FIC MC 41  Sept ’01 – Il Lumison Legatus (1?)

Chicago

Jack Wild scowled as he walked into the alleyway, the steady drizzle doing nothing but bad things to his already foul mood, flashing his badge at the uniform before walking on to the murder scene.  “What we got Johnson?”

The portly detective looked up from his perusal of the two corpses littering the ground, the victims’ blood pooling into the refuse bags either side of the alley.  “Two known drug dealers, throats slit.”  Johnson shook his head.  “Jesus, Jack.  Why the hell do we waste our time investigating this shit?”

Wild grinned at the basset-hound faced detective.  “Killing perps is our job, Johnson, and don’t let any liberal tell you different.”

Johnson chuckled and shook his head before straightening with a groan.  “Jesus, this job don’t get any easier.  What’s this, the fourth?”

“Sixth occasion, tenth and eleventh bodies,” Wild looked around.  “Where’s the symbol?”

 

Johnson pulled out a flash-light and shone it on the red-stoned wall, illuminating a golden circle painted on it with a set of scales in the centre of it beneath a pair of crossed swords.  “There it is,” all note of hilarity had gone from the older officer’s voice.  “Any luck on deciphering the symbol?”

“We’ve sent the photo to the FBI and every leading university in the country as well as Oxford and Cambridge,” Jack shook his head.  “Nothing.”

“You figure it was one of them who leaked it to the press?” Johnson asked. 

”I hope so because they’ll be hell to pay if it was one of the boys,” Jack replied.  He looked down to the bodies.  “It’s confirmed that these two are dealers?”

”Hell yeah,” Johnson nodded.  “I put Tom Edwards down for a five stretch three years ago.  He got out two months ago for good behaviour.”

“Guess his good behaviour didn’t stretch to actually stopping dealing,” Jack commented.

“Guess not,” Johnson chuckled before sobering.  “So remind me, the other victims?”

“First two were dealers who oded in their crack dens, despite neither of them being actual users, the symbols painted on their doors.  Next three were a trio of pedos, castrated and left to bleed out.”  Johnson winced.  “Third one was a pimp with a propensity to violence, beaten to death.  Fourth occasion was a loan shark and his two leg-breakers, also beaten to death.  Last before this one was a slum lord.  He choked to death on a wad of bills shoved into his mouth.”

“Poetic,” Johnson muttered.  “What’s the betting no-one knows or saw a damn thing?”

Wild shook his head.  “Let’s just say I see a pattern.”

                                                *                                  *                                  *

Mexico City, Mexcio

“Oh come back to bed Xander!”

“Faith-.”

“Oh please, Xander.  I need your lovin’.”

“Five times last night, you’re insatiable.” Xander continued to scan his laptop monitor.

“I don’t care what Ken says, I ain’t got insatiable or any other infectious diseases.  And it was only four times.” Faith’s tone grew even more impatient.  “What the hell ya doin’ anyhow?”

“Looking at the internet-.”

“You’ve got me lying naked in bed and you spend your time looking at women on the internet?” Now Faith sounded both affronted and pissed, always a deadly combination.

”Not those sort of sites,” he hurriedly soothed, more than conscious of just how much he liked his nuts where they usually were.  “News sites, trying to find if there’s anything supernatural going on.”

“Jesus, Xand,” now she sounded disgusted, which was far safer, she usually sounded disgusted with him.  “We’re on vacation.  Trouble finds us soon enough, you don’t need to -.”

“Oh boy.”

 

“Too late,” Faith grunted.  ”What ya found?  And it better be good.”  Faith paused.  “Or is that bad?  Anyhow, it better be important.”

“An arcane sigil that’s been found at a number of murder scenes in Chicago.”

“That’s it?” Faith groaned.  “You’re gonna spoil our vacation for this?”

“Faith,” Xander counted to ten before continuing.  “We’ve been here for ten days, you’re not telling me you’re not the slightest bit bored?”

“You’re spoiling my holiday, don’t expect to be left off easy, buster,” Faith darkly warned.

”I’ll buy you something expensive.”

“Oh that’s different, what do ya want boss?”

“Could you go get Tara and Kenendy?”

“Sure, can I get dressed first?”

”You can for me,” Xander replied, “but you should think of others.  It might give Tar and Ken a thrill.”

“Pig.”

Xander ducked a thrown pillow.  “That’s how you love me.”

“Lucky for you.”

                                                *                                  *                                  *

“Okay,” Tara looked up at Xander, laptop on her knee and eyes expectant.  “What are we looking for?”

Xander passed her the ‘Arcane Symbols’ CD.  “Run a search program to find a symbol that’s a golden circle with a set of scales in the centre and a pair of crossed swords above the scales.”

“Okay,” Tara quickly complied with Xander’s request. Her fingers nimbly danced over the keyboard.  The laptop’s soundcard beeped as the results came in.  “Oh boy,” Tara paled at what she read.

”What’s up sis?” Faith said a second before he could. 

“It’s Il Lumison Legatus,” Tara announced.  Before any of them could ask her to expand, she was off.  “It means The Shining Light, they’re a vigilante group who believe it is their duty to destroy a civilisation when they deem it corrupt.  They were when Lemuria fell fifty thousand years ago.  They were there pulling strings behind the scenes, when Atlantis descended into civil war.  Greece, Rome, Persia, Aztecs, China, and Russia all fell because of them.  They caused the Dark Ages because they thought Europe was becoming decadent.  Their first move would be to create a climate of fear by slaying minor criminals.  And then they’d move onto their plot to bring the nation or empire down.  They work behind the scenes, in the shadows, the only way to identify a member is by their sigil, they wear it as a tattoo on their lower neck.”

”I’ll get on the phone, X,” Faith broke the silence that followed Tara’s tense pronouncement.  “Four tickets to Chicago.”

FIC MC 41  Sept ’01 – Il Lumison Legatus (2?)

Conrad Chicago Hotel

“How we gonna handle this, Xan?” Faith asked as she flopped onto the bed.

Her boy-friend didn’t look towards her, choosing instead to go over the drinks cabinet, forgoing the spirits to grab and open a soda water.  He was practically religious about not drinking.  You’d think he’d was a Mormon or something.   Still, Faith’s brow furrowed and her lips tugged in an almost unconscious scowl, ya couldn’t blame her guy, not with folks like his.  Throw in Tara’s timidness and her carnality, Alison had used the word when Faith had been in her care and she loved it, and they were all scarred in one way or another by their childhoods.

Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have kids.

Finally Xander turned back to her.  “Everything I read on The Shining Light on the flight over.”  Xander scowled.  “Thanks for the help with that by the way.”

“Hey, all that thinking gives a girl furrows.  Neither of us wants that.”

