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Underworld City Chronicles: A Clockwork Red

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Underworld City Chronicles: A Clockwork Red
“Fate is not satisfied with inflicting just one calamity” – Publilius Syrus.
He just stood there, chest rising and falling with deep breaths.  There was blood on his lips so the action caused droplets of it to be inhaled inward, coating his tongue with the salty, metallic taste of massacre.  His arms were held out at his sides, as if he were basking in the glory of death that surrounded him.  As he opened his eyes, Marik could see his reflection in the high rise window.  He knew he had come here wearing gear that had been meant to heighten stealth, as well as protect his body from low, to mid impact weaponry, but all that was left were a pair of black military issue trousers and his boots.  His entire upper body was completely bare, covered and dripping with blood.  None of it was his own, the men here hadn’t been able to touch him, but as little sport as they’d been, the slaughter had been quite enjoyable.  Marik let his arms settle back to his sides, flexing his fingers a bit.  He’d been wearing gloves, but they, too, were gone.  He’d shed them in favor of feeling the flesh rip beneath his fingers, and bones break within his grasp.  He had only just finished, but as he closed his eyes, he could still recall the fear in the eyes of many who had gathered in this room only minutes before.  He remembered the surprise that had widened their eyes as the first bullets whizzed between their eyes and exploded out of the back of their heads.  He’d relished in the feel of his serrated knife ripping through flesh and bone, the satisfying crack of vertebra being shattered as he snapped their necks.  The longer the dance lasted, the more out of control he’d gotten until he was using his unnatural strength to begin ripping limbs from bodies, and heads from shoulders.  It had been glorious.
Black booted steps took him towards the window ahead of him and he stared out into the darkness that had cast itself over the city.  Underworld City.  At least that’s what it’s denizens called it.
It was a small city when compared to many of the sprawling metropolises that filled the world.  Small enough to remain under the radar, but large enough to be a power all it’s own.  Underworld City was situated on a large Island far off the coast of South Africa, it’s nearest neighbor being Cape Town.  The Island was situated in neutral waters and existed outside any kind of UN rule, a perfect haven for the darker seeds of humanity.  It had started out as a haven for pirates in the 1600’s, and remained as such through out the centuries due to being in international waters.  It wasn’t until the mid 1800’s when an event happened on the island involving people the stories only named as The Hand, and The Red Lady, that the Island truly began to come into it’s own.  During this event, valuable resources of unknown origin had been found on the Island, allowing the Island’s denizens to open up lucrative trade operations between the Island and outside nations.  Though a council was created to govern the Island, many whispers told that it was The Hand and/or the Red Lady themselves who truly pulled the strings behind the Island’s development.
Taking advantage of the island’s valuable resources independent contractors were brought in, and what would one day be known as Underworld City began it’s journey to completion.  Today the city was sprawling and densely populated, housing anyone from shrewd businesses to criminals and disenfranchised refugees from countless other nations.  Governments from all over the world try to infiltrate Underworld City, only to turn up dead, or turned into it’s denizens themselves.  Though not completely lawless and devoid of rules, Underworld City lives up to it’s name, and is mostly dominated by those who thrive in the underbelly of most societies.  It was only natural that Marik had found himself there, only natural that him being there saw him on the top floor of a sprawling skyscraper owned by one of the many companies that called Underworld City home.  The bad thing for them, though, was that they broke Underworld City’s rules and dealt in human trafficking, something that while lucrative, brought in the kind of attention that the council who oversaw the island didn’t want.  So as a favor, Marik was there to make sure they got what they deserved.
A meeting had been called, and every major holder, manager, and leader of the company, including their CEO had been there, and every single one of them were now dead.  Underworld City was not too forgiving when you broke her rules.  Marik was far from a saint himself.   He’d grown up in the shadow of the Russian Mob before almost being killed and turned into a demon by some secret organization called The Project, only to be later freed from their grasp and the grasp of the demon that had taken over his body.  However, since being freed, he’d been on his own path of retribution, one that saw him searching for his lost love Katrina while at the same time doing a few favors for the man who had saved him in the first place, The one the stories of Underworld City named The Hand.  Marik would be lying if he said that he didn’t love the violence that came with the job though.  He’d always loved it, even back in the old days.  It made him feel alive, made him feel powerful, and he’d do anything to share in that feeling with Katrina again.  That was what had brought him to the island in the first place.  If there was any place she might find a haven, it would be here.  They were alike, the two of them, and he knew that this was a place she would thrive.
Stepping away from the window, Marik began to clean up the scene, dragging the corpses, some shot to shit, others ripped limb from limb, to an open elevator shaft and tossing them down to it’s bottom.  He didn’t bother cleaning up the blood when he was done with the bodies, simply gathering his own things and moving out to a small stairwell, climbing up to a door that lead out to the roof where a helicopter waited.  Slinging his bag inside behind the passenger seat he climbed in and gave his pilot a thumbs up before the male simply nodded and took off.  When they were far enough away, Marik produced a small detonator and pressed the glowing red button on it’s side.  There was no bright, pretty explosion.  Instead concussion bombs strapped to the building’s foundation detonated, turning stone to dust and causing the building to crumble from the inside out.  Now that his favor to the council had been completed, it was their turn to help him find “Her”.

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