Battles: The Syndicate

Karen stood, watching Jaunito goad her into making a move before he can snap off Montoya’s neck.

“What are you gonna do, bonita? Turn the floor into quicksand again? You can, of course. But not before I send his head rolling to your feet. Or perhaps burn him? I can’t decide, really.” He grinned. He had the feeling of vulpine triumph and the supreme confidence of a predator toying with his prey.

“Then I’ll decide for you.”

Juanito’s grin disappeared. His face twisted to an expression of hatred and supreme annoyance at the girl. “You little bitch,” he hissed. “Who the fuck do you think you’re dealing with?!” His eyes was starting to glow with crimson energy, the onset of his next transformation into that of a living flame. In his oversized right hand, held like a bad parody of someone holding a hotdog sandwich, Montoya was not moving.

Karen’s emotions were already held back by the time Juanito replied. Emotions that can cloud her thinking and judgment. Hamper her movements. But that’s okay, because they’re too far away now. Never to bother her. Far away. Far, far away.

And with a tone that suggested nothing and gave any hint of what she’s thinking she said, “I know what you are. Do you know who I am?”

He was going to snap the guy’s head now and burn the Indian puta, and then he’ll bring the head of Orlova to Lord himself. He moved his hand to finish off the unconscious Cuban but something was wrong. He can’t move it. Or any part of his body, for that matter. He turned to the woman. She was simply staring at him with a detached expression on her face. “What did you do to me?!” he demanded.

“Killing you,” came the quick, almost sad reply.

If he was in human form, he’d have visibly paled. Her words were not the one that did it to him. He’d have many battles in his life and far too many vanquished foes who said the very same thing to him and he barely even noticed them. But now, with the dry and uninflected tone as if the speaker was simply commenting on the weather instead of the furious and impassioned oaths of destruction he was used to hearing, the words were suffused with a nasty twang of truth and certainty to it that any person who heard it would agree to be true and final.

Even now, as he willed his body to transform itself to another element, he can slowly feel the woman’s own power overriding his own. His body is circumventing his own commands. And inside, the nagging sensation that he attributed to simple performance anxiety earlier, had now turned into unmitigated terror.

He never quite accepted, as he died, that it would be a woman who finally kills him. It was unfair. He screamed for a long time. And at last, mercifully, he stopped.

Karen simply stood as she watched the last traces of Juanito disintegrate ino nothingness. All that was left of him was the hand holding Montoya. The hardest alloy on earth did not stand a chance against her even when she was not in full control of her abilities. A simple carbon-based organism with loose molecular structure would not be as difficult.

Montoya stirred. Karen went to him and checked, prying the fingers off and liquefying most of them to get the man out from their grip. He was injured for sure, but she was no doctor. She took out her celphone and called home base.

Olympus Theater, Downtown Madrid

19:37:22 EST

                Darla Starker never fought a special like this before.  Sure, her tenure as a Company Agent exposed her to the various types of Cerebral, Elemental, Spatial/Temporal, and Biological evolutionary anomalies but none as curious as this one. She thought about the paranoid and superstitious atmosphere in the original era and society she came from. You’d get yourself burned for even saying just the word ‘witch’ out loud. And here, right now, was someone who might actually be the real deal. She gritted her teeth as she melted into the crowd. Somewhere, or to be more precise—someone among these so-called sophistos was Eidolon. The notorious Black Orchid Club member with a sick fascination of living the life of other people as her own and then disposing of them like cheap candy wrappers when she tires of what the present life offers her. Starker never flinched at the idea of killing someone or anyone for that matter. She killed 7 people out of spite and it never bothered her a bit. On the contrary, she derived plreasure reminiscing how retribution works in deadly ways. Her sense of justice is clearly black and white, innocents should not be harmed and fuck the guilty. Her strength as an agent was completely anchored to this belief, which is why Rains suggested to the upper management Starker only handle cases that involved heinous individuals to dispel any morally grey issues that may arise like in most bag and tag operations the company always undertook. And also why Orlova felt she was the perfect person to apprehend or, if needed, terminate the wraith-like Eidolon. As far as moralistic hubris goes, this issue is about as black as black can get.

Yesterday Orlova showed her a sketch he drew 4 days ago. It was a charcoal rendition of a woman holding a knife wearing an elegant dress and standing over the corpse of a middle aged man in a tuxedo. He was positive of the victim’s identity as that of the US Interior Secretary. As to why The Black Orchid Club wants the man terminated is still unknown.

“How’d you know Eidolon is the killer?” she said.

“You feel these things. When you have my ability and reach my age you learn to trust the, what do you Americans call it? Gut feeling that goes with it. I know all faces inside that club; that’s one of the things about being a spy. You’re trained to know everything you should about your enemy. And that face is unfamiliar.”

“Could be that shape shifting Baroness, for all you know.” she said.

He smiled. “Yes, I have thought of that before. Who among these superhumans within the cabal have abilities that can hide their true faces from their enemies?  Two? Yes? The Baroness and the parasite Eidolon. But one thing struck me as irrefutable about this killer’s identity.”

“Get to it,” she said.

He gave the sketch to her and said, “The Baroness is right-handed. If you look at the illustration, you can clearly see the killer holding the weapon in her left hand. Right, Katherine? ”

Katherine Sheperd materialized beside Starker and said, “Yes, she is.” In her right arm, she held assorted file folders that looked half-eaten by termites and caked with dirt, though they were obviously been wiped clean before reaching reaching Orlova’s room. Each of them was marked with the Primatech logo.

“How’d you know she’s here? “Starker asked. She didn’t show it but was really impressed by the elder Russian’s talents.

Orlova looked at her like a father being asked by a child about something very self-explanatory and universally known. “My dear,” he said, “I can see people’s actions even before they know they’ll do it. “

"Yeah, stupid me," said Starker.

Orlova shifted his gaze to Sheperd. "What do you have for us, Katherine?"

Sheperd dropped the files in the table. Loose dirt scattered around the surface.

"Nothing much," she said, "but I found something useful about that Eidolon. We all know she gloats about being invulnerable as she can simply transfer from one host to another. Even to her enemy, if she wants, and do serious damage to them by manipulating their actions."

Listening to Sheperd narrate the characteristics of their target, Starker felt the familiar joy of an upcoming battle. She took great pride in her skills but most of all, her lust was on overdrive for meting out her own brand of poetic justice to those she felt truly deserved them.

"---so I suggest we assign this to a telepath with at least a control index of 90. I think Trev---"

Starker wasn't really listening anymore but she did catch that last statement by Sheperd. “What did you say?” she said.

“I suggested we assign this to Trevor because of his telepathic skills. Eidolon may be invulnerable physically and she can hide inside the bodies of others, but her mind is still vulnerable. And good for us, one of the most skilled telepaths trained by the company is on our side,” Sheperd said, smiling.

Orlova saw the scowl starting to form in the edge of Starker’s mouth. He straightened himself and said, “I already assigned this to Darla.”

“Yeah,” and she’s obviously very capable. But—“

“BUT WHAT, invisible girl?” Starker was not hiding her annoyance.

Sheperd expected the outburst from Starker. “I wasn’t implying you were not capable of doing this job. But if we have to be pragmatic about this, then I suggest we utilize every advantage we have in taking them down.”

“And you correct, without any doubt.” He said, smiling. “But Starker is our agent.”