Xander shook his head and took a swig of his soda before continuing.  “Everything I read suggests that The Pure Light Legacy start off by lurking in the criminal underworld, finding just who to kill while at the same time making contacts in the criminal underworld for whatever scheme they intend to unleash on Chicago.  I figure we split into two groups, and head out, see what we can find.”

“That plan sucks worse that a toothless granny,” Xander snorted at her response.  “I mean Chicago’s got close to three million people in it and we’re strangers who don’t know our way about.  You can’t seriously expect to find something.”

 

“Nope,” Xander shook his head.  “Not unless we’re really lucky.  But if we mention Il Lumison Legatus to enough people, someone’s going to recognise it,  and get spooked enough to do something stupid.”

“Bringing them to us,” Faith nodded, smart.  “Could work.”  She glanced out of the window.  “What is it, about three hours to dark?”

Xander nodded.  “About that.”

”Wicked,” Faith smiled seductively and wriggled her eyebrow.  “So I was figuring about ‘exercising my carnality’.”

 

Xander stared at her, a puzzled and a little scared look on his face.  “Faith, do you have any idea what one of these rooms costs?  There is no way I am sparring with you in here -.”

“God,” Faith groaned, “you are such a dumbass.  I meant have sex, screw, fuck, get busy, do the wild thing, do the horizontal tango, get laid, get your leg over, boning, get jiggy with it, poke me, have it off, make the beast with two backs, jump my bones.”

“Oh, I get it.”  Xander grinned sheepishly.  “Man, you know a lot of different terms for sex.”

“You’ve got your expert subjects, I’ve got mine,” Faith explained as she started to unfasten her jeans.  “And afterwards,” she grinned as Xander hurried over, shirt being pulled over his head as he did so, “we can work what we’re gonna do for the other two hours and fifty-five minutes.”

”Oh you’re so gonna get it for that,” Xander glared.

Faith’s grin widened.  “Promises, promises.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“I don’t see why we have to split up,” Kennedy complained.

“What?” Faith sneered as they left the well-lit lobby.  “Scared that I’ll take sis away from ya?  Ain’t my problem if you can’t keep your woman satisfied.”

”And here they go again,” Xander groaned.  His eyes widened as Tara grabbed Faith and Kenendy’s ears and twisted. “Although a cat-fight is a little more interesting.”  He clamped his mouth shut at Tara’s glare.  “I’ll just watch shall I?”

“OOOO!” Faith squealed.  “Jesus, sis!”

“Tara!” Kennedy protested.  “She started -.”

“I don’t care who started it! It ends now,” Tara reprimanded.  “Xander’s idea is the best we have.  We don’t have the manpower to cover much of the city without splitting up, and I don’t suppose YOU want to teamed together?”  Both brunettes quickly shook their heads.  “Then it’s settled.”

“Tara Maclay, UN. Peace Envoy,” Xander muttered.  He smiled weakly at Tara’s glare.  “Um, sorry.”  He looked towards Kennedy, the potential still rubbing her ear.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“And why does it seem like we’ve visited every strip club in Chicago?”

Xander grinned goofily as they stumbled out of the club’s back entrance, his hearing slowly returning to normal but the memories thankfully not fading.  He paused to wipe the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand.  “Just lucky I guess.”

”I’ll tell you what it is!” Kennedy went on.  And on.  He really was beginning to see Faith’s point about her.  “It’s demeaning to women!”

”Did you see the boobs on that red-head in the cow-girl outfit?” Xander idly asked as he scanned the cobble-stoned alley’s darkness.

”Oh yeah!” Kennedy enthused.  “She was totally hot!  And the way she stretched, she definitely does yoga!” Kennedy blushed.  “Which totally isn’t the point!”

“What is then?” Before the potential had chance to interrupt, Xander continued.  “The thing is, look at the clientele of a strip-club, they’re just the people Il Lumison Legatus would target.  Strip clubs are the perfect hang-out for chancers and low-lifes.”

“I know,” Kennedy shook her head, “I’m with one.”

“You wound me,” Xander’s eyes narrowed.  “We’re heading back into the club.”

“Oh no!” Kennedy groaned.  “Does Faith know about your addiction?  Wait,” Kennedy sniffed, “what am I saying?  She probably encourages it, I wonder how many stripper outfits you keep for her in that Always Pocket?”  The potential grinned.  “There’s an image.”

“Just great,” Xander groaned as six box-shouldered men stepped out of the shadows and surrounded them.  “When will you learn to listen?”

“Son,” the speaker was a Hispanic looking man a couple inches shorter than him but far wider with a goatee and a squint, “she’s run out of time to learn anything.  You’ve both run out of time to do anything.”  The Hispanic grinned, revealing a mouth filled with gold-capped teeth.  “Well except die.”

FIC MC 41  Sept ’01 – Il Lumison Legatus (3/??)

“Faith!” Tara had to shout to make herself heard over the pounding disco music, her eyes carefully averted from all the horrors surrounding her.  “Why are we in our fourth male strip club of the night?”

“Guys talk to their girls, girls talk to other girls.  Girls come to strip clubs so they can talk to other girls without their men over-hearing.”

“So you’re not doing this just to perv on these guys?” Tara sceptically asked.

Faith shrugged.  ”Well, that too!” The Slayer’s eyes didn’t budge from the dreadlocked hunk dressed in a fireman’s helmet and not much else grinding his thing against a pole for all he was worth.  “Hey stud!” her best bud wolf-whistled the man before eagerly waving a twenty at him.  “I’ve got a twenty with your name on it, come over here so I can stick in your thong!”

 

“I’m going to hell,” Tara groaned, brow furrowing as her cell rang.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Oh goody, Xander groaned inwardly, the bait had been snapped up.  Only trouble was, it wasn’t the two or three thugs he expected but a round half dozen.  If it was Faith rather than Kennedy at his back, no problem, but it wasn’t.  He’d have to talk his way out.

He smiled easily.  “There’s no need for any trouble now is there?” He pulled a wad of notes out of the Always Pocket, “we have money, more than enough to pay for any information you have on Il Lumison Legatus.”

The other thugs muttered but their leader’s gaze stayed rock-steady.  “I don’t have a death-wish, bud,” the Hispanic replied.  “You don’t cross these mothers, not if you wanna stay in one piece.  Besides,” the man sneered.  “How about we take the money off your corpses?”

Screw it, things just had a way of getting complicated.  Back to Plan A, beating information out of those sent to question them.  “I tried,” Xander began to shrug.  And then he smashed a right into the Hispanic’s face.

