The Death Hero: Part 1

30 Days of Heroes - Day 4

The Death Hero 

Part 1

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The severed foot and portion of leg hovered impossibly in the glass display like a dark trophy. Its flesh retained the light beige hue that marked it as having healthy living skin and was still covered in a sparse arrangement of dark wispy hairs that swayed slightly back and forth from the encapsulated wind currents. Exposed muscle tissue at the topmost part was dark red and would twitch nearly imperceptibly, and two jagged ends of bone stretched out ahead of the rest. It had grown slowly over the past few months, piece by agonizing piece, starting with just the majority of his right big toe. Like a demon’s jigsaw puzzle, it had assembled itself inside the glass case as a constant reminder to its owner that the puzzle would not be finished anytime soon. 

Jaren Bishop found the lone toe serenely floating in the small glass case a few months ago when he had suddenly awoke inside a cramped, torchlit cave. The cave must have been occupied by someone else many years before, as it was sparsely furnished with an ornately carved desk, chair, and other assorted trappings of someone toiling away in this secluded office space. A half dozen torches encircled the cave, hung to the walls with ornate metal fasteners. The small glass case, which had grown in size alongside the elements of his mutilated body, sat in a perfectly shaped carved shelf inset in the craggy rock wall with one of the torches centered above it. Jaren screamed when he looked at the toe in the case and then screamed again when he looked to see that his foot was missing the same toe. He had also wondered why he was naked, and yet he was not cold or in pain.

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Presently, Jaren walked down the busy sidewalk toward the intersection where he had planned to do it. If any one of the dozens of people he walked by on his long morning meander would have spent more than a second to notice him, they would have assumed he was a homeless person slowly making their way to a food kitchen or methadone clinic. His pants and shirt were in tatters. His face was dirty, and his hair was long and unkempt. He hadn’t shaved or showered in who knows how long. Why would he? His clothes weren’t necessary to him but were only there so he wouldn’t be stopped on his way to the intersection. His one foot was shoeless, and his other foot was gone as he stumbled forward with a second-hand crutch he had claimed in an alley some time ago. The handle of a small pistol was barely visible sticking out of his jean pocket, but no one really noticed he existed, so that secret wouldn’t be found out until later. 

Jaren stopped at a crosswalk, but not because the sign on the other side was telling him to stop, and people rushed by him in a huff since he was in their way. He didn’t notice any of them, but he did remember this crosswalk as a place that he had stood in front of a big rig, some time ago, that had had no time to even start to press the brake until it was too late. This memory was only fleeting, and he quickly remembered why he had stopped this time. This intersection seemed like a good enough place as any to get it done. He would have to make his act believable, but it wouldn’t be difficult when all the other players would unknowingly help him sell his story. 

He calmly pulled out the pistol from his left side pocket and hobbled into the center of the busy road. Cars immediately slammed on their brakes, and people started to scream at him in their typical angry ways. He shot one very real bullet into the air and started his impromptu ravings. 
“The demons are here,” he yelled at no one in particular while waving his pistol in all directions. “The end is nigh!” He had heard this phrase before and thought it was a fitting part of the scene. Some of the people had gathered in the windows of the buildings that lined the street, some ran off screaming, the cars nearby frantically tried to get away, but one driver was unable to move, as the driver of the car behind it had abandoned their car to run off. Jaren glanced at the woman in the car just for a brief moment and was surprised to see that she was not reacting to the drama as everyone else was. Her face indicated curiosity and amusement. She stared into his eyes for a brief moment, and as they viewed each other, he was momentarily frozen in time. She was looking right at him and was not disgusted or angry. She was just there in the moment, and for less than a second, he felt like he knew the woman. 

The moment ended, and he was back to ranting about the end of the world and waving his gun in the air. Phones were out. This event would be documented from dozens of viewpoints and plastered all over every local media channel that existed. It was quite exciting for everyone involved, and no one really knew what to do until the police sirens ushered in the second phase of the event. 

“Everyone’s a demon! Everyone’s a demon,” Jaren screamed while the three cruisers surrounded him. Officers scrambled out of their vehicles and took cover as the cacophony of demands flew at Jaren. 

“Drop the gun!”

“Get down!” 

“Drop the gun!”

It was chaos, and Jaren smiled as he babbled nonsense and stumbled back and forth with his pistol, making erratic movements. It wouldn’t be long now, and Jaren was ready for the pain. This wasn’t the first time he had used the police to get his way, and although he felt a twinge of guilt for the trauma he would put them through, he found it all a little thrilling. His heart was racing, and time was slowing down as his final move was made. He pointed his small revolver at one of the policemen, and before he could blink, he was being ripped apart by the oncoming storm of bullets. Each one was a fiery dart through his adrenaline-steeped body. He hit the ground with a thud and accepted the reduction in brain activity as everything turned from color to gray to blackness. 

His body was eventually taken by the coroner after it was determined that he was dead. No need for a hospital ride for this hobo, and soon the street was back to normal. The woman in the car that had stopped and watched the event had been questioned but had little to offer the police, as she had never seen him before. She was calm and answered all their questions, but all the while her mind was somewhere else. She saw through his act and wondered why someone would do this on purpose. His eyes told her that this was not a manic drug-fueled tragedy but instead was something orchestrated to an expected end, and the man had gotten what he wanted. But why the charade?

The next day, when the morgue employee opened Jaren’s container, they were baffled to find a completely clean slab of metal with no sign of a shot-up homeless man. There was a proper kerfuffle in the lab that day, but after watching the surveillance cameras and investigating the scene, it was determined that it must have been a paperwork mishap. They had no ID for the man who was supposed to be in container 23B, so John Doe was simply in some other container. A mistake must have been made somewhere by someone, and soon they all forgot about it and went about their busy day. 

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No matter how many times Jaren awoke suddenly in that cave, lying on the rocky floor, he was always surprised. The shock of waking up from what could have been days, or years, or just a few hours to Jaren never seemed to diminish. His first deep breaths ignited his dormant lungs, and his body ached for a few moments as the sensation of blood flow and muscle spasms rebalanced themselves, and soon enough, he was able to sit up. The torches were always lit, so he didn’t even have the luxury of not seeing the truth that he hoped one day would not reveal itself. He had given up a long time ago trying to put the torches out. They simply did not obey the laws of physics. He looked to his stump of a leg and saw that an additional portion was predictably missing. He let out a long sigh. There was no pain in the leg, even though it looked raw and red, like it had been ripped off by a clumsy World War one doctor who used a dull saw with gloved hands. There was never any pain in the cave. In fact, he felt better than ever. Once, he had been to a free clinic and, other than the mysteriously missing leg parts, the doctor had said that he was in perfect health. No matter what horrors he put himself through, he always woke up feeling desperately well in that cave. 

When he mustered the nerve to stand up, he went through his typical routine. He scrambled over to the ill-fitting crutch that was mysteriously waiting for him as if someone had gingerly set it leaning up against the antique desk. His ghostly nurse, maybe. The glass display had grown slightly to accommodate the extra bit of flesh taken in payment for his latest suicide attempt. The carved-out shelf slowly crept toward the torch above it. Jaren wondered what would happen when the glass display overtook the torch’s position, only a few feet above the top of the carved-out rock wall. And it would certainly grow. He would make sure of it. 

To anyone else, the glorious sunrise creeping over the horizon would have induced awe, but Jaren ignored it as he slowly made his way across the beach toward the small pier a few dozen yards away from the cave mouth. The same small rowboat sat waiting for him as always, attached to the short dock. Unbound was painted on the side of the small boat and mocked Jaren as he flopped into the dinghy and started his long row to the mainland. His stomach churned with hunger pangs as he made his way across the calm waters. The small island disappeared rapidly from view, and he was certain that he would not be able to find it had he ever wished to turn around and head back. Even with his hatred of the thought of another day where people existed and where he would once again attempt to die, he was compelled to get as far away from that island and that cave as fast as possible. 

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The entrance to the warehouse was not hard to find, but getting in would be a challenge. Frida Ledger had scouted its perimeter earlier that day and had watched it the night before to gather intelligence about its defenses. It was now well past sundown, and the area was darkest where the fence outlined the building. The tall fence, topped with barbed wire, would be simple enough, but she had to decide if she was to sneak past the multiple sets of roaming guards or to hit them head-on at the front entrance. There was another choice, though, and if she did it right, she would get into the building without being noticed at all. 

As Frida made her way to the back of the complex, weaving behind small trees and shrubs, she timed it so that the well-armed paramilitary guards were facing away when she moved. Even if they had glanced her way as she quietly traversed the cold concrete, her entirely black clothing would hopefully camouflage her into the dark background enough to not raise alarm.  Soon enough, she was behind the fence right across from a one-way emergency door set in an alcove where only a few guards would pass every ten or so minutes. The only trouble was the camera placed above the door. From behind the fence, the slender-catlike woman adjusted a nob on her glasses as she stared directly at the camera. Within a few seconds, she saw the camera go limp as if it had just been given a sleeping pill. This electronic trickery would only give her 30 seconds to crawl through the small hole she had cut into the fence and make it to the door before it came back online. She hoped that if anyone was watching, they might chalk it up to a momentary malfunction, but even if not, she knew that she was better off inside the building and that much closer to her target. 

Frida scrambled to the door with plenty of time and crouched inside the small alcove. From her small pack, she removed a can of compressed air, inserted the long straw, and turned it upside down. The camera clicked back on as she sprayed the gas under the door, moving it side to side. It was taking longer than she hoped, but after a few sweeps back and forth, the door made a gonk sound, and she was able to pry the door open with her black bladed dagger. Inside the door, she looked up to see another camera peering down at her. Rats! She smiled at the camera, and as she moved left, the camera followed her, indicating that someone was controlling the camera, and the entire compound now knew she was there. There goes the element of surprise, but fine, she thought. She had memorized the building’s floor plan and was already imagining the route to take in her head. A route that would hopefully allow her to regain some amount of stealthy maneuvering and take out enemies on her terms. 

Outside the small emergency door foyer, she took a quick right down a dimly lit hallway, heading towards a small office room she hoped to disguise her location. As the clamoring of bootsteps grew louder from behind her, she ran toward the office and slammed the door open with speed. Inside the room was no light, and she quickly looked for somewhere to hide. There were two desks with computers and the typical office equipment. Her mind raced as she scanned the room. Nothing! Panic started to mount in her mind as the sounds of running guards closed in on her location. Then she saw it. With deft efficiency, she jumped onto a countertop, tested the ceiling tile, and was relieved to find it was loose enough to push up. Just as she was replacing the tile, she heard the door open, followed by at least two guards silently surveying the room. 

“C18 clear.” She heard from below, and she let out a long breath. 

For a few cramped minutes, she listened and waited. 

When it seemed her legs might give out from the prolonged strain of crouching, she lifted the tile and looked to see an empty room. Silently, she dropped to the floor and listened again, but heard nothing but the soft sounds of the air conditioner fan whirring. Outside the room, she made her way down the hallway she had come from until she turned a corner where she saw two guards standing with their backs to her, one next to the other. With one sweep of her hand, two daggers flew at the guards, and simultaneously, they both went limp as rag dolls. 

Frida stalked the hallway until it forked to the right and left. She went right, and just before her were three guards waiting in a large office with only a desk in one corner. They noticed her immediately, and as the man farthest from her went for his radio, she threw out a round ball that glowed purple as it sailed through the air. It hit his chest and exploded in a purple mist, and before he could speak, his eyes closed and his head sagged to his chest. The other two men looked at each other and then at the woman. Before they could pull their weapons into a fighting position, the woman bounded at the closest man, unsheathed a katana, and plunged the sword into his chest. She pulled the sword out, spun in a circle toward the other guard, whose one shot missed completely. With the elegance of a dancer, she swirled impossibly fast, her sword making two horizontal slashes across the man’s midsection, and the guard was on his knees, bleeding out on the floor. He only had time to make a pathetic look of desperation before she pierced his throat with the blade. 

The sleeping man was still standing in the center of the room like an inanimate robot waiting to reboot when the woman slowly walked up to him. What a sad moment for the unsuspecting man. He never had a chance. She took out her dagger and plunged it into his heart, forever ending his loyal service to the man she sought.  

