Kings of Hell

Alyssa’s POV

A fire crackles as I clean the abandoned city townhouse in FC that I made my own little hide out. I had an unexpected visitor waiting for me by the fire.

Curled up on the couch was Wendy, eating some takeaway and looking depressed while I clean the living area that late afternoon.

“…I have no friends…” she talks with her mouth full, “…I have no life, Alyssa…I have no family I want to speak to…”

I hadn’t asked what went on between her and Casey and Viola. But apparently it didn’t sound like it had gone down so well.

I finally ask her, “What happened to meeting your parents?” I continue to wipe down the table, taking a seat opposite her by the fire.

Wendy puts down her food and looks at me with sad eyes, “…they didn’t believe me… Casey and V don’t believe I’m their offspring.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fucking engineered in a test tube, that’s why, my mother wasn’t pregnant so she refuses to see me as a daughter, she just won’t see it,” Wendy’s eyes tear up, “I’m just crashing here for one night and I’ll be out of your hair. I’m couch surfing. And no, I don’t want to stay longer than one night, I like moving around,” she takes another bite of her food and looks into the fire, “…how are you doing, Alyssa…”

“I bumped into STRIKE today,” I tell her, and her eyes widen, but I quickly explain, “I’m fine… I got away with a business card.”

“Oh, good, I’m glad you’re safe from them. Ultimates have agendas – don’t forget that,” Wendy whispers, “Armageddon and his new friends made their own fucking police force, did you hear? He was inspired after his daddy became overlord of Atlantis. The only plus side is his best friend is really hot…”

“I heard about it in the papers…” I talk quietly, “It’s nice, though, starting fresh, isn’t it? I’ve had many peaceful weeks on my own. Able to reflect. Furnish the house –”

“Of dead people,” Wendy murmurs.

“Well it’s useless empty,” I counter.

“I was a witness to this street,” Wendy says, “That’s why I hate this fucking house. Outside these doors on this street. There was a massacre of innocent civilians. They were gunned down by Airen.”

“I’m sorry…” I murmur, seeing her conflicting emotions.

“Yeah, you’re lucky,” Wendy shakes her head, “Blissful ignorance,” she stands up, “I’m going to crash. I’m tired.”

“The spare bed is made –”

“I know, you got nothing better to do,” Wendy chuckles to herself and stumbles to the second bedroom.

I wait by the fire, conflicted.

Wendy shouldn’t have said that.

Blissful ignorance.

It struck a chord with me – it made me angry.

She was correct.

I was happy because I had no worries. None I specifically remembered.

Where was the knowledge.

I vowed to avoid it.

I was stuck here, alone, scared and avoiding reality.

I was safe, yes.

Ignorant, wilfully to some degree.

But the way she said it… it made me look at my choices differently. I didn’t want to be pathetic.

I had to make a move.

But I was not going to the beast’s lair.

They would have to come to me, on my terms, my rules.

****

I invite Dale over for breakfast.

Alone.

I was not going to deal with four of them at once, that would be foolish.

Like a gentleman, he accepted my invitation.

Dale even cancelled plans to make it happen, implying I was special in some way. Huh.

I wasn’t going to fall for that.

Even so, Wendy has left in the morning, sulking on her way out, while I set the table. I make tea, raisin toast, butter it and sit down with the door wide open for him to walk in.

I expect an engine to give me warning, but he walks in from the street, looking like he walked all the way here.

Yes, I gave him my address.

However, I was showing confidence.

Dale walks in, takes off his black coat and hangs it by the door, walking over to the open seat.

I pour him tea as he sits.

“You just leave the door wide open to the street?” Dale asks, in slight disapproval as his eyes run over the food. Surprisingly he takes a plate. I half expected him to ignore it. Instead he takes a generous bite of the buttered toast and waits for me to answer.

“I like the fresh air,” I respond, “And I won’t get robbed, I know I can defend myself. It’s not open all the time anyway. Just on good days. Nice weather… you know?”

“Mm,” Dale compliments the raison toast, finishing it off on another bite. He takes the tea and seems a little disinterested, “…do you have alcohol…?”

“It’s 9am,” I state, dry.

Dale’s eyes drill into mine, “How are you?”

“I said I’m fine,” I answer truthfully, “And I’m still fine.”

“I’m told you have permanent memory loss,” Dale sits back and taps his fingers on the table cloth, aggressively, as if this angers him, “…what if I can help you recover those memories?”

“I’ve seen my past and I’m abhorred by it. I’m done being fiddled with, I’m fine like this,” I reiterate, “There is nothing you can do. It’s new brain matter.”

“You are very different,” Dale pinpoints, but his eyes don’t dare to rake over me. He looks me straight in my eye and his gaze doesn’t wander, “I can tell in every action, reaction, every expression you make… especially in your decisions.”

“Is that respect I hear?” I ask, raising a brow and taking a sip of my tea, “Ask,” I throw it back at him.

He seems taken back by this.

“Ask what,” Dale lowers his tone, unsure how to answer.

“If you have no more business with me – it is now time for you to leave and never think of me nor bother me again, and since you’re the boss, tell your thugs to leave me be… let’s make this final,” I state it, my wishes.

Dale’s purple eyes run over the dishes all set up perfectly.

Now his eyes have broken contact.