Xander didn’t wait to see his blow’s effect.  Instead he spun to face two more of their assailants, two red-headed giants that had to be relatives to judge from their matching lantern jaws, piggy grey eyes, and squashed flat noses.  “Any modelling contracts in your family?” Xander asked as he blocked a left on his right forearm before smashing his heel into the attacker’s inner knee.  The man screamed as his blow connected, Xander filling his open mouth with a teeth-loosening left hook, blood splattering the wall behind.

The second sibling caught him with a kick to the gut that staggered him.  Forcing the pain down deep, Xander swayed away from a right from the first brother, snatching his wrist and elbow and pulling him into a clothesline to the throat that took his legs from under him and sent him crashing to the ground.  To his credit the man started up immediately only to crumple under a kick to the crotch.

Seeing the remaining brother throw an overhand right, Xander ducked.  Right into a left hook to the mouth that shook him down to his heels, almost taking him off his feet.  Ignoring the blood dripping down his chin, Xander ducked under the man’s follow-up right and side-kicked the recovered Hispanic in his gut.  Satisfied he’d momentarily dealt with the wheezing gang leader, he ducked under a right and blocked a left from the second brother.  “Damn!” he grunted as he caught a straight right to the temple, head snapping back.  Ignoring the thumping pain, he ducked another right before stepping into the man, driving a fist into his gut, snatching two handfuls of his opponent’s shirt, twisting at the waist, and releasing his grip, sending the man crashing into his rising brother.

“Son of a bitch!” A burly arm wrapped its way around his neck from behind, grabbing him in a chokehold.

”Technically correct,” Xander stepped back and drove his heel into the man’s instep.  “Still you’re talking about my mom.”  His manoeuvre brought a pain-filled scream.  Taking advantage of the man’s distress, he grabbed the man’s arm, pulled, and bent forward at the waist.  “And I really don’t like that.”  The man sailed over him and into the two brothers, knocking them back down.

Hearing the sound of a bottle breaking to his right, Xander twisted to his right just in time to lean away from a savagely-swung bottle.  The Hispanic’s eyes widened when Xander grabbed his arm at the wrist, stepped into him, grabbed him by the inside of his jacket and threw him into the alley’s wall, the man’s pocket tearing away when Xander released his grip.  The bottle fell from the Hispanic’s hand as he connected with the wall.  Before he had chance to recover, Xander charged in and caught him a right cross to the nose.  Blood blossomed out of the thug’s nose as his head bounced off the wall before he slid down to the ground, his demise accompanied by piteous moaning.

Satisfied the quartet were down, Xander spun around to check on Kennedy.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“Here goes,” Kennedy muttered as Xander sprang into action.  Muscles like a coiled spring, Kenendy caught the first man to advance on her with a springing back-hand that snapped his head to the side.

“You little bitch!” Blood leaking down his face and eyes ugly with hate, the thickly-set man lunged at her.  Kennedy grabbed the man’s wrist, stepped in close, turned until her back was to him, and threw him over her shoulder.  The moment her rival hit the ground, she brought her heel down hard on the nearest hand.  Bones crunched underfoot.  “You bitch!” the thug stared disbelieving at his shattered fingers.  “You broke them!”

“Meant to,” Kennedy ducked under a looping left before delivering an elbow to a wiry-haired black’s gut.  The man grunted before grabbing her hair and shoving her into the alley wall.

Kennedy gasped as she crashed into the wall, trash cans flying everywhere.  The black grinned before stepping towards her and swinging a kick at her face.

”Jesus!” the man screamed as his foot crashed into the steel can lid she’d hastily grabbed and used as a shield. 

Taking advantage of the man’s distress Kennedy pulled herself up.  Kennedy kicked out, catching the man on the knee joint of his already injured leg.  The man stumbled forward and right onto her elbow, his nose shattering across his face, blood pouring down him as he fell to his knees.  “Gee,” Kennedy grinned as she turned.  “This is-.”

She let out a gasp as something thumped into her ribs.  Looking down, she saw a switchblade sticking out of her ribs.  She looked up at the grinning man, her legs suddenly weak.  And then it all went black.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Xander’s temper snapped as he saw his friend lying on the ground, her blood bubbling under her.  It was no longer about getting information, it was about protecting those he cared about.  He pulled out his Desert Eagles and looked around. “Anyone still here by the time I’ve counted to three won’t be able to walk out.”

The six men stumbled to their feet and hurried out, various groans accompanying their departure.

“Great,” Xander muttered as he tried and failed to get hold of the Halliwells on his cell, “where’s there a witch when you need one?”  Remembering the hospital he’d just passed, Xander rose, lifted Kennedy in his arms and started towards the alley’s mouth.  Seeing the wallet belonging to the group’s leader lying abandoned, he scooped it up.  Wincing slightly at Kennedy’s tortured wheezings, he whispered in her ear.  “Hold on, Ken.  Just hold on.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

”Faith!  Faith!  Faith!”

“Damn, Tar, he’s just about to -.” Faith shot her friend an irritated look, her annoyance fading at the scared look on her sis’ face.  “What’s the sitch?”

”It’s Kennedy,” Tara squeaked, face ashen-grey.”  “She’s been stabbed.  We’ve got to meet them at County General!”

FIC MC 41  Sept ’01 – Il Lumison Legatus (4/?)

“I need some help here!”

Peter Benton turned to see a battered young man in his early-twenties cradling a beautiful young woman in his arms, her blood leaking down to soak his jeans, turning denim blue rusty brown.  “Carter!” he yelled to his favourite, although he’d never tell him that, student.  “Get me a gurney!”   Hurrying over to the young man, he barked.  “What happened!”

“We were going to meet some friends when we were mugged, Ken,” the young man looked down at his unconscious companion, “took a knife in the side.  I didn’t take it out, it was the only thing slowing the blood-loss.”  He was surprised by the calmness of the youth’s answer.  It was as if this happened to him on a regular basis, yet without the bravado one would expect in someone his age. 

“Leaving the knife in was the right thing to do,” Carter announced as he arrived with a gurney the young man lowered his human cargo onto.

Peter nodded at Carter before looking towards the stranger.  “Your names?”

“She’s Kennedy, I’m Alex,” the youth replied.

“Alex,” Peter forced a smile, bedside manner never being his strong suit, “we’re just going to take her into an ER and patch her up.”

”I’m coming with you,” Benton opened his mouth to protest.  “The sooner you agree, the sooner you can begin treating her.”

“Fine.”  Something about the man’s tone suggested he’d have more joy arguing with a brick wall.  “Lydia and Connie, with us!”

The man followed them into the ER, thankfully staying silent as they worked on his companion.  “Oh, I don’t believe this,” the man suddenly snapped.  “Back in a minute.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“Look,” Jing-Mei forced a firm note into her voice as the three thickly muscled thugs surrounded her, she glanced for Jerry at the desk only for her heart to sink as she remembered that Kovac had sent him to chase up some notes, “I’m sorry but without a prescription we can’t give you drugs.”