After dispatching another dozen guards, Frida stood before an elevator door and pressed the button the go down. Inside the elevator, she readied herself for the coming battle. She checked her pack to make sure she had everything she needed for any number of contingencies that might arise. She didn’t know how many guards would be protecting the crime boss known only as The Mantle. He was responsible for nearly every heinous act that took place in the city for the past ten years. Drugs, murders, extortion, bribery, human trafficking, and many more reasons for her well-researched pursuit. She knew The Mantle well.

The first time she had encountered The Mantle was when his men had attempted to and successfully kidnapped her. It wasn’t hard since she had made sure she was in the right place to be taken that day. She had spent weeks posing as a prostitute in the grimiest part of the city and had gotten a reputation for being very picky, even despite her less-than-premier features. She wasn’t young or ugly necessarily, but certainly didn’t turn very many heads either. One might not even think she was a prostitute based on her clothes, which consisted of tight leggings that went all the way down to her ankles, long pink gloves on both arms, and a top that showed off her impressive cleavage. Frida did not look like a typical prostitute, but that was fine with her. She didn’t actually end up sleeping with any of her “clients” anyway. Whenever they had taken her to a hotel room or to a dark place in their car, she had always drugged them and later blamed their drunkenness and drug use for their lack of memory about the situation. 

One day, when she was talking with a fellow street walker, a limousine had pulled up and offered to pay twice their normal rate for an hour of their time, and they had both agreed. They entered the limo to find three men dressed in expensive suits who barely looked at them. The car ride was silent for a while until, unexpectedly, the man sitting next to her leaned over and stuck something in her neck. Before she could protest, her vision went blurry, and she woke up in a dark, cold shipping container some time later. It smelled of excrement and piss, and only a sliver of light shone through the crack in the door. There were about 20 women of varying ages in the container with her; one might have been as young as ten.

They hadn’t even tied her up, which was good for her, but bad for them. She looked to her left and saw the prostitute who came with her. The terrified woman looked at her, and Frida gripped her hand reassuringly. After waiting for a while in the putrid stench of the container, she heard men speaking to each other as they made their way toward them. The door creaked as it slowly opened, and the light blinded the women who were awake and aware enough to notice. Two large silhouettes stood before the entrance and looked in at the women. 

“I count twenty,” one man said in a deep voice. 

“That’s right.” The other man said with dispassion.

The man with the deep voice grabbed the closest woman to him; next to her, Frida sat calmly. He pulled her out by the arm, and she let out a weak whimper. 

“Not bad. Not bad at all,” he said as he looked her up and down. “I’ll be right back.” He dragged her away. The other man just stood there and lit up a cigarette. Obviously, this was a normal thing for them. 

When the man with the deep voice was out of view behind another container nearby. The soft pleas of the poor young woman drove daggers into Frida’s heart. Rage welled up in her. Before the man could smoke the cigarette, she rushed to him and grabbed him by the throat. With little effort, she crushed his entire neck, and with an eerie crunch, he flopped to the ground. The girls and women in the container were all staring at her when she ripped off her full-length gloves to reveal that her entire right arm was made of shining dark blue metal. Frida didn’t turn to see their gaping maws but instead walked toward the muffled shrieks of the woman behind the container. When she was done questioning the man with the deep voice, she had learned all the information she needed. In a few hours, the men would be found hanging from their necks from the rafters of the warehouse, the women gone. 

The elevator came to a stop five floors below ground level, and before the doors opened, Frida took a deep breath. The doors opened to a large space that held a small stage at the back and room enough for 100 seats, but it was empty now. There were no guards, but instead, just a single man sat on the stage, casually resting his arms on his lap. He seemed small in the large room, but as he sat up and started to walk toward Frida, she was shocked at his size. She guessed he was at least 7 feet tall and with at least 400 pounds of hulking muscle. No wonder he was able to amass such loyal fear in his caudray of cold criminals. Before he could get too close, Frida took out a small syringe and jammed it into her thigh. She didn’t grimace as the hot pain of the needle entered her flesh; it was not a new sensation for her. As the fiery liquid coursed through her veins, her muscles tensed in anticipation, her heart thudded with increased vigor and excitement, and her whole body was poised for battle. 

“You are just a tiny girl,” the Mantle bellowed. His voice reverberated off the walls as he stalked toward her. “You are no hero. Just another whore for my stable!” 

Frida drew her katana and started toward The Mantle, circling slowly to the right. The way was clear, so she would have plenty of space to outmaneuver him. 

Without warning, he leaped in the air well above her and positioned to smash her into the ground. She sidestepped just in time as he smashed his two fists deep into the ground, cracking the concrete underneath. Before he could recover, she swung her blade swiftly in an upward and then downward slice on his back. He roared and swung around to her. She backed up to give him some space, but he rushed toward her as if to grab her. With a swiftness he could not predict, she rolled past his right flank and with immense power she thrusted her sword through his back, its tip just sticking out the front side of his chest. Before she could pull it out, he swung around, and she caught his enormous forearm across the side of her head. 

Her body was momentarily rendered useless, and she hit the ground hard. She was stunned for long enough for The Mantle to jump in the air above her, but before he could land, her wits returned just in time for her to get up and roll to safety. Luckily enough, she was right behind him, and before he could move, she pulled her sword out of his back and, with a dancer’s grace, she slashed two wide circles across his back, taking out chunks of his flesh with each swing. She backed up, anticipating his retaliation, but instead, he stooped to one knee and groaned loudly. Before he could recover, Frida rushed around to look him in the eyes. His eyes were pure hatred; he snarled at her. Frida smiled as she stabbed her black dagger up through his lowered chin, and blood rushed over her metal hand. 

The Mantle fell to the floor with a thud, and with her hands on her knees, she took in deep breaths. She was unaware of how hard her head was pounding until she had recovered enough to feel the heartbeat between her ears. It was enough of a distraction for her not to notice the elevator doors opening behind her. She heard the gunshots before she saw them and turned to see two paramilitary men with rifles pointed at her. As time shrank and the explosive blasts echoed off the walls, Frida could have sworn she saw the exact projectile right before it tore through her forehead. 

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Jaren Bishop had been binge drinking for 24 hours and was still conscious. His apartment was once organized, and he would clean it once a week. These habits were not intuitive for him, but after living with a conscientious girlfriend for three years, he had developed a sense of duty to keep up the house. Jessie Holmes was a dedicated history teacher who was working and going to night classes to get her PHD and was a talented photographer as well. They had met when they shared their first day at Thompson High School as teachers. He was a bright-eyed PE teacher who was excited to start as an assistant soccer coach. 

They had hit it off from the start and were fast friends. As was the way in their relationship, she had taken the initiative to ask him on a proper date. Within a month, they were living together. It just made sense not to spend money on two expensive apartments when they were such a good fit. Soon, the time they spent together became less and less as Jessie stayed busy with her work and education, and Jaren spent many nights alone. He wasn’t upset by this in the least, but when the conversations of the future were brought up, exclusively by Jessie, Jaren never had much of an answer. The conversations stopped, and he spent more and more time at the bar drinking with the other coaches and teachers. 

He should have seen it coming, but he was still shocked when one day he came home to a deserted apartment. Jessie was never one to mince words and had explained the situation to Jaren in a business-like fashion over dinner the next day. He never spoke to her again. No texts, no messages. He just took the pain and knew that it was what he deserved. What a foolish man he had been to think that someone as perfect as Jessie would be happy with him. Instead of drinking out with friends, he drank alone, and he drank a lot. His absences from work started to become a problem, and then one day he decided that it was enough. With a fifth of whiskey down to give him courage, he put the 38 revolver in his mouth and pulled the trigger. That was three months ago, and every time after that, it had gotten easier and easier to do. It had cost him a toe the first time, but nothing else had changed when he woke up that first time in the cave. He was as miserable as ever. 

His vision was blurry as he stared at the television that played something he guessed was some sort of game show, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t remember how long it had been since he had pissed his pants, but the damp, cold wetness on his pants was not of concern. It just meant he had more room for vodka. He reached for the bottle sitting next to him and put it to his mouth, but nothing came out. The bottle on the stand was empty as well. After slowly stumbling and crawling around the apartment, he cursed at himself for running out. He looked at the door begrudgingly and took up his crutch. 

The midday sun was blinding when he opened the door, but the pain in his head and his eyes was a welcome punishment and a gift from the vengeful god that ruled his life. Step by slow step, he made his way down the block toward the liquor store. He would have driven, but his car had been demolished some time ago when he had driven it off the highest cliff he could find above the city. He has drunk then too. A half bottle of Jack Daniel’s might still be in the car. Where was that cliff again, he thought. 

Inside the liquor store, the grizzled woman cashier frowned when she saw who it was. 

“Jaren,” is all she said, with the disdain that he now got from anyone he interacted with. Most had never known him from before, when he was a chipper young buck, but now he was a different man. A man people pitied or downright hated.  

Jaren filled a basket with whatever booze was cheapest and made it to the counter with a stench that would be enough to kick him out, but the cashier remained accommodating enough. 

“That’s $42.95,” the cashier said after scanning and bagging the items.

Jaren grumbled incoherently and fished around in his pockets but was unable to locate a wallet or any cash. He looked beseechingly up at the burly woman who was growing much less hospitable with every second. “I forgot my wallet, Suzie.” He tried to smile, but his smile came out looking more like he had smelled something bad. 

Suzie just looked at him with a look that said, “Seems about right, you piece of shit!” and started to unbag the glass bottles. Jaren looked like a sad dog while he continued to search his empty pockets. He looked around, but there was no one in the store to harass. 

“You gotta go, Jaren,” Suzie said with surprising calmness. “You smell like piss. Don’t come back until you have some fucking money and take a fucking shower.”

Jaren stood there for a moment before he noticed Suzie grab the broom from behind her and start to walk around the counter. He grumbled and made his way out before she could smack him. She had a strong swing, and he didn’t feel like getting hit by her again. 

The burning sidewalk cooked his foot slowly as he made his way down the road in the hope of finding some money. He wasn’t certain he had any money at home, so he just headed east until he was tired and decided to rest against a wall along the sidewalk. The sidewalk was not particularly busy, but those who did pass by just sneered at him or ignored him altogether. After a while of wallowing in his filth, a shadow stopped and hovered over him. He looked up when he felt a stern kick to his bare foot. The hooded figure stared down at him. He tried to block the oppressive sun and saw a woman wearing black loose-fitting pants and a black hooded sweatshirt. 

Jaren put his hand out, but the woman didn’t offer anything. “Can you spare some change?” He asked pitifully. 

“How’d you lose the leg?” The woman asked. 

“Fuck you!” Jaren tried to hit her with his crutch, but she just swatted it away with her foot, kicking it hard enough for it to tumble a few feet from him. 

“That’s not very nice,” She said with a wry smile. “Tell me how you lost your leg and foot, I guess, since it is somewhat unclear what is going on there, and I will give you what you want.”

“Fuck you,” Jaren barely got out and looked down dejectedly. 

“Come on. I won’t judge. I just want to know,” the woman said with a soft, inviting tone. 

“I can’t tell you, so just leave me alone.”

“You just woke up one day without a leg, then? Is that what you're saying?”

Jaren looked up. It was too close to the truth, but she must be joking. He couldn’t explain it because it made no sense, and he didn’t know himself. “I was in a car accident.” It was somewhat true, but not the real answer to the question. 

“Well, that’s something at least,” she said, amused but not convinced. “What will you spend the money on?”

“Gas and food. I just need some help, miss.” He tried his fake smile again.

“Miss. I like that. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

“Never.” Jaren couldn’t stop himself from letting out a half-chuckle.

“Alrighty, then. You poor sack. Here’s some money.” She crumpled up a bill and threw it at him. “Don’t go drink yourself to death now.” 

Jaren uncrumpled the bill. It was a twenty, but when he looked up the thank the woman, she was already down the street, blending into the other pedestrians, and disappeared.   

Jaren didn’t dare go back to the liquor store but found an even more secluded one down the road, where he bought the biggest bottle he could find for the money. He left the change with the cashier and drank the bottle from its paper bag while he walked aimlessly deeper into the city. By three o’clock, he found himself crossing the massive bridge that connected the two halves of the expansive metropolitan landscape. Halfway across the bridge, he sat on a bench and looked out to where the ocean met the mighty river and continued on forever into the horizon. The loud noises from the traffic behind and above him were a pleasant distraction as the rumbling and screeching of tires on metal rushed past in an undefined rhythm. 