He doesn’t like what I’ve said.

The silence is something I don’t expect.

Dale looks at the floor as he stands up, pushes the seat in and then looks back at me.

I hold his gaze confidently. He’s taking his leave, it seemed.

“Goodbye,” I farewell him, giving him a small condescending wave.

Dale takes a step back to the table and holds out his hand.

He wants to shake on it.

I look at his hand, I breathe out through my mouth, and then look back up at him, “…no,” I whisper.

“Why?” Dale asks, “…you scared of a handshake, Lisa?”

Lisa?

I lose my smile.

He interrogated Yolanda.

She would never give up my details.

Whatever he did to her, he forced her to speak.

I pick up the butter knife as I jump to my feet, “What did you do to her?”

Dale watches me carefully with the butter knife raised between us.

He holds up his own hand calmly and slowly shakes his head, “…I didn’t hurt the old woman – I asked her politely what name you go by.”

“You’re a liar, now get out,” I lower my arm with the ‘weapon’ and I toss it on the table, holding up my hand with my pink nails, I lay it on my chest, over my heart, for him to see that I’ve been growing them longer.

“The raisin toast was lovely, the rest… disappointing,” Dale scowls, and turns to leave.

I watch him swipe up his coat off the hook, turn around and kick out the door stopper. He slams the door shut on the way out.

No way was he getting his way in my house.

I run to the door he’s slammed shut and I jerk it back open.

“You’re an animal,” I snarl after him, my head out the door as he jumps down the stairs to the small dry garden before the sidewalk, “I’ll never forgive you for what you did to me all those years…” Dale hesitates with his back to me, looking over his shoulder, he just gives me a deadly look.

“…be free,” Dale concedes, “But you’ll no longer have our protection.”

He turns and walks away fast.

Dale seems happy to go.

Good riddance.

He disappears around the block.

I sit down on the steps of the porch.

Minutes later I hear something loud and disruptive… sirens?

Police sirens.

They’re getting louder.

I watch as a new police car turns into my street, rolls down the road and parks on the curb, right in front of my house.

Are you kidding me…

Armageddon jumps out. In a fresh navy blue uniform, he comes up to me, swinging a baton around and around like a toy. The giant stops at the bottom of the stairs, while I stayed seated on the top step.

“Alyssa,” he says, charming, “I received a tip off that you’re occupying a residence you do not hold the title to… am I correct?”

“Well, yes… but as you know… everyone in this street is dead…” I say the obvious.

“Where is your respect?” Armageddon snarls, “You’re under arrest.”

Um.

What?

“You have to be joking,” I stand up, “I did nothing wrong. FC doesn’t even have a jail for people suspected or charged with crimes.”

“It does now,” Armageddon offers me a choice, “Either you get in the car peacefully, or I also charge you with resisting arrest.”

“What is the charge anyway? Trespassing? Trespassing who,” I ask, confused.

“Our charges are based on immorality, petty immorality is disturbing the peace, formal immorality is misconduct toward authority, but liars – benefitting from another’s misfortune, that is your charge. The worst type of crime.”

“This is nuts. FC has never had this before,” I complain, “We’re anarchists.”

“Everything is changing in Frankincense City,” Armageddon smirks, “You better get used to it. We have laws now. And laws mean punishment for misbehaving.”

“Well, I didn’t know the new laws you suddenly made up in your head a few days ago – nor do I believe in any of it,” I try to argue my case.

Armageddon points the baton at me, “That,” he says, “Is no excuse. Come with me.”

I have to go with him, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.

I walk down the steps, frustrated by his arrogance.

“Am I going to jail now?” I ask, as I walk toward the car.

“Labour, most likely, unpaid,” Armageddon shrugs a shoulder as he opens the door to his car, “The city needs workers – especially the ones too lazy to help.”

“I’m not lazy –”

“You’re unemployed, get out of here,” Armageddon laughs as he watches me sit in the back and shuts the door on me.

He jumps into the driver seat and locks me in.

“What kind of labour?” I ask him, suspicious.

Armageddon doesn’t answer me.

It’s because he’s looking through his system.

“Oh look at this… well… I was wrong about you being unemployed, since you’re a sex worker, a prostitute – that’s what it says on the system. A legal job, by the way, and we have a shortage of sex workers – at… well, what do you know… the Black Lair.”

This. Was a fucking joke.

I reach for the doors. Locked. I can’t get out.

“What system are you reading off of?” I snap.

“We have DNA recorded of every citizen, and each DNA story – tells us what major skillset you have,” Armageddon shakes his head, “You’re a professional – forgive me, grandma – you’re a professional wh–” no.

I move so fast I act before I even think.

My arms wrap around his chair.

One hand clutches his throat, making him freeze from the threat of my nails, as my other hand takes the gun out of the holster, and I press the barrel under his chin.

“Shut up. You’re going to pull over, unlock the doors, and let me go – not another word, or I’ll blow your brains out, I don’t care if you’re Ariel’s son… I don’t even remember who she is, so why the fuck would I care about you?” I hiss it.

Armageddon doesn’t make the mistake of underestimating my rage.

He stays quiet, pulls over, unlocks the doors and lets me go.

What’s more?

I take his gun with me.

It looks like I’d need the self-defence after all.