“You hear that boys?”  The trio’s apparent leader looked around his compatriots, “the chink thinks she can tell us what do?”  She saw but failed to duck the backhanded slap that sent her crashing to the floor.  Blood filling her mouth and tears of pain misting her eyes, she looked up fearfully at the three men standing over her.

”Oh, you so chose the wrong night to do that,” a colder than ice voice commented.

Her attacker turned into a boot to the face that lifted him off the ground and into a wall that he slid down to the ground.  The other two thugs launched themselves at her rescuer, a young man of perhaps twenty years.  Somehow he wriggled around them both, grabbing the first of them around the back of the collar and the seat of his pants, and throwing him head-first into the automatic slide door that was just too slow in opening, cracking him on the skull.  The second managed to put a hand on the hero’s shoulder, and then her rescuer twisted at the waist, snatched a hold of the thug’s wrist and twisted down while simultaneously kicking her attacker in the hamstring of his nearest leg.  Momentum, physics, and biology took over, pitching the man down to the ground.

The first man leapt to his feet and charged her rescuer from behind only to receive a kick to the chest that folded him up like a deck-chair and deposited him onto the ground.  The third man to be put down leapt up and threw a left hook that the hero blocked on his outer forearm before driving the fingers of his other hand into the thug’s throat.  Even as the man began to gurgle, the hero grabbed the man’s arm at the wrist and forearm, and brought them down onto his upswinging knee.  Jing-Mei shuddered at the gunshot like crack and the man’s scream that accompanied it, a right hook to the face putting the man out of his misery and also out.

By now the hood her rescuer had sent headfirst into the door had just about reached his feet.  “You’re dead motherfucker!”  Dreadlocks flying, the black snatched up an IV stand and charged her rescuer, his makeshift weapon wildly swinging.

“Nope,” the young man ducked under the IV stand’s first swing before straightening and snatching it off the black as it swung back, “just really pissed off.”  Jing-Mei winced as blood and teeth fountained out of the thug’s mouth when the youth rammed the other end of the stand into the hood’s face.  “Hospitals are supposed to be safe places.”  She guessed she would be stitching it back to together.  “Doctors and nurses should be treated with respect.”  The stand cracked into the thug’s temple, knocking him down and out.

The young man dropped the stand and walked over to the first man still struggling back up.  Stepping behind the man, he put him in a chokehold and put him out before dropping him to the ground.  Eyes suddenly soft, the man walked over to her, took her by her elbows, and eased her to her feet.  “Are you alright?” Too dazed to speak, she simply nodded.  “Okay, but I don’t have to tell you, you need to have your head checked out, just in case.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Peter stared at the carnage created by the polite-sounding youth.  “You know,” Carter whispered beside him.  “I really want to see whoever mugged him and give him a medal for bravery.”

”Yeah,” Benton nodded.  “The thought had occurred to me.”

Carter sighed.  “I suppose you’re going to make me go over there and speak to him?”  Benton nodded.  Carter sighed again.  “Can I change my underwear first?”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

”Jesus, X,” Faith raised an eyebrow as she entered the emergency room, having done the thirty-five minute walk in twenty-five minutes, a panting Tara by her side, “someone piss you off?”

“Just a little,” Xander replied before nodding towards the three bodies bound on the floor.

“K…Ke…end..y,”  Tara’s fear made her stutter worse than usual.  “I..is she alri-.”

“She’s fine,” Xander soothed.  “Four stitches, the knife missed anything vital.  She’ll be okay in a few days.”

“I’ll have to pay the next set of muggers more.”  Faith raised her hands at the others’ glares.  “Okay, bad taste I get you.”

”We best get her out of here,” Xander continued.  “The police are on the way to collect them, we don’t need to be here when they get there.”

”I hear you,” Faith agreed.  “What about the cult?  You pick up anything on them?”

Xander grinned.  “Just the wallet of the leader of the gang who attacked us.”

“Oh boy,” Faith grinned.  “We gonna pay him a visit?”

“I’ve got a few things I’d like to say to him,” Xander confirmed.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“Perhaps it would have been wise to simply return here and allow us to deal with the problem.”

“You said to be on the look out for people asking questions about you.”  Victor Rogaz shuffled in the darkness, heart thumping as he tried and failed to make out the figure in the darkness.  “I figured you’d want them-.”

“I employ you and your companions to facilitate the delivery of certain objects into the county,” the figure interrupted, his tone cold yet somehow also volcano hot.  “Nothing else.  Your actions in this matter were hasty and ill-thought, you should have left such work for those better prepared to handle it.”

“Yes sir,” Victor licked his lips, sweat beading on his forehead.

“I do not have an inexhaustible patience,” the voice warned.  “Get out of here before it wanes.”

“Yes sir,” Victor turned and ran out of the room, fleeing as if Hell’s hounds were dogging him.

                        *                                  *                                  *

”It might not have been wise to let him live.”

The Khan turned at the voice to his right, a figure who’d been stood by the doorway, unnoticed by Rogaz but ready to slay him at a single word from him.  “We need Rogaz until the last two deliveries are made.”

”And then?”

“And then,” the Khan smiled, “and then it won’t matter either way.”

FIC MC 41  Sept ’01 – Il Lumison Legatus (5/?)

“Where were you leaving when you got jumped?” Faith asked as they left Kennedy and Tara behind to go hunting. 

“Ah,” Xander thought quickly, quicker than he’d ever thought in his life, “a church social.  You?”

“Us?” Faith scratched at her head.  “The same.”

“Oh,” Xander nodded sagely.  “And the loud music?”

“Choirs, you know how I like to sing.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“Who’s this victim this time, Johnson?”

Johnson looked up to see the disgustingly good-looking Jack Wild stood behind him.  “Jethro Hawkins, a pimp with a rep for being handy with his fists.  With the one last night that makes the eighth occasion and thirteenth body.  Get an id on the guy last night yet?”

“No,” Jack shook his head, brow furrowing in confusion.  “It’s weird.  It’s the only one where the id was taken, a definite break from the pattern.  We’ve narrowed it down to him being some dock worker or something, but other than that nothing.”

“No leads?” Johnson pressed.

”Nothing,” Jack replied.  “No pattern except they’re all crims and male.  But they differ in ages from late teens to early fifties, educated to uneducated, rich, poor, race, there’s no common denominator at all.  The only common factor is the fear spreading throughout the criminal world.”

”So where does the symbol come in?” Johnson protested.