Jaren drank from his bottle. His thoughts went back in time and flashed behind his eyes. The loss of Jessie, his beloved. The loss of his mother when he was 13. He wasn’t there when it happened, but he imagined it many times. When his father didn’t come home that night, he knew something was wrong. Early the next morning, an officer came to the door and informed him that his father was in custody. His father had been drinking and had hit a car head-on. His mother had not made it, nor had the mother, father, and child in the other car. His father was the only survivor and was charged with their deaths. Jaren remembered the beating he got when his father came home on bail and all the beatings before he was finally taken to trial. Jaren’s hatred and sadness didn’t begin that day, but his hopelessness did. 

He had gone to live with his uncle, and although his uncle didn’t beat him, he was certainly not the best example of how to be a man. His uncle drank as well and spent most nights in the company of a myriad of women. Some he paid for, and some he found around the bars and strip clubs he frequented. Jaren focused his rage on his athletic endeavors. He excelled in every sport he tried out for. Soccer, football, tennis. He was a natural, and by senior year, he was offered a scholarship to a notable college for a full ride playing soccer. It was his way out, and for a long time, he thought he had escaped the horrors of his early life. No matter how well he did or how many cheered his name, there was always that nagging voice in the back of his head telling him he was worthless. His father’s voice had embedded itself in his psyche and had become a festering demon. An ever-present reminder that he was no hero. He was not even a man. Just a sad little boy, destined to fail. What a waste!

Jaren finished off the bottle and swayed side to side as he leaned against the railing. He wondered how far it was down to the river and tried to remember if he had jumped off this particular bridge before. There were a few bridges and cliffs that he had flashes of memories plunging into their depths, but he decided that this bridge was new and as good as any. He watched the bottle fall and lost count before it disappeared into the choppy water below. As he climbed slowly over the railing, he didn’t notice the hooded figure that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, who stood behind him. 

Just as he let go of the railing and started to fall, he felt the jerk of his momentum halt. The cold metal hand grasped his armpit and held him steady like a parent lazily holding their infant. He looked up to see that same woman from the sidewalk. Her hood had fallen back, and her long brown hair flailed in the wind. The soft tendrils flit against his face. She smiled at Jaren before pulling him back toward where she crouched on the ledge, which barely contained her. She shoved him over the side of the railing with no regard for his landing, and he thudded crumpled against the metal walkway. When he looked up, he again saw her smiling back at him, but before he could complain, the woman’s fist smashed into his face. He fixated on the bright red jewel on her finger before everything went black.

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Frida Ledger had never brought anyone back to her cave and felt a weird sense of obligation to tidy it up a bit. She took a pile of clothes and shoved them haphazardly into a trunk that lay at the foot of her cot. She straightened up the blanket and pillow on the cot and threw away some rubbish into a small trash can next to the ornately carved desk, which held a laptop, a pad of paper, a pen cup overfilling with pens, and other office products. All these things she had slowly added to her living space over time. Jaren lay unconscious near the entrance to the cave while she distracted herself with her tasks. 

Some short time later, Jaren was filled with fright when he saw that he was in a cave so similar to his own, but when he saw that he was still dressed as he was on the bridge, he knew something was wrong. There were furnishings here that he didn’t recognize, and when he continued to examine the area, he saw that there were three glass displays. Just like the glass cases were inset into the cave wall below ornate metal torch holders. They each contained living flesh, and two held full legs from the top of the thigh to the foot, and the other held a hand and an arm almost up to the elbow. 

His jaw dropped when he noticed the myriad of weapons that were displayed on holders along a large portion of the cave wall. There were swords, pistols, rifles, axes, daggers, and things Jaren didn’t quite know the names of, neatly organized and ready for use. This was all very confusing, and he feared what kind of person would spend their time in this place. He suddenly remembered the woman from the bridge, and as he turned toward the entrance, he saw a figure passing by the bright light coming from the entrance of the cave. He felt the need to act and thought about grabbing a weapon, but instead just stood there like a frightened deer as the figure walked toward him. 

 “Please sit down, Jaren,” Frida said in a friendly way. Jaren was taken out of his shock and decided to sit on the cot behind him. Her confidence was striking as she strode by him and grabbed the ornate wooden chair so she could sit facing him. She was small compared to his large frame, but he felt like a small boy as she stared at him. 

Jaren took in her plain features and guessed her age at around 40, although her slender and athletic body alone would be reasonably confused for that of a marathon runner mixed with a gymnast. Her left arm was muscular but feminine, sticking out of her loose-fitting t-shirt, but the right arm was something else. The right arm below the elbow consisted of an impressively complex conglomerate of wires, gears, sockets, and smooth black metal. She interlaced her fingers as if both hands were her natural-born appendages and held her hands in her lap in a relaxed fashion. She was ready for a conversation, but Jaren’s mind was still stuck in the moment of sheer bewilderment at his surroundings. He imagined what her legs must look like under the drab blue jeans she wore. 

“Pretty sweet, isn’t it?” Frida noticed Jaren staring at her prosthetic. She held it aloft and twisted it around and wriggled her fingers to demonstrate its dexterity. “Check these out,” She said with a smile, and then lifted her pant leg to the knee, revealing the same intricately engineered mechanics of her leg. “Two legs and one arm thus far have been taken and placed in the displays you see there.” She pointed to the three glass cases. “Isn’t that crazy?” She shook her head as if the words were truly insane, but it was comically sarcastic. “Have you seen anything like that before?” She leaned in toward Jaren expectantly. 

Jaren was quiet for a few moments and then said, “Who the fuck are you?” 

Frida smiled and sat up straight with her head held high. “I am Frida Ledger. Until recently, I thought I was the one and only immortal, but it seems I have a counterpart. You, Jaren, are like me, are you not?”

Jaren put his head down as if he had been reprimanded. “I’m nothing like you.”

“But you have your own glass case where that leg sits like a monument to your pointless inevitability?” The recognition in Jaren’s eyes as he looked up at her told the truth of it, but she wanted it explicit. “Say it!” She demanded, and Jaren flinched. 

“Why did…” Jaren started, but the crazed woman stood up and rushed to confront him. He leaned back and almost fell off the backside of the cot. 

“Say it! You have a cave somewhere! You don’t die!” 

Jaren’s eyes stung as he tried to conceal his expectant tears. He had never said it out loud to anyone or told anyone anything about it. He hadn’t really had a real conversation with anyone in so long; it was all overwhelming, but he eked out, “Yes.” 

Frida immediately relaxed and smiled as she sat back down in her chair. Jaren relaxed a bit as well, but the thud of his heart beat rapidly in his chest. 

“Now that we can be honest with each other. I want to know everything. And I bet you have a few questions for me.” Frida was as excited as a schoolgirl getting ready for her first school dance. Jaren was as nervous as her date might have been. “You start!”

Jaren’s mind raced to come up with a single question that could be uttered without just spitting out a jumble of words. He blurted out, “How old are you?”

“How mundane. But OK. Well, you may not believe this, but I was born in 1945 in the heart of Brooklyn.” Jaren’s eyes widened, and she continued. “My turn. Why do you keep killing yourself? I’m not judging, but Jesus Christ.” The judgment in her voice was veiled, but Jaren heard it nonetheless. 

Jaren started to fidget in his seat. “Uh. Fuck. I. Uh.” His blood was starting to boil.

“It’s OK,” Frida said reassuringly. “I killed myself a few times, too. Just to test some theories and whatnot.” Jaren stared at her with disbelief. How could she understand what he was going through or what he thought? “Never mind, Jaren. Can you tell me when you first found out about… All this?” She gestured around the cave. 

“Well, I um. It was a few months ago, I guess.” Jaren’s voice grew louder as he tried to muster up the story. “My girlfriend Jessie dumped me out of nowhere, and I couldn’t handle it. I was, am, devastated.” He looked right at her, daring her to judge him. She just stared back impassively. Jaren continued, “I had been drinking a lot that day, and after a while, I just didn’t want it anymore. I fucking hated myself! I fucking hate myself.” His energy ebbed as he continued. “My dad had left his 38 Special with me, and I put it in my mouth.” He mimed the action. “It wasn’t even that hard to pull the trigger, and when I woke up, I was here.” He gestured to the cave itself. “Not here, but a cave that looks exactly like this. Without all the stuff, though. What is all this stuff? How did you get it here?” 

Frida smiled and was glad that Jaren had calmed down and told her about his first suicide. “This stuff is important. I pretty much live here. I’ve been here a long time, and this is where I do my research and keep my gear. Did you see my weapons?” She pointed to the wall behind Jaren that held all the magnificent weaponry. 

“How could I miss it?” Jaren came alive a fraction of a percent as he gazed upon the wall of death implements. It struck a chord in him that he couldn’t really define. There was something about all the mottled silver and sharp edges. 

“Pretty sweet, right?” Frida stood up and walked over to examine her treasures. “I have been collecting these for quite some time.” She pulled a short axe off the shelf and showed it to Jaren. “This is from India. It was a gift for protecting a princess.” She handed the axe to Jaren, who viewed it with reverence and then handed it back. 

“What’s with the laptop?” 

“You don’t know what a laptop is?”

“Of course I do. But how do you use it here? Is there wifi or some shit?”

Frida walked over to the laptop and picked it up. She held it and said to Jaren slowly, as if he was a toddler, “It uses a batterwy and can connect to satawites. It’s wike magic.” She gave him a devious smile. 

“Fuck you!” Jaren smiled back. “I know how laptops work, but I didn’t assume you could just use one out here. How did you find this place anyway? I couldn’t find my cave if you paid me.” He was actually starting to feel more comfortable.

Frida put the laptop down and sat back down in the chair and said, “I mapped it out a while back. It does seem to disappear when you get a certain distance from it, but if you travel toward it, it just appears for you, and you can leave things here. In fact, sometimes things just show up here.” 

“Yeah!” Jaren said with excitement. “Like my crutch. I found an old ratty crutch and after I…,” He trailed off and then continued. “It is always there, resting against the desk.” He pointed to the desk behind Frida and exclaimed, “That same desk! It looks exactly the same.” He stood up suddenly and walked toward the desk, past Frida, to examine the desk. 

“I guessed that your cave and mine are pretty similar, but that is interesting,” Frida said curiously.

“Please sit down,” Frida asked sweetly but with a tinge of demand. “Listen, I know that this isn’t what you want to hear, but I need your help.” Jaren was filled with dread, and she continued, “When I found out about all this, I decided to use this… opportunity to do something good with it. I know that you don’t feel the same way right now, but I really hope you will think about it. We have an opportunity to make things right. To do something great with our lives. Will you help me?” 

Jaren’s heart pounded as he thought about her words. He had only thought of it as a cruel joke, keeping him in a never-ending loop of despair. It was a punishment for his failures and his own personal hell. This woman didn’t see things that way, and his mind started to open up to the possibilities. For the first time in a long time, he had a sliver of hope kindling slowly somewhere deep inside him. Maybe he could be useful again. Maybe he didn’t need to suffer endlessly.  A tentative smile spread across his lips, and he looked directly into Frida’s stoic eyes and said, “I'm getting bored with killing myself anyway. What do you need?” Frida sent back a fiendish grin.

___________________________________________________________________________ 

A shimmer of light gleamed off a thin metallic object as it flew through the air toward its target. It was the only indicator that the dark room had been infiltrated. The knife sank deep into the lower back of a tall man dressed in a cheap tuxedo. He let out a soft grunt and stumbled to one knee, and as he tried to pull something from inside his coat, another small knife sailed silently across the room. It struck just below the skull in the back of his neck, deep into the spine, rendering the man dead instantly. His body slumped forward, and Frida listened for the sound of footsteps or stirring coming from outside the room. She let out a breath after a tense moment of strained listening and stood up. 

She leaned out of the window, looked left, then right, and spotted Jaren a few feet away, crouched behind a small shrub, barely disguising his body. “Get over here,” Frida whispered to Jaren while gesturing for him to follow her into the window. Jaren looked around stupidly and slowly made his way to the window. He looked like a comic book version of a person sneaking around with rapid head movements this way and that. This was their first big mission since they had met a month ago, and Jaren was eager to do things right. Although Frida had tried to train him as much as possible in the days that led up to this night, he had not really mastered anything, and his stealth capabilities were at the top of the needs massive improvement list. He had done pretty well with the larger weapons and had chosen a hand axe with a substantial blade for this mission, which was now attached to his back. 

