces are original. Likely they were added afterwards as part of the conversion.

He puts his surroundings out of his head; for there is little reason for him to focus on the white stained ‘walls’ formed from a continuous curve or the polished floor beneath his feet that has busts and statues scattered about as if it is meant to be some museum to the greatness of Raven’s Eye. If ever there has been greatness, Naramus is sure it is long dead. Only cowards and fools remain, he is sure. Hence that is why he is affording them no mercy as he carves through those in his path. Unlike his last dalliance with adversaries these mount some resistance. He refuses to call it significant or substantial. That would belittle prior foes he has fought against, each of which he has placed at a certain position upon his scale of difficulty. True, his scale may have shifted over time but he placed them upon it where best they suited at the time he faced them and what danger they potentially offered at that time. To pin the operatives of Raven’s Eye at significant would be disrespectful he reaffirms as he cuts them to ribbons. The butchering results in a stream of crimson being formed down the centre of the hallways as he carves his way forward.

Descending stairs, unlocked by a rare fleeing coward amongst the operatives, Naramus is permitted access to the higher security levels. There he finds technology quite fascinating but uninspired. All of it relies on remote operation. The disdain he feels for such things in place of in-the-field participants is meteoric. In his mind it is evidence of everything that is wrong with the world, for it seems no one wishes to put the time and effort into learning a craft anymore. There is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, no way that the humanity of old, upon which cities like Rendition are built, were as meek, mild and lacking of will as the species which stands today. If they had been they would have perished. It strikes Naramus that perhaps the species should. For if only the strong survived everything would be better.

It’s irrelevant conjecture for his thoughts and feelings on the world do little to alter his response to the bullets being poured upon him as he continues his advance. The projectiles offer little threat, he knows it and so it seems do many of the operatives as they continue to fall back hoping to maintain a distance between them and him.

From what Naramus recalls of the elevator there is only one floor, or two perhaps, below him. He suspects the Commander of Raven’s Eye will be found there, at the very bottom of this facility. Undoubtedly he will term himself, stupidly, as being safe that far down. Naramus will prove he is anything but by carving carve his flesh from bone, screaming.

Suddenly large calibre weapons fire. Three of them in total and all their rounds hit within fractions of a second of one another. The force felt due to the impacts not only bring a halt to Naramus’ progress but in fact force him back, slightly.

While his body might be healed he remains tender. The impacts serving to remind him of the true state he is in. He snarls, spins his sword and waits. He isn’t left to wait for long as operatives pour into his position. They think him wounded. He proves them wrong. Screams fill the air. Bodies are torn, limbs are sundered, lives are ended and misconceptions are remedied with the greatest antidote Naramus believes exists, his katana.

At the conclusion of the slaughter he flicks the excess blood from his blade, but only once he has stepped out from his cover to reveal he remains intact. Jaws have dropped, eyes are bulging, a smile is torn across his face hidden by his mask.

He could not locate enough carbontanium for a full helmet to be fabricated alongside a suit of armour and thus concluded body armour would prove more beneficial for his body presents the largest target. Thus far he has been proven right. Not that he expected he would not be.

Someone exclaims the operatives should fire. He is counted amongst them. No one listens. Their bewilderment is too monumental for sense and sanity to be concerns which direct them and so seeing an opportunity Naramus explodes into a gallop. The gap between vanishes. The operatives undertake a desperate bid for defence too late find Naramus is amongst them; carving, killing without mercy. They fall; screaming, begging, howling.

Due to numbers alone it takes some minutes for the katana wielder to complete the felling. Once it is done he turns to seek out a fresh batch of targets. There are none. He is disappointed but quickly settles on carving a path through the obstacles before him using the heavy calibre tripod mounted cannons. Their power does the trick. The security doors explode off their hinges. Naramus descends again. He is close now, he can smell it, taste the fear on the air. It has been potent throughout this venture but nowhere more than here is that true. He bursts through a door. Bullets assault him. They are followed by concussive explosives meant to weaken. Naramus bats them back. The operatives in shock scramble to escape the blasts. The room becomes engulfed in debris and smoke. Naramus takes the opportunity to press forward under the cover of the choking cloud. He slashes as he goes. Bodies fall, dead and lifeless from the sting of his sword. When finally the debris mist clears the room is ravaged.

“Move and we tear you to shreds!” Someone roars defiantly.

Naramus turns toward the source of the cry to find a substantial group of operatives have gathered. They flanked from the rear and are ready to unleash hell upon the sword wielding intruder. They are under orders from Stewart Legg who has watched in abject horror at not only the survival of a man whom he shot in the back of the head meant to serve as the final nail in a coffin which was filled, metaphorically, with explosives that rendered him severely diminished, but also in the face of the ease with which that same man has carved a bloody hole through Raven’s Eye.