”Psych warfare,” Wild shrugged.  “There’s no way this can be mistaken for simple business conflicts with the symbols, this is something completely different, and because of that, none of the crooks can be sure they won’t be next.  Activity around here is dropping to nothing-.”  Wild paused then grinned.  “Of course that’s how they want it!”

 

Johnson stared at his younger companion.  “Jack?”

“Maybe we’re looking at the victims when we should be looking at the motivation.”

“Vigilantism?” Johnson didn’t have a clue what his fellow detective was on about. 

Jack shook his head.  “Maybe the motivation isn’t vigilantism,” Jack stared at the symbol, brow furrowed.  “Maybe it’s a power-play.  Or, maybe someone wants all crims out of a certain area so they don’t interfere with something the perps have planned?” Johnson stared doubtfully at Jack.  “Bear with me.”  Wild looked around before shouting towards the patrolmen interviewing witnesses at the alley’s far end.  “Anyone got a map of the local area?”

“Yes sir!” One of the beat officers ran to his car, leaned inside, and pulled out a crumpled map that he brought over to Wild.

“Thanks,” Wild nodded at the patrolman before looking towards him.  “You shout out the addresses of the attacks.  I’ll mark them off.”

 

“Jack this is-.”

His fellow detective looked up from his position crouched alongside the patrol cruiser, the map held against the door.  “Humour me.”

Johnson shook his head before slowly pulling out his notebook and shouting the addresses of all the murders, Wild marking them off after him.  Suddenly Wild let out a laugh and stood.  “I’ve got it!”  The tall cop spun to face him, lanky face split in two by a beaming smile, his long brown locks dancing in the cool night breeze.  “The attacks are all around but outside the Bridgeport area.  The killer lives in that neighbourhood!”

”That’s pretty weak,” Johnson shook his head.

”I know, but after a month chasing our tails this is a real lead.”  His fellow officer’s glee was unabated by his doubt.  Wild tapped his nose.  “I just know it.”  Wild shoved the map back in the car.  “I’ll head up there right now-.”

“It’s a big area,” Johnson protested. “What can you do on your own?”

“I might get lucky,” Wild shrugged.  “In the meantime, you might want to do a computer search, cross-referencing victims of crimes with military veterans living in the Bridgeport area, see if you get any hits.”

”I thought you said it might not be a vigilante,” Johnson queried.

“Just covering all the bases,” Wild re-joined, a wild glint in his fellow officer’s eyes.  “I’ll call you in the morning!”

“I tried,” Johnson shook his head as Wild made his way over to his car.  “This is on your head now.”  After a quick glance around to check there was no-one listening, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell, and called up a number.  “Khan,” he whispered.  “We’ve got a problem.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“Ah yes,” the Khan nodded as his informant spoke.  “This is most unfortunate.  Give me a description and I’ll ready a greeting for him.”  He tutted at his subordinate’s dissenting mumblings.  “This is no time for cold feet or a conscience, Detective Johnson,” he scolded.  “Your soul is bought and paid for.”  He nodded as the detective began to speak.  “Yes, that’s better.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“What a night,” Victor Rogaz muttered as he stumbled into his apartment, body still aching from the beating he’d received at the kid’s hands, and heart hammering at the thought of his strange employer.  It had all seemed so simple, all he and the boys had to do was turn a blind eye to some crates being brought off the docks.  In exchange, they got a cool five thousand dollars each.  Even the knowledge that their employer would be making far much more money without any of the risk hadn’t soured the deal.

But tonight, attacking a couple of kids had.  Shaking his head, he reached for the light switch.

And hit the wall when something slammed into his jaw.  “And,” his heart chilled when his mystery attacker turned on the light to reveal it was the kid from the alley, “it’s just about to get a lot worse.”

Victor led with a left hook that the kid dived under before smashing a knee into his stomach and a fist into his right kidney.  Body ablaze with pain, Victor stumbled forward, easy prey to the boy grabbing his collar and elbow, and flinging him onto the coffee table, table shattering under the collision.  Even as he hit the floor, the boy was on him, pinning him to the ground with a foot on the chest.  “Don’t struggle, that would only make me even more angry.”

“And lord knows,” Victor looked up to see a devastating brunette dressed in figure-hugging leather pants and a tiny midriff top that showed more than it concealed sat cross-legged on his sofa, “you wouldn’t want that.”

“How-.”

His question was ended by his wallet hitting him in the first.  “Dropping your ID while running away from an attempted murder, rookie mistake.”  The youth shook his head.  “Maybe you better tell me what you know before I remember my friend got stabbed by one of your amigos and get testy.” Victor shook his head.  Somehow he knew speaking out of turn about their employers would only end badly.

The young man looked up. “Hon, I’m sort of busy?”

”Always one to oblige.”  Victor screamed when the girl grabbed his arm at the wrist and yanked on it, popping his arm out of the socket with ridiculous ease.  “How about it, Vic?” the girl calmly asked.  “Other arm or one of your legs next?”

“A man,” he gasped, “a man paid us to turn a blind eye to certain boxes coming into the city and to be on the lookout for anyone asking for Il Lumison Legatus.”

”Wanna give us a name?” the leather-clad brunette husked.

“I don’t have one.”

The man shook his head, brown eyes now colder than ice.  “You are not helping my blood pressure, Victor,” he warned.

“I can give you an address!” he whimpered.

The young man smiled coolly.  “We’re listening.”

FIC MC 41  Sept ’01 – Il Lumison Legatus (6/10)

Jack Wild glanced cautiously left and right before easing his door shut.  Bridgeport was historically an enclave of the Irish-American community going way back to the 1830s, many of its same initial immigrants helped build the Erie and Illinois and Michigan canals.  In addition it had been settled by Lithunian-Americans at around the same time.  Now the second wave of immigrants, Mexicans were settling into to Bridgeport for the same reason their predecessors had – affordability and proximity to work. 

It was, all in all, just a regular working-class neighbourhood.  People were born there, people grew up there, people died there.  A place where every day people laughed and cried.  And where every day people planned and committed crimes.

“But this one’s different,” Jack muttered.  The murder of low-rent criminals was on a scale that was unprecedented, suggesting something unique was coming.  As a detective he looked for patterns and followed his instincts.  His instincts were telling him something very bad was going down.

He reverentially crossed himself and bowed his head when he realised he was just opposite St Mary Of Perpetual Help before starting on his way, shoes clicking on the pavement.  He slowed and then continued as he realised something else. 

His were not the only feet clicking on the pavement.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“This is it,” Xander announced as he pulled up outside a small warehouse surrounded by a wire mesh fence.  He pulled out a pair of bolt-cutters.

“You know, I’m really nervous here without Kennedy watching our backs,” Faith’s face split into a dimple-displaying smile at his glare.  “Poor taste?”