They weren’t able to find an easy enough path for both of them to get up higher, so the first floor would have to do. The mansion that held their prize was massive, with dozens of rooms across three floors. Frida wasn’t able to get the details about the inside of the mansion, but knew, from observing the outside comings and goings, that the owner of the mansion spent their evenings in the master bedroom on the third floor. He was known as the Black Knife, but his real name was Taylor Landon. His nickname came from his preference for using a curved black dagger to do his killing, for which he was known as the most prolific and successful assassin in the city. 

“This prosthetic leg is amazing,” Jaren said, louder than he should have, as he crawled through the window where Frida was impatiently waiting. 

“Keep it down,” Frida whispered. 

“Sorry,” Jaren whispered back. “It feels real,” Jaren said with a huge smile. “That guy’s dead?” Jaren pointed to the dark lump of a man lying on the ground a few feet from them. 

“Yes, now we need to try to deal with these guys one by one if we can, and try not to attract the rest. If that happens and a bunch of them come at once, then we will backtrack to here if necessary.”

“Sounds good.”

“Now, take out that axe and get ready.” Frida unsheathed her katana and started toward the door. Jaren pulled the axe from his back and followed closely behind. 

Beyond the door, there was a small hallway that opened up to the large foyer where two twisting staircases led up toward the second floor. Frida held her arm out to stop Jaren before they exited their covered position and listened. She could hear footsteps making their way up the stairs nearby. She continued to slowly make her way around the staircase and saw another large man in a tuxedo making his way up the stairs nearest them. Jaren was about to tap her on her shoulder when she was suddenly rushing up the stairs. In the blink of an eye, she was behind the guard, her sword sticking through the man’s back.

Just then, Jaren noticed another guard looking up at Frida. The Guard started to rush up the other set of stairs, and Jaren rushed to get behind him. As the guard neared the top of the stairs, he turned at the sounds of Jaren thudding his way toward him and turned around just in time to see Jaren’s axe crashing down in front of his face. The swing was a foot short of the guard as it embedded itself into the wooden stairs. Jaren looked up to see the stunned guard pointing his pistol at his chest. Two shots went off, and Jaren felt the hard impacts against his chest, causing him to fall backward down the staircase. The guard turned around and headed back toward Frida.

Jaren got back to his feet and felt where the bullets had impacted the bulletproof vest. How exciting! He ran back up the stairs, pulled his axe out of the wood, and rushed around the corner, where he saw Frida pulling her katana out of the guard’s neck. Blood gushed out of each side of the wound, drenching Frida and the floor behind the guard. Jaren couldn’t help but smile, but Frida gave him a look of disappointment as she tried to wipe some of the blood from her eyes. A crash came from the opening to the nearby hallway as doors were slammed open. Three guards came from the left and three from the right, each armed to the teeth. 

Jaren ran back down the staircase as the bullets came whizzing by him, splintering the railings and walls beyond them. Panicking only a little, he found a door to his left and kicked it open with his new metal foot. His smile faded, and he waited next to the doorway for death. A moment later, a guard stepped through he door and with a decisive overhead swing, he slammed his axe into the guard. He didn’t miss in the least, and the axe cleaved down on the guard’s head and neck with a sickening crack. With blood covering his face, he stepped back and crouched down just in time to watch bullets pepper through the wall above his head. After what seemed like millions of rounds, he heard silence and a rustling sound that meant the guards outside were reloading. Without thinking, Jaren rushed out of the room and slammed his axe into the nearest guard. The crunch of metal slicing through flesh and bone rang through the open air. Before he could pull his axe out of the guard, the third guard was slamming the butt of his rifle into his face. Dazed and confounded, Jaren staggered back. He looked up to see the man pointing the gun at his face and flinched. He expected to hear an explosion, but instead heard the sound of a woosh. When he looked up, the guard’s head was tumbling to the ground, and then Frida kicked the man’s headless body to the floor. 

Frida sauntered over the Jaren and stuck out her hand. She said, “You’re alive!” Jaren took her hand and stood up.

“Jesus Christ! Am I?” His eyes were as wide as white china dinner plates. 

“Let’s keep going, shall we?” Frida said, and they both ran back up the ruined staircase. 

Frida pointed to the right and said, “Look for a way up that way!” 

Jaren nodded and rushed down the hall. He passed by a few doors, but just as he was about to pass another, it slammed open and hit him in the side. He stumbled just a bit, but with his adrenaline running, he barely noticed. Before he could see who was there, he turned and swung the axe horizontally, but the guard jumped back in time for it to narrowly miss. The guard rushed forward and slammed his shoulder into Jaren, almost knocking him over. When the guard tried the move again, Jaren stepped aside in time for the guard to pass by. The guard turned, and they stared at each other. 

“Who are you?” the guard snarled the question at him.

“Your worst nightmare,” Jaren snarled back and waited for the man to move. The guard’s hand went for the holster on his hip, but before he could pull the pistol, Jaren leaped forward and smashed the axe into the man’s shoulder blade. The guard let out a quick breath and fell to the floor as Jaren used his foot to dislodge the blade from the man’s body. 

Jaren continued down the hallway until he stopped at the door at the end. He opened the door and braced himself for what he might find, and there was another small walkway that led to a spiral staircase winding its way up to the third level. He turned to go find Frida, but when he turned around, she was already making her way through the hallway toward him. She stopped to admire the dead body he had left behind. 

“You’re a goddamn natural, Jaren,” She said as she approached him.

“I’m a little scared at how easy this is for me. I’m really fucked up, aren’t I?” Jaren looked at her with a grimace. 

“These guys are fucking trash. You’re doing the world a favor,” Frida said and then walked passed him and made her way up the ornate staircase. 

At the top of the staircase, they both stood before the massive double doors that led into the master bedroom. Frida pulled out a small syringe-looking device and plunged the red liquid across the blade of her katana. The liquid was as thick as raw oil and made the entire blade glow neon red. “Blood poison,” she said to Jaren. “It makes them bleed out faster.” She smiled and gestured for Jaren to let her use it on his axe. Standing before the door with their blades shimmering neon red, they both looked at each other for a moment. “It’s all yours, noobie,” Frida said with a nod to Jaren. Jaren kicked at the point where the two doors met with his metal appendage, and splinters flew as the doors slammed open. 

It was almost pitch black inside the large, stately room, and they both slowly stepped inside. “I can’t see shit!” Jaren blurted out, his blade only illuminating a small area around him. 

“He’s in here,” Frida said quietly, her own sword blazing in the darkness. 

A shadow passed near the back of the room but was gone in an instant. Jaren stumbled over against a pedestal, and a large vase fell to the floor with a crash. Suddenly, as Jaren looked back up from where the vase struck, he saw a figure as fast as the wind rush passed him. Before he could turn, he felt the sting of something terrible tear through his back. When he looked down at his chest, he saw the point of a jagged black knife. It felt like lava was shot through his body as the knife was pulled out. His lungs ached, and his heart pounded, and as he fell to the floor, he could only see the wooshing of red light streaking around the room. As the darkness overtook him, he heard a muffled scream and a red flash fall to the floor. The fire still burned in his flesh as his vision and thoughts went black. 

__________________________________________________________________________

Frida and Jaren stood in front of the large mansion two days after being swiftly dispatched by the man called The Black Knife. Their plan had worked before, but had ended in a quick and painful death for both of them. Even Frida, a violent practitioner of death herself with over 60 years of experience, was taken out without putting so much as a nick on The Black Knife. They had gone with little to no data on who they went up against and had paid the price, but this time would be different. They knew his secret. Darkness and stealth, and this time they had a plan. If only…

They made their way around the side of the house and into the window they had used before. Like before, Frida dispatched the first guard with a set of knowing knives that landed with efficiency. They expected to meet more resistance this time but hoped that it would be as manageable as last time. This time, when they entered the main foyer with the double set of stairs leading up to the second floor, there were more guards, four this time. Two guards are patrolling the staircase, and two more are patrolling the bottom floor. 

“You take this side, and I’ll take the far side,” Frida whispered to Jaren, and they both readied their weapons, but this time they each also held a small round object as well. They waited and watched as the guards walked their predictable paths up and down the stairs, while the guards on the ground level walked back and forth in a shorter path. When the moment was right, and the two guards headed up the stairs, their backs facing them, Frida and Jaren both threw their grenades at the guards on the ground level. Each grenade silently hit its intended victims and sent out a plume of purple smoke that immediately rendered the guards unconscious but still standing. Their heads slumped forward, and they rocked slightly on their heels. 

“Now,” Frida whispered to Jaren, and they both rushed up their respective staircases. In a synchronized act of violence, Jaren and Frida sent their blades into two backs, the only sounds coming from the muffled gasps of the dying guards. 

Frida turned to see that Jaren had done well and motioned for him to finish off the two on the ground level. Jaren mouthed the word WHAT! But Frida used the universal gesture for MURDER THEM and pointed down at the guards. Jaren shook his head at Frida, and when he looked down toward the guards, he noticed one of them start to lift his head. Frida was already near the bottom of the steps when Jaren finally realized what was happening and started to run. Before he could get to the farther guard, he saw Frida thrust her katana through the back of the first guard as he continued toward the other man. The guard turned toward him, but there was too much distance to stop the guard from lifting his rifle. A single shot rang out, but Jaren didn’t slow down. Before another shot rang out, Jaren’s shining axe cleaved the air and landed on the top of the guard’s head. It sank through the man’s neck and stopped in the man’s upper chest, and blood streamed out of all sides, covering Jaren’s face. 

 Just then, a herd of footsteps could be heard coming from the second floor, and within a few seconds, the top floor was full of guards. At least 8 guards this time, and the two in front carried riot shields, one at each of the staircases, blocking any attempt to attack. Jaren rushed into the same room he had ducked into last time, and Frida moved back toward the room they had entered the mansion from as grenades were flung over the railing haphazardly. Explosions of fire, lightning, and green poison filled the lower foyer in a cacophony of chaotic bursts and bangs. Jaren dared a look and saw a poisonous mist fill the area. He closed the door before it could consume him. An eerie silence followed the chaos, and all waited. 

Jaren slowly opened the door to see the green mist dissipating. He peeked his head out for a second, and when the guards noticed where he was, a second round of grenades flowed from above like mortars headed straight for the door. He quickly closed it, but as the explosions blasted nearby, he saw the door start to splinter, and soon it had large holes in it. A green mist flowed in through the holes in the door and started to fill up the room. Jaren backed into the far corner of the room, but it wasn’t far enough, and his lungs began to burn as he breathed in the acrid smoke. Within seconds, the fatigue set in, and he felt as if he had suddenly contracted the worst cold he had ever felt. His blood boiled in his veins, and he sank to the floor. He imagined the guards rushing in and attacking as his mind began to betray him. Jaren struggled to breathe and struggled to think. 

After seconds or hours or days, his mind began to clear, and he was able to stand up. He still felt shivers and madness in his body, but had enough of his wits to remember a medicine that Frida had given him just in case this might happen. He pulled a small syringe out of his small fanny pack and plunged the needle deep into his thigh. A mixture of adrenaline and detoxifying agents had an immediate effect, and he felt insane with energy. Just then, Frida entered the room. 

“Are you ok?” she asked, noticing his extremely wide eyes and huge black pupils. 

“I used this,” he showed her the empty syringe. “And I feel fucking great!” 

Frida couldn’t help but smile, but quickly went back to her serious demeanor. “We need to get up there and take out those shield guards. I have a plan, so when I say GO, you need to run up the far side stairs and start swinging. OK?” With a wickedly large grin, Jaren nodded and readied his axe. 

In a blur, Frida ran out of the room and, with both hands, threw two large grenades over the heads of the riot shield guards. Before the guards could react, they exploded in mists of pale blue frost.

“GO!” she screamed, and Jaren burst out of the room and rushed up one set of stairs toward the waiting guard. The entire area was covered in a freezing fog that confused and slowed all of the guards in the area. He passed by the man holding a riot shield, turned, and slashed his blade into the man’s back. It made a nasty crunch, and the man fell forward and down the staircase. He quickly pulled the blade out and spun around to find another guard to attack. In a flurry of spinning slashes and horrible overhead slams, he sliced through guard after guard with furious speed. His mind was blank while he methodically danced between stunned guards that could not react in time to stop him. Blood sprayed in all directions, and when it was all over, all 8 guards lay in piles of guts and missing limbs. Frida slowly surveyed the scene as Jaren stood mesmerized by his own barbarism, his chest heaving up and down, his eyes like a madman staring back at her. 