If there were another way out and he were a different sort of man he might try to flee. But there is not and he is not. Instead, he is forced to watch what transpires next. A fresh display of gratuitous violence which sees the bulk of the remnants of his security personnel eviscerated to strips of flesh and chunks of meat.

He can’t see Naramus’ face but imagines it smiling wide, in the sort of way only an insane psychopath obsessed with killing can.

When finally Naramus bursts into Raven’s Eye Commander-in-Chief Stewart Legg’s office suit the head of the private security firm has a gun in hand. It will serve as his sole defence but he holds little hope that he’ll be making it out of this alive. Instead he has to seek comfort in knowing that this should serve as enough of a warning to bring about the worlds wrath upon a man like Naramus, who is barely a man at all. At least in Stewart’s eyes he should not be considered as such for he is the single greatest threat the world has ever known and if there needed to be clearer proof of it he will make sure it is provided today.

“I see you found me.” Are the first words out of Stewart’s mouth as Naramus stands tall, unharmed and ready with sword in hand. The katana wielder had anticipated he would be faced with yet more operatives. He is more than a tad saddened to find he has already reached his prize and that they sit alone in what can only be his office with a simple pistol in hand.

“What happens next, Naramus?”

“You know.” Is the strained synthetic reply which burbles from the replacement voice box in the armoured man’s neck as he strips the mask from across his face.

Stewart grimaces at the state of the mug behind the mask. It isn’t grotesque but it certainly is unnerving seeing those faded blue eyes.

Naramus smiles in response to the discomfort which is plain to see in Stewart’s expression. He will take pleasure in knowing that the last thing this adversary will gaze upon is a face he finds haunting.

“Yeah, I do. You’re going to kill me. Just like you’ve killed all these people so you could get to me, you monster.” Stewart puts emphasis behind the accusation of Naramus being a monster.

“Monster you call me. I’m not the one who ambushed an innocent man on his path.” Is the retort which is delivered swiftly.

“Innocent! You…? You’re not innocent. You’re a butcherer, a murderer obsessed with killing.”

A cock of the head from Naramus follows as if to say he is considering the Commander-in-Chief’s words. He is not. Rather, he is contemplating as to how long it might be that this chat will last. Already the katana wielder is growing bored of it. He wonders why that is. Is it because he expected the head of Raven’s Eye would be quick to react. Much like he was when he ordered his operatives to their deaths. Alas, it appears Stewart Legg is not so quick to throw away his own life.

Naramus learned the Commander-in-Chief’s name during his investigations. He is not the public facing head of the company but he is its true ultimate. There is no one above him, at least not in Raven’s Eye. Obviously, the board of directors at Atlas Incorporated are a form of masters. Likely, they issue orders from atop their sky towers for him to follow. They are, beyond doubt in Naramus’ mind, responsible for the attack upon him.

He is partially correct. They did sign off on him being eliminated but were not the progenitors of the demand. That comes from another, far higher up the food chain than they.

“You think I don’t know what you did…” Stewart begins. He needs this to look good, not because it’s staged but so the world can know what Naramus really is, a demon in human skin.

“…that village, Ferevin. Those people saved you and for their sins you butchered them to a man.”

“They were enemies. They stood in my path. No one stands in my path.” Is the reply offered alongside a shrug.

“You bastard! They were men, women and children. Each one of them was a civilian. They were living their peaceful lives. Most of them were unarmed but those few who took up weapons did so with clubs and machetes. They were no threat to you but you killed them because… they helped you. You’re sick! You know that. You are a monster. But you are not going to win!” Naramus does not understand the threat for it is lacking in purpose. That is until Stewart says, “The world will know your face now. Say cheese motherfucker! Because no matter where you go it won’t be safe, any…” Stewart doesn’t get to finish his statement for Naramus leaps, deftly, across the largely empty office space and impales his katana through the seated man’s throat.

The Commander-in-Chief managed to fire twice. Neither bullet had any effect on its target, though both rounds did hit home.

As he sits their dying Stewart does not feel dismayed by his failure. This has played out just as he thought it might since first being alerted to Naramus’ assault upon this base of operations. In preparation contingencies were put in place, he made sure of that.

Now only one thing remains to be done and with his dying breath Stewart uploads and dispatches proof of Naramus’ crimes the world over. The documents are accompanied by attached video and photographic evidence that in addition to this confession, of sorts, is all the world will need to put Naramus at the very top of the global wanted list.