“Poor taste,” Xander agreed before getting out of the car and creeping to the fence.  A few seconds later and the fence was open, Faith sliding through the gap with a great deal more ease than he did.

Sometimes he really hated her.

He followed his girl-friend over the tarmaced ground and to the two storey red-brown bricked factory’s entrance.  Faith grabbed the chain around the front doors’ handles and pulled it tight for him.  “Cutters, stud?”

Xander nodded before clipping through the chains.  Once he’d placed them gently on the floor, he and Faith carefully slid the doors soundlessly open, grateful that they were well-oiled.  Once inside, they started through into the warehouse which appeared nothing more than an empty, shadowy floor with a walkway on all sides above it.  “This looks like a bust, X.”

Xander opened his mouth to comment, to suggest they at least look around a little before giving up.  Before he had chance to speak the ceiling lights came on, illuminating the centre of the floor while leaving the walls in grey shadows  “Who dares intrude on Il Lumison Legatus?”

A tall man with the rippling build of a gymnast strode lithely onto the walkway above.  His lean Asiatic features were marred only by the ugly scar on his left cheek, his black hair tied back in a pony-tail, and grey eyes disdainfully staring down on them.  “That would be the Slayer and Mithras,” Faith spoke before he had chance.

”Most august guests.  It is a shame you’ll have to die.”

“I don’t suppose you’d consider telling us your plan?” Xander forced a smile.  Why did things never go smoothly?  “Seeing as we’re undoubtedly doomed, etc, etc.”

“I think that would only prove to be a sloppy mistake.”  The Khan smiled.  “But I will tell you I choose my people from only the finest crop,” the Khan announced.

“Jesus,” Faith muttered beside him, “he’s gonna talk us to death.”

“It is our cult’s custom to choose its members from the veterans of its time’s wars.  Fifty years ago it was the veterans of the second world war and Korea who swelled our ranks.  A thousand years ago it was Genghias’ Mongols and god-fearing Crusaders fighting side by side in the ranks of Il Lumison Legatus.  And these troubled, lawless days,” the Khan shivered with an almost sexual thrill, “provide ample fruit from the discontented and betrayed.  Rwandans from their civil war, Gulf War veterans,  Chechens from that war-torn country, bonny lads from Ireland’s bloody streets, and battle-hardened Balkans veterans-.”

“Looks like it,” Xander agreed.

“All swell our ranks, disaffected warriors who have been lied to or let down by their governments.  Then trained, honed to their sharpest edge.  We fight corruption wherever we find it.   Because of us, Atlantis crumbled to dust, we laughed when Greece fell, and we led the hordes into Rome.  Wherever injustice and the softness of decadence rears its head, we’re ready with a decapitating slash.”

“Oh fuck,” Xander groaned at Faith’s disgusted snort.  “I have had enough of this shit.”  The brunette stepped forward and looked up at the Khan, a sneering expression on her face.  “We get you’re all bad-ass, colour me yellow with fear.  But you think the answer to corruption is murdering hundreds of thousands?  What are you retarded?”

“Ha!” The Khan half-laughed, half-snapped, a dangerous gleam entering his eyes.  “Such spirit.  You’re sure the two of you won’t join my army?”

“You couldn’t pay us enough,” Faith paused.  “I mean seriously, X is richer than god, and you are the most fucked-up case I have ever met, and in my messed up life that’s saying something.”

“Faith,” Xander shook his head.  “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Very well,” the Khan sighed, “it is a shame to bring such a beauty to such a brutal ending.”

 

“I just know he’s talking about me,” Xander mumbled.

”In your fucking dreams,” Faith bumped her hip into his.

“Really not.”

“But if you won’t see sense,” the Khan gestured.  Six cat-suit wearing figures glided out of the darkness to encircle, cold eyes staring expressionlessly at them.  “Then I am afraid you’ll have to die.”

”Oh please,” Faith threw her head back and laughed.  “What’s X gonna be doing while I’m kicking their asses?”

“As you wish.”  A muscle twitched in the Khan’s left cheek.  Another six men glided out of the darkness.  “I hope that is more to your pleasing.  Good-bye.”

Xander glared at his girl-friend.  “You just don’t know when to shut up do you?  Is it congenital?  I mean have you considered getting treatment?”

FIC MC 41  Sept ’01 – Il Lumison Legatus (7/10)

As soon as he neared the street corner, Jack broke into a sudden run, breathing coming with athletic ease and long legs eating up the distance between him and the corner.  The moment he was around it, he turned and extended his arm out at shoulder length.

The first masked figure around the corner hit his bicep across their neck, the force of the blow shuddering through his arm and taking his would-be assailant down to the ground.  Wild stepped over the gurgling for air body to face the other two masked thugs.  “Boy,” he smiled.  “Are you guys ever fighting out of your weight-classes.  How about you tell me who sent you chamber-maids and I forget all about this?”

 

Wild grimaced as the two men charged him.  He hadn’t seriously thought it would be that easy, but one could always hope.  Stepping to the left, he braced himself against the wall, forcing the nearest thug to turn towards him and catch a straight right that knocked him back two steps.

The remaining mask led with a thrust kick that he sidestepped.  The moment the boot connected with the wall, brick chipping with the impact, Wild grabbed the foot around the ankle and yanked upwards.

“Ahhh!” the man wailed as he over-balanced, crashing to the ground.

The other two charged him in a flanking moment.  Jack grimaced before stepping away from the wall, blocking a left hook on his shoulder before wrapping one hand around the back of his adversary’s head, twisting at the waist, and releasing his grip.

The off-balance assailant stumbled into the path of his charging partner.  The thug managed to side-step his projectile but the split-second of re-adjustment cost him dear as he caught a jaw-cracking right that put him onto his back.

Jack gasped as one of the thugs grabbed him from behind a chokehold.  Thinking quickly, Jack swung his legs up into the air, slamming them into the chest of the hood stood opposite.  The impact sent the hood crashing to the ground, hand gripping his pecs and Jack crashing down onto his back, his assailant under him.

The stunned thug released his grip on landing, allowing Jack to roll up into a crouch just in time to block a toe-kick to his face on the forearm.  “Bejesus,” a distinctly Irish-accented voice croaked when he retaliated with an uppercut to the crotch.  The Irishman fell to his knees, just in time to catch a knee to the face.  The hood fell onto his side, just about out of it.

Which left the two circling him.  The one to his left lunged at him, running onto the point of his elbow, head snapping back.  At the same time Jack slapped away a foot to the crotch but was unable to block a right to the mouth.

Tasting coppery blood, Wild spun to face his attacker, fully aware that he was leaving his back open to the other hood.  “Give it your best shot,” he taunted before sidestepping an overhand right and nailing his adversary with a left body shot before spinning around and catching his other opponent with a knife edge to the throat.  Feeling his opponent’s hands on his shoulders, pulling him back, he drove his head backwards into his rival’s face, shattering bone. 