There were no more men to dispatch before they made it to the double doors that would lead to death or success. 

“You ready?” Frida asked. “The light only lasts three minutes, so we don’t have all day.” 

The frenzy ebbed, and Jaren felt more like him self as he nodded to Frida. He kicked out the door like last time, but this time Frida flung a round silver ball into the center of the pitch black room, and when it hit the floor, a blinding orange light flooded out of it, illuminating the entire room. A thin, tall man could be seen standing in the corner of the room, shielding his eyes from the light, a long dark blade in his other hand. Frida darted forward toward him. 

Jaren stayed back and blocked any escape while Frida and The Black Knife played their game. He counted the seconds. The man was faster than Frida, which was ungodly fast, and he wore a slim black hood and black tight-fitting pants. The whole thing was nearly silent as flashes of shimmering metal gleamed back and forth. She lunged forward with her katana, and he dodged effortlessly to flank her. She whirled and blocked his slash just in time. In a flash of movement, the shadow of a man jumped back and then lunged forward, surprising Frida. His blade found its way inside her guard and sank into her left shoulder. With a grunt, she tried to swipe at the man, but her blade only hit air as he jumped back. 

They circled each other, Frida nearly tripping over the remnants of broken chairs and other elements of the room that had broken in the melee. 

The thin man stopped and looked over to Jaren for a second, and then back to Frida. In a raspy voice, he said, “Clever to use the light, but you’re still no match for me. He will watch as I gut you!” He lunged forward, and Frida sidestepped just in time. She swung her katana down at the man, but he blocked it with his blade. He started to overpower her, and soon she was kneeling as his blade pressed down on hers. His black knife seemed to melt her blade and was slowly eating into it. 

Jaren couldn’t wait any longer, and the light was starting to fade. He walked toward the two fighters with his axe held high. Frida’s eyes met his, and he saw genuine fear there. Her blade snapped, and the black knife, with all the weight of the thin man, buried itself into her chest. Jaren ran forward, and when he was within reach, he swung down as hard as he could, but before his blade fell, The Black Knife turned, and their blades locked into place. Jaren was slightly taller and had at least 60 pounds on the man, but the man was insanely strong, and Jaren felt his muscles quiver under the stress. The black blade started to eat through his axe, but when Jaren looked at the lifeless body of Frida on the ground, he was filled with rage. He doubled his efforts, and as the knife continued to eat into his blade, he could feel the man weaken and falter. The thin man gritted his teeth, but it did him no good as Jaren tilted sharply to the side, allowing the blades to swing just to his right. The black blade was stuck in his. The man was shocked as it was taken from his hands. In a swift horizontal slash, Jaren swiped at the stunned man and slammed his axe into his torso. The Black Knife let out a breathy sigh and fell over. 

Jaren ran over to Frida, but she was gone. The dark singe in her chest was 6 inches long and too deep to mend. The wound looked cauterized by the heat of the blade. Jaren closed her eyes for her and knew that she would be reborn, good as ever, soon enough, though with a little less of her remaining arm. He stood up and examined the room. Maybe there was some treasure to be had to make all of this worth more than just an altruistic attempt at justice. He walked around the room and found a footlocker at the end of The Black Knife’s massive four-poster bed. Inside the chest was a myriad of sweet treats. There were pistols, ammo, daggers, money, and inside an ornate jewelry box, he found a gold ring with a large green jewel inset. He put all the items into a duffel bag he found in the corner and looked around a little more. 

Inside the walk-in closet, he found a black hooded cloak that seemed to glimmer in the light. He put it into the bag. Then he noticed a shiny object in the back corner of the closet. When he pulled back some coats, he saw the magnificent weapon and smiled. A massive greatsword nearly four feet tall, bejeweled and engraved, lay against the wall as if it were just a tossed aside piece of junk. Jaren placed it inside the bag and left the closet. He looked over the two dead bodies and remembered the black blade stuck in his axe that lay now on the floor. He struggled to pull the blade out and stumbled when it finally released. He held it in his hand. It was remarkably heavy, its craggy edges seemed as if it was chiselled out of primordial obsidian still hot from the lava. It was crude but somehow exquisite. Its only purpose, to devour. It was warm, almost hot, and he dared not touch its sharp blade. He ripped the sheath off the dead man, sheathed the blade, and strapped it to his belt. 

___________________________________________________________________________

The next day, Jaren scoured the beaches where he thought Frida might show up after she was reborn in her cave and came ashore. He didn’t know exactly where to look as 50% of the city was surrounded by water. Near where he had come to shore from his island, he stalked up and down for a few hours. As the sun rose overhead, he decided to move on to check another beach area. After spending the entire day searching beaches and jetties that he had never even thought to seek out before, he was left wondering if Frida might not be in a hurry to get back to him. Fear and loneliness started to creep in on him as he headed back to his apartment in the dark. 

He had been so excited after the success of taking out The Black Knife and finding that amazing hulk of a sword, but now, as Jaren sat on his couch in silence, his energy faded. Maybe she just needed some time to research the next target, or maybe he had missed her as she came ashore somewhere he had just been. Maybe he had done something wrong. He hadn’t jumped in to save Frida until it was too late. He should have helped her sooner. Frida was always testing him, and maybe this was a test that he had failed. Typical really. His eyes went to the old friend sitting at the table, and the empty bottle called to him. 

Jaren walked through the doors of his local liquor store and saw Suzie behind the counter. She smiled at him, which was a novel sight, and asked, “Jaren! Is that you?” Jaren smiled back at the normally gruff woman. 

“It’s me, Suzie. Doing OK?” 

“Same old, same old for me, but you…” She stopped stocking the cigarettes and looked him up and down. “You don’t look like a piss drunk hobo. And you have two legs!” 

“I took your advice,” Jaren said and then lifted his pant leg up to show her the shiny metal prosthetic. 

“Holy shit! That’s amazing!” She was beaming at Jaren, genuinely impressed with his transformation. 

“Thanks, Suzie,” Jaren said and then walked toward the back of the store. 

The shelves looked different and almost nothing looked interesting. He read the labels, of which there were hundreds, and couldn’t decide what would taste good. Before he had met Frida he would have just grabbed the cheapest biggest bottle of liquor without even checking the label but now he found himself picking up bottles, reading them, and then putting them back. He felt different about it. The anguish he had felt before had diminished enough for him to think about what Frida might think and how he might not be able to train tomorrow if he got smashed. The relief that he wanted was within hand but the pain that entitled him to it wasn’t what it used to be. Out of tradition and obligation he picked a bottle of Scotch that seemed high-class and brought it to the counter. 

“Good choice,” Suzie said while examining the bottle. She bagged it and hit some buttons on the register. Just then a couple of boisterous young men came through the door. They were both around twenty years old and had red rose tattoos indicating that they were probably part of the South Side Gang. They looked Jaren up and down with sneers as they walked by and chuckled to themselves. 

“You ok?” Jaren looked at Suzie, who was eyeing the men in the back.

“They act hard. I’m used to it. That’ll be $26.50,” Suzie said, her smile had faded and she continued to keep an eye on the two young men. 

Jaren handed her a fifty-dollar bill and said, “Keep the change.”

Suzie took her eyes off the two men and stared at Jaren. “That’s way too much Jaren. You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Just take it. I was an ass to you and you didn’t deserve that.”

“No. No.” She tried to give the money back. 

Jaren refused and then a voice from behind him said, “I’ll take it then!” 

Jaren turned around to see the young gangsters standing too close for comfort. “Just put the money in your pocket Suzie and have a good night. These nice young men don’t need handouts.” He stepped toward the door to let them pass but they didn’t move. 

One of them, whose wife-beater was stained with yellow sweat, took a step toward Jaren and said, “I said, I’ll take that!” 

“You’re nothing but a punk,” Suzie said with the fierceness of a lion. 

“What’d you say you stupid bitch!” The second man piped up and started toward the counter. Jaren made to move that way but the man that stood before him moved to block him. When the man pulled his shirt up Jaren saw the pistol in his pants. Jaren smiled and as the man smiled back Jaren swung the paper bag in his hand and smashed the hard bottle inside against the man’s head. The man reeled and fell to his knees. Jaren grabbed the back of his head and slammed his knee into his face and with a sickening crunch the man was out. 

Jaren tossed the knocked out man to the floor and stepped toward the other gangster who was yelling at him. He only had threats until Jaren was within inches of his face looking down on him. Jaren was 6’2’’ and towered over the young ruffian who became silent as Jaren’s emotionless eyes stared into his. “Get the fuck out of here and don’t come back.” The young man didn’t move as Jaren continued to star at him. “Did you hear me?” 

The young man finally broke eye contact and said, “Yeah, man. Fuck.” Jaren stepped aside and let him pass. “Leave your friend,” Jaren said and watched as the dejected man walked out of the store. 

“You really have changed,” Suzie said with subtle admiration. 

Jaren pointed to the man bleeding from his face on the ground. “Call the police to take this one, and I’ll hang out until they show up.” 

Jaren spent the next couple of hours waiting for and then explaining everything to the police, and they took his information and let him go. When he finally got home, he realized that he had forgotten to get another bottle of alcohol. He went to bed thinking about Frida. 

___________________________________________________________________________

As the red sun retreated past the wind-swept watery horizon, Frida Ledger paddled her modest wooden dinghy toward the shore. The lights of the city beyond the cliffs of the small bay slowly came alive as the clouds overhead darkened. Frida skuttled out of the dinghy, pulled on her backpack, and made her way across the soft sand toward the dilapidated stairs that wound up the cliffside. She passed the parking lot lined by small restaurants that were starting to fill with dinner goers and flagged down a yellow cab. “Downtown,” she said to the driver as she entered. The old man nodded and sped off. 

Frida paid the cabby and walked down the busy streets. It was Saturday night, and the rain was just starting to threaten everyone’s good time. Frida liked the rain. She liked that it masked sounds and kept people’s heads down. All the better for stalking prey. 

He wore a tan double-breasted long coat, black pants and shirt, and held a designer umbrella over his head. His dark glasses would look out of place on such a dark night, but undoubtedly matched his cool demeanor. His name was Thomas Vargas, and he was the state representative of their fine city. Frida watched him enter the ritzy restaurant from across the street while she sat on a bus bunch shielded from the rain. Her dark hoodie cloaked her face, but it didn’t stop her from noticing the two henchmen who followed closely behind the bespoke gentleman. One henchman stayed outside and lit up a cigarette while the other followed his boss inside. 

After about 45 minutes of waiting on the bench, she felt the eyes of the henchman who had gone through at least a pack of cigarettes glance over at her. He must have noticed that she had not taken any of the buses that had come and gone. She just stared at the ground when he looked over, and she was deciding whether to move on or not when the door of the restaurant opened, and the cool customer came out. The cigarette man opened an umbrella for him as he entered the sidewalk, and Frida stood, readying to follow, but just then a woman came out and saddled up beside Thomas and kissed him. Frida couldn’t see her face very well, but knew that this was an important piece to her puzzle. The second henchman came out a moment later, and they all started walking south. 

Frida followed at a safe distance until the group made their way up an elevator to a multistory parking garage. As they headed up, she watched the elevator stop at level six. She hit the button for level five and headed up. After taking the stairs to level six, she quietly opened the door and looked around. There were quite a few cars, and she couldn’t see anyone. She crept around the area until she finally saw the politician and the woman getting into a black Mercedes-Benz. She rushed passed a few cars to get a better view and saw one henchman opening the door for the woman. Frida got a clear and irrefutable look at her beautiful face. Her heart leaped for a moment as she recognized the woman. 

As the car drove off, she heard the sound of thudding footsteps coming from behind her. She whipped around to see the massive cigarette man coming toward her fast. She hadn’t noticed that one of the guards was missing. He must have waited for her. What a stupid mistake! Frida tried to turn, but her shoes were still slick from the rain, and she slipped. Her hands stung as they hit the hard cement, and then she felt the weight of the henchman slam against her back. Like a quarterback being blindsided by a lineman, she flew forward. For multiple feet, her stomach and face shredded across the ground, leaving a bloody trail behind her. 