Ignoring the screams of his rival behind him, he leapt into a roundhouse kick to the face of the man stood before him, taking him off his feet, and sending him crashing to the ground, head bouncing off the unforgiving pavement.  Spinning around, he saw the last of the trio stumbling away from him.  “Oh, you’re gonna make me chase you are you?” he shook his head.  “Hoods, they don’t make them like they used to.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“You want a little Faith?” Faith smirked at the seven assassins surrounding her.  “Come get some.”

Two of the men charged her from the left and right, hoping to catch her in a pincer motion.  Rookie mistake.

Bending her knees, Faith sprang up into the air, catching both would-be killers with a roundhouse kick that dumped them unceremoniously to the ground, Faith landing in a crouch with far greater grace.

Another of the men charged her from the front.  Faith ignored his diversionary attack to leap backwards, elbow swinging back to smash into his face.  The man folded, crashing to the ground.

And then the mothers swarmed in from all sides.  Faith was ducking and blocking getting in kicks and punches when she could, but even a Slayer when faced with six superbly-skilled attackers was gonna struggle.

Hitting the ground on her side, Faith reached up to grab a foot coming down at her in a stamp and twisted.  “Ahhhhh!” the man’s scream was lost in the crack of his bone, a scream that turned into a croak as her foot swung up to slam into his crotch.

Releasing her grip on the man he fell away.  Faith grinned as she placed a hand on the floor and pushed up, the man’s demise having earned her a second’s respite.  “Ah come on boys,” she forced a smile through bloody lips, a kick having opened them up, “you’re not telling me you big butch heroes don’t have any stamina?”

After a second one of them threw a right that she ducked under before side-kicking one of his companions in the stomach.  Grabbing the man’s wrist before he managed to pull away, she brought his arm down hard on her shoulder.  The man screamed as bone shattered and tendons ripped away from their bicep.

“Awww shut up.”  Her backfist to the face sent the defenceless killer cartwheeling away.  “And now there’s five of you pansies.”

Faith ducked a right hook before stepping into her would-be assailant, grabbing him by his shoulders and flinging him over her head and into the two charging her from behind.  One of the two remaining upright killers rocked her with a kick to the head.  Shaking it off, she twisted at the waist, caught his follow-up kick at the ankle, grapevined her arm around the limb and dropped to the ground.  Physics and momentum took over, popping the hip out of the socket and flinging the screaming man into the air.

Faith sprang up and into a kick to the chest.  “Shit!” she wheezed as she ducked under a right, blocked a kick from another thug, and sidestepped a third’s attempted elbow.  Suddenly another grabbed her in a full-nelson.  Eyes gleaming eagerly, the remaining trio advanced on her.

Faith swung her legs up and over her captor’s head, bending herself double as she crashed her knees into her opponent’s back.  The man roared in pain as he stumbled forward, grip instinctively released.  Landing in a crouch behind him, Faith grabbed his ankles and pulled, sending the man crashing face-first to the ground.

Rising Faith caught another thug in a front face lock, and twisted, cracking his neck with brutal ease.  Dropping his limp body to the ground, Faith grinned at the three still remaining thugs.  They looked like shit, but then their beating had taken a toll on her.  “Come on boys,” she forced her aching facial muscles into a smile, “you don’t finish me off, imagine how pissed your boss is gonna be?”

Her words were enough to spur the trio into charging her.  At the last moment Faith leapt into the air and over the trio, landing behind them.  Before they’d managed to turn, one was already down, put out by her grabbing him around the collar and the seat of his pants, and flinging him into the wall, his face nothing more than a bloody smear on the concrete.  The second she dealt with by grabbing his incoming knee to her side behind the knee and kicking the knee on his grounded leg outward with enough force to simultaneously  shatter and dislocate the joint.

Face suddenly grey with fear, the final killer came at her with a flurry of kicks, punches, elbows, and knees that she managed to avoid before grabbing him in an armbar and muscling him facefirst into the wall, her knee to his spine shattering it.  Looking around she shook her head.  “Xander, Xander, can’t take you anywhere.”

Faith strode up to the two whaling on her man, grabbed one around the waist, and threw him over her shoulders, dropping him on his head with skull-cracking ferocity.  The moment it was mano on mano, Xander ducked up a clumsy right to catch the last of the thugs with a blindingly fast trio of jabs to the face before grabbing a handful of hair and pulling him onto a sternum-breaking palm strike to the chest.  “Score’s eight to me, four to you hon,” she taunted, relieved to see her man looked relatively uninjured.

“Just who or what are you?”

FIC MC 41  Sept ’01 – Il Lumison Legatus (8/10)

“Who the hell are you?” Faith snapped at the intruder before turning her eyes on Xander.  “And why in the hell did you not pull out your guns?”

“Five to one in an enclosed place, there was a chance one of them would have taken my gun away from me.  Then I really would have been in trouble.”  Xander explained before looking towards the stranger.  “My girl-friend asked you a question, and she gets really antsy when people don’t answer her.”

Faith groaned as the tall guy pulled out a badge.  “Jake Wild, Chicago-.”  The cop’s voice trailed off as Xander pulled an Uzi out of the Always Pocket and slid it back away.  “How did you do that?”

Xander looked towards her.  “Faith?”

“Magic, vampires, demons exist, the world’s a bad place, blah, blah.”

 

Xander chuckled.  “That the condensed version?”

Faith grinned.  “Damn straight.”  Her eyes hardened.  “What ya doing here, Jack?”

The cop’s eyes flitted from her to Xander and back again.  But then she was way prettier to look at.  “There’s been corpses of small-time crooks turning up all over the city-.”

”Stage one’s under-way,” Xander interrupted.

“I got a hunch suggesting Bridgeport might be the centre of the gang might be around here,” Wild replied.  “When I got here, three of these,” Wild nodded to the bodies littered around the floor, “attacked me.  I took two down and let the third lead me here.  When we got here, I took him out, and came in to find Xena and Tarzan beating up on a small army-.”

“Xena was real too.”

Wild stared at her.  “I know it’s hard, but ignore her.  I’m hoping one day she’ll go away.”

”Fuck you, Harris,” Faith growled.

“Not now dear, there’s company, and I’m sore all over.”

“How did you do that?  Some of the stuff I saw was impossible.  Especially for -.”

“A girl?” Faith snapped.

“I was going to say someone so young,” Wild hurriedly finished.