She tried to get up, but before she could, she felt her head being wrenched backward. His grip on her hair was intense, and she thought he might take it with him. Despite herself, she let out a screech. 

As he sat on her back, nearly crushing her lungs, he said in a deep voice, “Who are you?”

“I’m your worst nightmare,” Frida managed, although it came out stilted and weak. 

The man laughed and let go of her hair. “Who are you?” he repeated, but then smacked the side of her face with his massive palm. The hit stung like hell. 

“Fuck you!” Frida tried to wiggle out, but with each movement she made, she felt a little less able to breathe. He slapped her again, sending waves of electricity through her. Her vision went bright white for just a moment, and the sensation was horrifying. “OK, OK, just get off me, and I’ll talk!”

The man let out an indignant huff but stood up. Frida felt immediate relief and slowly turned and stood up. With her hands on her knees, she panted. While the breaths were needed, the exaggerated nature of her panting was a show. “Just…” Frida put her finger up, but the henchman took a step toward her. In an instant, she took off through the dark parking garage. She ran as fast as she could, but the large man was closing in on her. Ahead, the brick wall was beyond the six floors, straight down to the earth. She could do it and splat against the ground and just wake up in her cave tomorrow, but the thought made her cringe. So annoying!

Instead, she turned at the ledge, ran through the narrow path passed a row a cars. The large man slowed down, giving her just enough distance to speed toward the exit that led to the stairwell. She slammed passed the door and leaped down the steps as fast as possible, sliding into the side walls, the henchman on her heels. Floor after floor, they raced toward the bottom. With two floors to go, Frida looked back to see the henchman’s hand almost grab her, but before he could, she vaulted over the side rail and plunged toward the ground level. The henchman looked over the edge to see Frida run out into the rain-drenched city. 

___________________________________________________________________________

The sun was just making its way over the horizon when Jaren heard the doorbell chime loudly throughout the apartment. With excitement, he rushed to answer it and found Frida leaning casually against the door frame. Her dark hair glistened in the early sunlight, still soaking wet from the rain. Jaren was surprised at the utter comfort he felt in her presence. He couldn’t help but stare and forgot how to speak. She smiled and said, “Avon Calling.” Jaren chuckled and let her in. 

Jaren hustled around the kitchen frantically gathering ingredients and utensils. Frida sat in the living room while clanks and clinks emanated from the kitchen. 

“Hungry,” Jaren asked.

“Not really. What are you doing in there?” 

“I’m making breakfast burritos. It’s my specialty.” 

“Your specialty, aye?” 

“Yes.” Jaren was silently panicking as he found a lack of ingredients in the fridge. The few eggs and cheese would have to do. “You’ll see.” 

“Whatever you say, Chef,” Frida said. “You were successful in defeating The Black Knife, I presume. How did that go?”

“It was insane! I tried to save you, but I was too late. Then his blade got stuck in my axe, and I pulled it away from him and nearly cut him in half. I got a ton of treasure. A ring, money, a massive sword, and his incredible dagger.” 

“Well done. You have come so far since I met you begging for change on the sidewalk.” Frida’s words sang in Jaren’s heart. She continued, “I have a surprise for you when you're done with your culinary masterpiece over there.”

Jaren plated the eggs with cheese on them and handed them to Frida.
“It’s less of a burrito and more of a breakfast egg and cheese thing.” 

Frida sneered at the plate and set it on the coffee table. She said, “Thanks. Also, I have to talk to you about a new job.”

“That’s what you’ve been up to then? I was worried when I didn’t see you after …,” Jaren trailed off. “Did you Google my address or something?”

“Yes. I googled you. If I eat this food, will you get dressed so we can go?” 

Jaren stopped staring at her and raced up the stairs to get dressed like an excited school boy on his first day.

“Oh! And bring lots of money and that big sword,” Frida yelled up to Jaren. 

Frida drove in silence and paid Jaren no mind the entirety of the drive, which strained Jaren’s nerves. Jaren fidgeted the entire 45-minute drive over bridges, through the city, and into the expansive forest to the west. The black Ford Explorer bumped and thudded its way down a rough gravel road shrouded by tall trees on one side and a steep cliff on the other. Another 15 minutes of tense rumbling up a mountain before Frida turned off a smaller mud and dirt road that ended with a small cottage nestled in an alcove of steep rock and dense forest. 

They got out, and Jaren stretched as Frida walked toward the lincoln log cabin that seemed only big enough for a small bed. Jaren followed Frida to the door, and she knocked loudly. Nothing.

“Sometimes he can’t hear the door,” Frida said as she smiled at Jaren. 
“He must be deaf,” Jaren said, looking around skeptically at the surroundings. 

“His hearing is just fine,” Frida said and knocked again loudly. She had a pained look as she tried the doorknob knob and when she found that it was unlocked, she slowly opened the door. She peeked inside and then walked in the rest of the way. 

The inside was as small as expected, with a small cot against one wall and a counter with some camping cookware that looked like it had been used once and left for someone else to clean. At the back wall, only about six feet from the entrance, was another door that was made of old, rusted metal and looked like it was taken directly out of a medieval dungeon. Frida rapped on the door loudly, and the clang of the metal seemed to rebound endlessly on the other side. Soon, they could hear a soft clank and swish sound behind the door. The rhythmic sound of clank and swish grew louder as it neared their position, and then it stopped just behind the door. 

With a rattle, a small window in the door slid to the side, and eyes peered out at them. 

“Good to see you, Drew,” Frida said as the eyes looked them both up and down. 

With a raspy, high-pitched voice drew said, “Who’s this with you?”

“This is Jaren. He’s in need of your services. His death costs flesh.”

The eyes widened, and the signs of a smile showed in their edges, and Drew said, “Wonderful!”

The door creaked open, slowly revealing Drew. Jaren was shocked to see what looked like a thousand-year-old goblin man with green skin, a large gray beard, and a short cane in his hand. He was hunched over badly, making him quite short, although if he were to straighten, he might have been as tall as Jaren. Drew smiled at Jaren in a way that made Jaren feel like this creature had not seen humans in quite some time. The goblin turned and gestured for them to follow. 

They made their way down a dark and narrow hallway dug into the mountain. At the end of the hallway, a large chamber lit by torches and candles opened up with impossibly tall ceilings that seemed to be embedded with purple and blue stars that shone like diamonds. Contraptions, tools, benches, anvils, and all manner of tinkering devices filled every bit of the round cavern’s interior. Leather hides were laid out to dry on racks, a deep red fire burned in a forge built into the rock wall, and metal slabs ranging in color from black to intense silver lay in piles and racks, and some just lay on the floor ready to be formed into god knows what. 

Jaren surveyed the incredible workshop while Drew and Frida talked too quietly for him to hear. After his awe of this place subsided, he walked over to them. 

“This place is incredible, Drew,” Jaren said. 

Drew beamed at Jaren and gave a nod of approval. The goblin was never so pleased as when he was being praised. He looked to Frida and asked, “So, what can I do for you today?”

Frida answered, “Jaren needs an upgrade to his prosthetic. It was my first, and he needs something suited for his size.” Frida looked at Jaren’s leg, indicating that he should show it to Drew. He lifted his pant leg. 

“Yes, yes. It is subpar at best. I will fashion you a far superior model.” Drew looked up at them and said excitedly, “What else, what else!” 

“Show him the sword,” Frida said to Jaren.

Jaren pulled the huge duffel bag off his shoulder and laid it on the ground. He opened it, shoved aside large stacks of money, and pulled the massive sword that he had taken from The Black Knife’s closet. The handle was gold with a silver-tipped endcap on the pommel. The crossguard was made of a black metal ornately engraved with swirls and spirals. The double-edged blade was made of the same dark black metal, and when he pulled it out of the bag, he noticed its weight was deceptively light for its huge size. Jaren displayed the sword for Drew to examine.  

Drew’s face lit up as he took in the beautiful implement of death. “Yes! Yes! Give it here!”

Jaren handed the blade to Drew, who held it in one hand like it was nothing. Drew dropped his cane and limped as fast as he could over to a workbench, where he laid the sword down. After a few moments wondering if Drew was going to say anything, Jaren noticed that Frida was walking over to a set of large overstuffed chairs. By the time Jaren sat down and looked over, Frida was already sleeping. He wasn’t tired, so he spent his time mesmerized by Drew's frenetic movements as he hammered, smelted, forged, molded, sharpened metals of all sizes and shapes, creating his new leg and making his sword more deadly. 

Jaren was spacing out while staring at the underground starscape that seemed to writh and wriggle on the ceiling, when all of a sudden, a large, round, green goblin face was inches away from his. Drew smiled widely at him and said, “All done, kind sir.” Drew held the freshly polished sword in one hand and a gleaming metal prosthetic leg and foot in the other hand and showed them proudly to Jaren. Drew continued, “This leg will conform and grow to accommodate your trials and tribulations. And this sword is sharp, balanced, and will cleave your enemies with ease.” 

Jaren was impressed with the obvious care the blacksmith had put into the sword and took it from Drew. Jaren stood up and felt that the sword was indeed perfectly balanced. When he swung it a few times, it felt like the sword itself was working to stay in his hands. “It’s magnificent, Drew,” Jaren said, and the goblin beamed. 

“Sit, Sit! Let me help you with this,” Drew said and held forth the new leg. Jaren leaned the sword against a chair and sat down. Before he could remove the old prosthesis, Drew was wrenching it off his stump and fitting the new one to it. The new leg felt incredibly comfortable and formed around his jagged stump like water conforming to a complex vessel. “It’s made from carbon fiber and steel. The shock absorption and strength are unmatched. You should hurry up and get rid of that other leg,” Drew pointed to Jaren’s good leg, “so you could run and jump like a cricket. Ha!” 

With that, Drew skittered over to his cane and then grabbed something small and black off a workbench and handed it to Jaren. It had straps surrounding a small black metal plate in the center. “What’s this?” Jaren asked.

“To carry that sword on your back. It is an electromagnet that responds to your touch. If your arm moves to take the sword, it will release it to you, but only if you do it. Pretty cool, aye?”

“Very cool. You’re a genius!”

“Oh, wonderful! This has been such a wonderful day!” Drew walked over to where Frida was still sleeping and kicked her chair. With a start, she kicked her feet out, nearly hitting Drew, but he saw it coming and moved off the center of the kick. “What the fuck,” Frida yelled. 

“Is there anything else you need, Frida?” Drew asked in a subdued tone. He hadn’t taken any breaks in the hours that he worked so diligently.

Frida looked to Jaren and asked, “How’d the old green guy do?”

Jaren took the sword off his back and swung it around with a big smile and said, “He’s a fucking genius!” 

The goblin couldn’t help but let out a little cackle of glee. 

Frida stretched out her back as she said, “Well, then, the only thing left is to pay the man. Jaren.”

“Oh shit. Right.” Jaren rushed over to the duffel bag and asked, “How much do we owe you?”

“50,000 dollars, thank you very much.” 

Jaren started to pull out stacks of cash and counted. He stacked up the cash on a nearby table and said, “Exactly 50,000. Do you want to check?”
“Never,” was all he replied, and then he turned away and walked toward a door that Jaren had not noticed before. It was another dungeon-like door against the rock wall. Drew disappeared through the door and into the darkness beyond without another word. 

“Strange guy, isn’t he?” Frida said as she and Jaren walked back through the dark tunnel toward the outside world. 

“Strange is one word for it. How did you meet him?”

“That’s a funny story. I’ll tell you on the way home.” 

“What’s next then?” Jaren said as they left through the small shack. The sun was just above the horizon as they entered the vehicle and started back to the city.

Frida looked over at Jaren and said, “Next, we kill a congressman.” 

__________________________________________________________________________

After the day at the goblins’ forge, Jaren and Frida had stayed up late into the night talking. Not about the next assassination but about their lives. Jaren felt at home and explained to her how his father had killed his mother in that car accident and how he was still in prison. He told her about Jessie and how he had lost his will to live after she left a few months ago. Tears came, and he didn’t hold them back. Frida sat there and listened with hardly a reaction. She nodded and stayed quiet, looking deep into his eyes whenever he was brave enough to look into hers. She held his hand for a time, and he didn’t even think about drinking alcohol. 

By about two in the morning, he was spent, a weight had lifted, and he passed out on the couch. Frida just sat in the chair in the kitchen while he slept. 

At about four AM, Frida nudged Jaren and said quietly, “I need to show you something. We need to go.” 

She made him row the small dinghy, and as they slowly made their way deep into the endless expanse of the ocean, Jaren was still confused. “Where are we going again?” 

“Just keep heading north, and you’ll see soon enough.” Frida looked bored and tired. Jaren wasn’t sure she was awake as her head slumped forward as if she might fall forward, but she never did. 

For some unknown and ungodly amount of time, Jaren continued to row until the lights of the city were just pinpricks in the distance. The stars above were brighter, and Jaren’s neck strained from staring up for so long. He didn’t remember the last time he enjoyed looking at the stars. A shooting star flew across the sky, and then he looked back at Frida to find that she was looking at him with drowsy eyes. “Good morning, beautiful,” Jaren said with a wry smile. 

Frida rolled her eyes in disgust and said, “That’s not even remotely funny. Let’s trade.” 

They traded places, and after just a few minutes of Frida rowing, Jaren noticed a foggy gray mass in the distance. As they neared the smudge of gray, Jaren could make out green and brown, and as the fog dissipated, the small island became apparent. Was it his island? No, it couldn’t be. This is her island!

Jaren’s excitement faded into shame as he realized that it would have been this easy to find his own island, and he committed to attempting it as soon as he had the next opportunity. That might not be for a while, as they were now going over the details of the assassination of their State Representative Thomas Vargas. Jaren had never paid much attention to politics and had no particular hatred for politicians, but if Frida decided that he was an evil man, he was happy to go along. She had been right about everyone else, and while this was a prominent public figure, he wasn’t too concerned. He did wonder what he had done to piss off enough people to pay Frida to kill him. 

Frida stood over the old desk and gestured for Jaren to look at the screen where an article from the website Politico showed the handsome representative shaking hands with a reporter. The headline read, Vargas Promises Public Protections from Profiteering. 

“I don’t get it,” Jaren said. “Seems like a good guy.” 

“Seems like it, but inside the bill, there is a section that would require Congress to divulge all future foreign spending budgets and their uses before they are approved. That means that anyone with the internet could find out what the government is planning when it comes to foreign intervention. The terrorists would use that knowledge to create countermeasures. It would be a disaster for national security.” Frida looked up at Jaren with concern and said, “There’s another thing you should know. Don’t freak out.” She clicked on a folder, and it opened a series of photos. When she expanded them, Jaren let out a gasp. In the photos, his ex-girlfriend Jessie was asleep in a hospital bed with bruises all over her face, an IV in her arm, and some of her hair ripped out. 

“What the fuck is this! That’s her. That’s Jessie. I…” Jaren choked on his words, and his eyes began to burn. His fists clenched.  

“That’s why I thought you should see what kind of man this guy is.” Frida continued to cycle through the pictures. One of them was a picture of the representative and Jessie at some formal event before the beating had occurred. 
“No one knows that he did this. I had to pay someone at the hospital to get these for me.” Frida closed the laptop and saw the rage in Jaren’s watery eyes. 

Jaren stared at her and said with deathly calm, “Put me in the room, and he’s dead.” 

Frida smiled.

__________________________________________________________________________

It took all of Jaren’s willpower to wait the two days after he found out about what Representative Vargas had done to his perfect Jessie. His blood boiled as he and Frida had planned out how to get to him, and now, as he stood before the gates of the cemetery, the sun setting, he took in deep, calming breaths. This was his first assignment completely alone, and he didn’t want his emotions ruining everything. He knew that Frida was out there watching from somewhere not too far away, but this was his revenge to enact. For her. For the woman he lost when he was weak and pointless. He wasn’t weak anymore.

Deep orange shone off the substantial length of the massive blade as Jaren walked through the gates and into the densely decorated cemetery in the heart of the city. Thomas Vargas had ensured that he was never disturbed by the lowly public whenever he visited his parents’ gravesite, so Jaren only had to worry about the guards that trailed Vargas, which Jaren had counted a total of only three. They would be better trained and outfitted than any he had encountered before, but his rage would make up for any disparity in ability. 

As he quietly made his way through the cemetery, he pulled his sword from his back and spotted a guard just ahead. Jaren picked up a small stone from the ground and hurried to get close enough. He chucked the rock at the guard’s back, who immediately turned to find no one there. After saying something into a lapel microphone, he crept toward where the rock had come from. The two other guards who were further ahead continued to follow Vargas deeper into the cemetery. 

Jaren watched from behind a large maple tree as the guard slowly made his way closer, but before the guard was close enough to strike, the guard turned around and headed back toward the others. After just a few steps, Jaren was behind him, and with one swipe of the massive sword to the man’s lower back, the guard was cleaved in two. The guard let out a surprised sigh as his top half slumped to the ground next to his lower half. Blood poured heavily from both halves onto the cobblestone path. 

Golden lamps started to glow brighter as darkness crept in on the cemetery grounds, marking the path that led Jaren toward his prey. He did not attempt to hide his movements, and he walked closer and closer to the three men. When he was nearly to them, he saw Vargas stop and kneel before a meager-looking set of headstones, and just then the two guards turned to find Jaren standing only a few yards from their position. 

Vargas didn’t seem to notice. His guards, in unison, pulled their pistols from beneath their coats. Before they could aim, though, a small purple ball was hurtling its way toward them. When it hit Vargas in the back of his head, a purple smoke spewed out from the ball, and before Vargas could register the hit, he was face down in the dirt. The guards rushed away from the grenade, and as they moved, they started firing on Jaren’s position. Jaren moved behind a large mausoleum gravesite before the bullets could hit. 

Bullets cracked and whizzed by the corner of the stone where Jaren waited. He heard a click and rushed out from behind the mausoleum toward the first guard. The guard dropped their pistol and pulled a small machete from a sheath hidden in their coat and squared off against the raging bull headed his way. Bullets from the other guard continued toward Jaren, but he didn’t so much as wince as they rushed by his head and chest. His massive sword clashed against the machete of the guard, and he was surprised at how strong the guard was to hold against the force brought down on him. In an instant, the machete was slashing toward his waist, where it just missed his flesh. Jaren backed up and could hear the second guard’s footsteps as they made their way closer to him. He continued to back up and saw that the other guard also had a machete. The two guards faced Jaren side by side and slowly stalked toward him. 

Together, the guards struck, but Jaren jumped back, the machetes barely missing him. Again, the two machetes sliced at Jaren, but this time he blocked them both and parried them away. He sliced horizontally, and the two guards backstepped. Then he targeted the man on his left, and Jaren struck as hard as he could straight down. The guard put his machete up to block, but it wasn’t enough, and Jaren’s greatsword broke through the man’s guard and its tip sliced a line down the man’s face. The other guard swung toward Jaren, but he rolled away just in time. 

Without hesitation, Jaren held his sword tip down and dragged it along the ground as he rushed toward the uninjured guard, and with all his might, he swiped upward, cleaving the man in half from the groin to the shoulder blades. The scream was short-lived before his pieces hit the ground. Jaren turned toward the other guard, who was making his way toward him slowly. They circled each other for a moment as blood streamed down the guard’s face, his machete clenched tightly. Jaren’s sword was tip down again, resting lightly on the ground as he waited to make his move. He moved toward the man, hoping to coax out an attack, but the man only feinted a lunge toward Jaren, causing him to swipe upward but missing the guard. Before he could recover, the machete sliced a line through his side. Deep enough to cause Jaren to stagger. 

The guard took the opportunity to strike, but as he sliced downward, Jaren lifted his blade and blocked the strike. They clashed blades back and forth until both men’s breathing was ragged and labored. Jaren paused as the guard paused, and they looked at each other. The man’s face had stopped bleeding, but the line in it was red and deep. Blood dripped down Jaren’s side.

“Why?” It was all the guard could get out. 

“How could you work for someone like him?” Jaren said as he nodded toward the still passed-out Vargas. 

“Thomas is a good man. Who are you working for?” 

“A good man!” Jaren laughed. “Wife beaters are good men then?”

This time, the guard laughed. “That’s what they told you. That makes sense. That’s horseshit!”

Jaren’s head rang, and his heart sank. He paused long enough to contemplate what the guard had said. 

“He beat Jessie.” It was half question, half statement.

“He loves Jessie.” Jaren believed the words, making it all the harder to think straight. The guard continued, “Someone beat her half dead last week. We are still looking for them.”

“Liar,” Jaren said, even though he didn’t believe it. 

“Fuck you! You’re dead anyway. Even if you kill me, Thomas has friends.” 

Jaren backed away from the guard and leaned up against a tree. He shook his head as he fought the truth making its way into his soul. Had Frida lied? Why? 

“Wake him up, and we’ll see what he has to say,” Jaren said to the guard who slowly made his way to the passed-out man. 

The guard roused Vargas, who woke up with a start. The guard whispered something in his ear, and he looked toward Jaren and said, “You’re Jaren, aren’t you?” 

“How do you know my name?” 

“Jessie told me about you.” Jessie must have told him everything based on how that sentence came out. Not an outright insult, but not friendly either. “Whatever story you were given is not true. I would never hurt her. You are being used.” 

Jaren couldn’t help but believe the man and said to himself, “Fuck me. What have I done?” He looked over at the dead pieces of the guard nearby and felt like he might puke. 

Before he could and before he could ask anything else, two muted shots rang out from somewhere above and behind him, and both the guard and Vargas were down. Both were shot through the forehead within less than a second. Jaren whirled to get behind the tree as another shot splintered against it. 

Jaren waited for more shots, but they didn’t ring out, and he knew he had to move. Before he could run, he heard footsteps coming closer. 

“You had to talk to them!” Frida called out from nearby. “I should have known better than to trust you with this! You fucking amateur.” 

Jaren’s heart thudded against his chest as he eyed the nearby path toward another exit point. He yelled back, “Why hurt Jessie? I would have helped you anyway!”

“Not once you found out who his wife was, you wouldn’t have.” Frida was getting closer. 

He had to move now. 

Jaren reached into his pocket and pulled out his last sleep grenade. He risked looking around the tree just enough to see where Frida was, and just as he glimpsed her position, which was about 30 feet away, a shot was scattered against the tree right where his face had been before he quickly hid again. He pulled the pin on the sleep grenade and tossed it in her general direction. It was his last chance. 

Frida saw the grenade coming and let it hit in front of her, a cloud of purple smoke slowly filling the air. She laughed loudly and said, “That doesn’t work on me.” Through the smoke, she saw something flying toward her. She lifted her rifle and shot the thing twice before it clanked to the ground. Beyond the smoke, she saw The Black Knife’s jagged black blade lying on the stone path. When she got to the tree, Jaren was gone. 

___________________________________________________________________________

The rain pattered relentlessly against the roof of the yellow cab taxi as it sped across town. Frida had offered the driver an extra hundred if he went as fast as possible, and he delivered. Red lights meant nothing to this man, and he went through stop signs and barely missed pedestrians trying to cross the darkened streets. Pop music played softly as Frida stared out the windshield while holding onto the seat as the car whipped around corners. 

When they finally arrived at the hospital entrance, Frida chucked bills at the driver and said nothing as she rushed into the foyer. Frida slowed down as she continued into the quiet receptionist’s area and calmly walked up to the counter. The woman attending the area smiled and asked, “How are you?” 

“I’m very well, thank you. How are you?” Frida attempted to involve her brow and eyes in the fake smile. 

“Oh, I’m just fine. What can I do for you?”

“I am Representative Thomas Vargas’ assistant, and he wanted to get an update on his wife, Jessie Vargas. He has been busy all day in meetings and such and wasn’t able to come by himself.”

“Unfortunately, it is well past visiting hours, ma’am. But if you’d…,” 

The woman couldn’t finish before Frida interrupted with, “Oh, I understand, but Mr. Vargas is beside himself with worry and would be upset if he wasn’t able to check in on his wife. You understand.” Frida’s voice was forceful but not angry, and the woman at the counter seemed to quiver at the request. 

“I’m. I’m not sure,” The young receptionist stammered and looked around. Frida gave her an impressively convincing look of concern and friendliness as if they had both been friends, and this might be their little secret. 

“I suppose if you were only in for a 5-minute visit, it would be alright.” The woman handed Frida a clipboard. “What was your name again?” 

Frida took the clipboard and quickly scribbled down something and said, “My name is Darlene.” She handed the clipboard back to the woman and turned around to leave. 

“Don’t you want to know where Jessie is?” 

Frida turned around and said, “I visited her just yesterday, so I’m good.” 

“Oh, well, they moved her just this evening. For security, they said.”

“I hope everything is all right.” 

“Yes, her security said that it was just a precaution. She is now on the fifth floor, room 523.” 

“Thank you very much for that info. Have a good night.” 

When the elevator doors closed, Frida felt for the knife sheathed at the small of her back and 

waited. A few moments later, the elevator doors opened, and she walked through the dark and quiet reception area and down the hall toward room 523. Before she opened the door, she peered through the small window in the door and saw Jessie in the bed, asleep. She opened the door silently and then locked it. With the black knife out, she crept toward Jessie.

She was only a few more steps away when she felt a sharp prick on her neck. The world immediately turned colorless and hazy as she turned to see Jaren with a hypodermic needle in his hand and a snarl on his face. Frida dropped the knife and slumped to the floor. 

Jaren picked up the knife and walked over to where Jessie lay serenely sleeping. His heart ached at the sight of her in that bed. The bruises were still dark blue and purple on her neck and face. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her until seeing her again, and seeing her like this made it all the more heartbreaking. He reached out for her hand and held it gently. Tears filled his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, and then Jessie opened her eyes. 

The shock in seeing him there was apparent as her eyes were as wide as tomatoes, but after a second or two, they softened, and she smiled back at him. She gripped his hand in return.

He leaned in and said, “Thomas is dead.” Jessie let go of his hand, and she started to silently sob. She either wasn’t able to talk or just didn’t want to. “This woman,” Jaren pointed to the passed-out Frida on the ground. “Used me to get to him and then killed him before I could do anything. I’m so sorry.” Jessie blinked tears away and turned her head away. Jaren just turned around, put Frida’s limp body over his shoulder, and walked out of the room. 

___________________________________________________________________________

The fog engulfed the still waters of the bay for miles, but Jaren knew the general direction, so he kept rowing steadily. Frida’s body was a lumpy pile on the small rowboat, with her head clumsily smashed into the floor. He hadn’t bothered with putting her into a comfortable position when he flung her into the boat some time ago. His arms were on fire, but he wasn’t about to stop until they made it to her cave. She had to be there, or it wouldn’t have shown up, and he wasn’t sure it would this time, and if it didn’t, he planned on dumping her overboard while she slept. 

After he had knocked her out in the hospital, he had gotten lucky and found a running car just nearby with no one in it. He had never stolen a vehicle before, but this was his only shot to get out with a passed-out woman without being questioned or arrested, so he took it. He had never used Fentanyl to knock someone out, and he hoped she wouldn’t wake up before it was time, or die, for that matter. Every so often, he had checked her pulse to make sure he hadn’t given her too much. He knew she was still breathing as just off in the distance, he saw a small dark mass form out of the fog just up ahead. 

Inside Frida’s cave, Jaren put her down on the floor and waited for her to wake up. During the few hours he waited, his eyes threatened to shut on him, so he paced around to try to keep himself awake. Finally, as he paced, he heard a short grunt coming from Frida, and he turned around. She raged against the ropes that tied her to the small cot, nearly tumbling it over, but Jaren just sat and watched. 

Jaren sat down in the vintage chair and crossed his legs. A bored look on his face as Frida continued to try to break free, but after a few minutes, she calmed down. She took in a few deep breaths and looked at Jaren and said as calmly as she could, “I needed you with me for the next part. I didn’t mean for it to go this way. I’m sorry Jaren. I really am.” 

Jaren looked at her as if to say, continue.

Frida said, “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I shouldn’t have done it. You were supposed to just kill Vargas and his men, and then they would have finally given me the big one. I’ve been tracking down the bastard who killed my last partner for the past ten years, and when I found out how to get to them, I was forced to do their bidding. We can still get this done. You and I and then Jessie will be all yours. Don’t you see?”

Jaren said flatly, “Who are they?”

“Undo these ropes, and I’ll tell you, and we will get them together.” 

Jaren stood up and walked over to the wall of violent implements and picked a coiled whip. As he let the whip uncoil, the metal barbs inlaid in its weave clanked against the rocky floor. 

“Come on now! Let’s just talk!”

Once again, Jaren said in a flat tone, “Who are they?”

When Frida said nothing, Jaren flung the whip at her and struck her on the left shoulder. She only winced. Then he struck again, this time the whip wrapped itself around her head and then swung back around, gouging chunks of cheek and hair from her. She screamed. 

“WHO ARE THEY!” 

“FUCK YOU,” Frida screamed through half-breaths and oncoming tears. She was frantic as she railed against her bindings. 

The whip flew at her again, this time hitting across her legs. She screamed again. 

“Tell me the truth, and I will let you go.”

Frida let out a sob and said softly, “Fuck you. Just kill me.”

“Good idea actually.” Jaren dropped the whip and walked back to the wall of weapons. He picked up a short sword and examined it for a moment. He looked over at Frida and raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

Frida tried to snarl, but it had no energy to it. Jaren took the sword and slowly walked to the side of the bed. He placed the tip of the blade where her heart was and leaned in and said sweetly, “See you soon,” and thrust the sword into her heart. Her life winked out in a moment. Jaren looked at his phone and set a timer. 

Frida’s body had disappeared shortly after Jaren had thrust the sword through her heart, leaving only blood and flesh from the whipping. He didn’t bother cleaning anything but put the weapons back in their holders. For the long hours he would have to wait, he explored the island, slept, and ate some from the small stockpile of canned fruits and jerky that Frida had stored there. He nearly memorized everything about the cave and its contents. The immaculate weapons were certainly the crown of her treasures, although she did have a chest full of actual money and jewels, and Jaren made a note to make sure to take that with him before he left. 

He watched the sun set from the small beach just outside the cave, and when it was too dark and cold to stay outside, he went back in the cave to make a small fire and waited. 

Jaren jolted upright from the blaring of the alarm on his phone, and he rushed to prepare for Frida’s arrival. He was curious what it would look like to see her magically appear inside the cave and hoped that he would have enough time to tie her back up. He tried to think about all the times he had awoken inside his cave, but couldn’t quite recall how long he had been lying there unconscious. He remembered waking up naked, and by the time he had rowed to shore and checked any available clock, it was around 2 AM. He guessed that it had taken him a couple of hours from when he woke up, so it made sense that she would arrive around midnight. 

It was only a few minutes away, and he paced the cave until another alarm went off. It was exactly midnight, and Jaren froze in place, ready to do what he needed to do. After waiting the seconds that felt like hours, she appeared on her back on the flat rock next to the cot. Her eyes were closed, and she was entirely naked. She had no wounds and hardly any scars. Both of her legs were entirely gone along with her right arm, but as Jaren examined her left hand, he noticed a missing pinky finger that was certainly there before. 

As he picked her up to place her on the cot, he could feel her start to wake up. He rushed to tie her left wrist up, but wasn’t prepared to tie her body down. He hadn’t remembered that the prosthetics would mysteriously vanish when being reborn. As he was untieing a rope that had been on her ankles, her eyes opened. 

Jaren rushed to tie her midsection, but before he could get to it, she was staring at him. Instead of thrashing and gnawing at the ropes as he had predicted, she just sat there calmly. She didn’t have much of a choice. 

Jaren looked at her and felt a twinge of pity and a bit of guilt as she lay there vulnerable and completely helpless. He hadn’t wanted to humiliate her in this way and ran over to grab a blanket to put on her. As he was looking for one, he noticed her prosthetic limbs had appeared as well, next to the desk. All three rested against the side of the desk as if someone had taken great care to make sure they didn’t fall. They were stunning pieces of craftsmanship. Jaren closed his dropped jaw and found a blanket for Frida. 

Jaren walked over to the display cases that held Frida’s legs and arm and tapped on the small case that had appeared next to the one holding he right arm. The new case contained one floating pinky finger. Jaren asked, “I wonder what happens when all the limbs are gone? Hard to imagine a partially dismembered torso. Maybe it’s just ears and eyes and such. Maybe it starts with organs. I’m guessing that once the limbs are gone, then that’s the end. What do you think?”

Frida looked toward the wall of weapons, no doubt imagining which ones she might use on him if she were to get the chance. 

Jaren threw the small blanket at her, but she just let it fall onto the cot. Jaren sat down in the chair and said, “If you don’t want to find out, then just tell me who they are.” 

Frida slowly turned toward him, and he could see tears in her eyes. She looked so pathetic that Jaren almost felt bad, but instead, he went to the whip again.

“Just tell me, Frida, and I will leave this island. I will take care of the people who set all this up, and then you can go do whatever you want. Just leave Jessie alone, and I won’t try to find you.” 

Frida’s face contorted, and her eyes filled with malice and hate, and she started to laugh. 

Jaren snapped the whip across her arm, pulling chunks off. She continued to laugh maniacally. After one more slash of the whip, Jaren realized that this was not going to get him any answers. She was obviously crazy, and he didn’t enjoy torturing her. He just wanted to get revenge on whoever ordered Jessie’s husband dead and started all this mess. He threw the whip to the ground and sat with his face in his hands while Frida cackled. After a while, her laughter quieted, and he looked up to see her staring at him.

“Come here,” she whispered. 

Jaren walked over to her and leaned in. 
“Closer.”

He leaned in closer, but just then she bit down on his ear and pulled away like a hungry lion. 

“Fuck!” Jaren clasped his bleeding ear and stumbled backward. 

Frida spat the ear on the floor and started to laugh again. 

Jaren walked over to the wall and pulled a pistol from its holder. He pointed it at her head and pulled the trigger, but only heard a click. Frida’s laughter roared throughout the cave. He pulled the slide back and watched a cartridge slide into the breach. He pointed it at her face again, and when he pulled the trigger this time, it went off, but the bullet went by her head and crashed into the display case holding her left leg. The case shattered, and a high-pitched sound threatened to deafen them both. Frida screamed but couldn’t lift her one hand high enough to cover her ear. Jaren held his ears. After a few unnerving seconds, the high-pitched sound stopped, and Frida stopped screaming. The cave went deathly silent. 

Jaren looked up at Frida, who was looking at where her missing left leg was supposed to be under the blanket. Jaren looked to where the display case had shattered and saw that there was no leg on the ground, only glass shards. When he pulled the corner of the blanket away, he saw it and gasped. Her left leg was attached once more, the entire thing, except it had decayed as many years as Frida had been missing it. It smelled of rotten meat and was black and brown and gray. It was shriveled and lifeless. Frida looked up at Jaren with pure shock and horror in her eyes. Her mouth agape, and she was not laughing anymore. 

“I can’t feel it.” She said as she stared at the decrepit leg. 

“I can smell it, that’s for sure.” 

She looked back at Jaren, and with dread on her face, she asked, “What have you done?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not good. You’re fucked.” Jaren pointed at the part of her hip where the leg was now connected and saw some strange dark veins slowly snaking their way up her side. 

When she saw what Jaren was looking at, she screamed and started to thrash with her left arm as much as she could, but it was no use. 

“Tell me who they are, or I'll break all the glass. And then you can see how long it takes before that rot kills you. Tell me, and I’ll chop that rotten leg off, and hopefully when you are reborn, you will be healed.”

Without delay, Frida spoke. “There’s a group called The Republic. They are a small group of wealthy businessmen and politicians who control the city and most of the country as well. They have endless funds. I’ve been working with them for over thirty years as their assassin or whatever they want.” Frida was talking a mile a minute. “Chop it off now! I think I can feel it!”

“Give me names and I will.” 

“Senator Wilfred Stonewall, Jim Blanchet, Courtney Baston. Those are the big ones. Those were my contacts. Well, their secretaries. Do it! Do it!”

“Thank you,” Jaren said and then walked over and pulled an axe from the wall. With one plunge downward, he chopped the decayed leg off and cut a sizable hole in the cot as well. 

“Fuck!” Frida was panting quickly, and when she looked down at her stomach, she noticed that the spreading of the black veins had stopped. There were still black veins, but they didn’t continue to advance. “What now Jaren. This is all fucked up!”

Jaren pointed the gun at her head and pulled the trigger. 

___________________________________________________________________________

The End of Part 1