“Oh boy,” Xander shook his head.  “Here she goes.  I swear she’s got way too many Spice Girl records.  Look, we could explain, but it would take too long.  I assume you know about the symbol?”  After a second Wild nodded.  “Great, the symbol belongs to a cult called Il Lumison Legatus.  Their method of operation suggests they’ll soon move onto destroying Chicago soon.”

“Il Lumison Legatus?” Wild’s eyes narrowed.  “they sound major-league, how come I haven’t heard of them?”

“They’re out-of-towners,” Faith hurriedly interrupted.  “Look, how about we look for clues now and give explanations later.”

After a second Wild nodded.  “Fine, but there will be explanations.”

Faith opened her mouth to tell the deluded cop just how scared she wasn’t only to amend what she’d been about to say at Xander’s look.  “I’ll keep my eye on these lot, you go blood-hounding.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Wild dazedly followed the young man up the steel stairs that led to the upper floor.  “You said you didn’t see a car leaving?”

“No,” he shook his head.

”Damn, I was hoping you’d have a licence plate,” the young man held the door open before following him into the office with a desk and two steel filing cabinets.  “Check the filing cabinets,” the young man instructed before sitting behind the desk and starting opening drawers, “I’ll check the desk.”

A minute later and he’d finished.  “Nothing,” he scowled.  “They took everything with them.”

“Same here,” Xander shook his head, expression frustrated.  “We’re no nearer to finding anything.”

“What about the phone?” Jack pointed at the black phone lying on the desk.  Xander stared blankly at him.  “Last number called might lead us somewhere.”

Xander grinned.  “And I have an even better idea.”  He blinked as the youth checked the landline’s number and pulled out a cell out of nowhere before quickly dialling a number and putting the phone on speaker.  “Hey, Angela.”

“Xander, do you know what time it is?”

The young man rubbed at his forehead.  “I know it’s your boss on the other end.”

“Fine,” the hacker sighed long-sufferingly.  “What do you want?”

“I’ve got a phone in front of me, I want you to hack into the phone records and tell me what’s the most rung and last rung number on it.”

“Okay,” a minute later the woman was back.  “It’s the same number.”  The woman read the number.

”Okay, do a trace on the phone’s owner.”

“Okay,” a minute later the woman was back again, “the number belongs to the Jardine Water Plant.”

Xander looked at him, eyes quizzical.  “The Jardine Water Purification Plant, is the largest capacity water plant in the world, it supplies water to the north and centre of the city.”

“Victor Rogaz,” Xander whispered.

”Who?”

“Thanks Angela, oh and run a check on a Detective Jack Wild of the Chicago Police Department.  E-mail the results to my computer as soon as you’ve done it.”

“Don’t want much do you?”

Xander hung up before looking at him.  “Rogaz’s the source that led us here.  He said he’d been paid to turn a blind eye to some objects being brought into the country.  They must have been keeping them here before taking them to the water plant.”

“What was in the boxes?” Wild asked as he headed to the door.

”Rogaz didn’t know, but now I’m guessing something toxic!”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

The first thing they saw on the approach to the Navy Pier was the 150 foot Ferris wheel, its lights piercing the gloomy darkness as it loomed in the skyline just above the Chicago Children’s Museum, Xander thought briefly about dropping Faith off there, but knew she’d only throw a hissy fit.  “What’s the plan when we get there?”

“The Khan is meant to be some ultimate fighter bad ass,” Xander replied to his girl-friend’s question.  “You deal with him.  Me and Jack will deal with the others.”

”I should call back-up,” Wild muttered.

”Jesus,” Faith snorted, “you cops aren’t smart.  Who do you suppose set those thugs to waiting for ya?”

“Oh yeah,” Wild muttered.

“Harris, tell me you’re not figuring on taking them on without guns?”

”Oh no,” Xander shook his head.  “We’ll need something to even the odds.”

                        *                                  *                                  *

Faith winced at the sounds of screams behind her.  She just hoped that none of the screams were her man or their new companion.  She continued creeping until a figure stepped out of the darkness.  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance again, Slayer,” the Khan said.  “I had so regretted our last parting.”

”Oh,” Faith tilted her head to one side.  Damn, the guy was creepy calm.  “And how do you work that out?”

“Killing you that way was such an ill-judged action, so dishonourable.”

“Didn’t stop you tryin’ though,” she commented.

“You see my dear,” the Khan smiled as he started towards her.  “I’ve already killed two Slayers.”

A/N:  Hold on, there’s gonna be an ass-kicking.

FIC MC 41  Sept ’01 – Il Lumison Legatus (9/10)

“So big-shot,” Faith ignored the sound of fighting behind her, eyes focussed on the figure before her, her whole world, her whole existence coming down to this, “wanna try for the hat-trick?”

The Khan smiled.  “I’d be honoured.”

 

“You say that now,” Faith grinned before surging forward, leading with a thrust kick.

Her whole world tilted upwards, her eyes glimpsing the grey ceiling a half-second before she hit the ground when her grounded foot was yanked from under her.  Faith rolled away from her opponent’s attempted stomp to the face and into a crouch.

She gasped as her rival snatched her into a front face-lock, trapping her right arm and her neck, and positioning her left arm too far away from his body to be any use.  Damn he was fast, Faith winced, strong too. 

Ignoring the growing pressure on her neck, Faith squatted down and powered up, straightening her back as she did so.  The Khan gasped as his feet left the ground and she flipped him over her and to the ground.

By the time she’d spun around, the Khan was already up, a grudgingly respectful look on his face as he stood in a boxer’s stance.  “Resourceful, I like that.”  The Khan commented.

“Aim to please,” Faith came in fast, under the Khan’s boxer’s jab and under his guard.  She landed a hook to the body before he darted away, holding her off with a trio of fast jabs.

“Yes,” his expression was more pained now.  “Very impressive.”

Faith ignored the compliment to come in fast with a knife-edge to the throat.  The Khan sidestepped and got behind her, snatching her extended arm into a quarter nelson before lifting her over his head and releasing his grip.  Faith twisted in mid-air, managing to land on her shoulder rather than being dumped on her head.  Faith blocked a kick to the face on her forearm and rolled up to her feet.  “So this stuff you had smuggled into this country, what does it do?” Faith asked as they circled one another like two hardened prize-fighters.  “Kill people?”

“Nothing so mundane,” the Khan came in with an overhand right that she blocked on her forearm before retaliating with a right body shot that he wriggled away from.  “It will turn any who drink from the city’s water into animals, slaves to their base impulses.  Father will kill child, wife husband, son mother, and all the combinations in-between.  Thousands will die, killed by those caught in a homicidal rage.  The city that was built on the blood of Capone and his ilk will fall in much the same way, a blaze of violence.”

“You sick bastard.”  Faith growled as she lunged forward with palm strike to the face.

”You call me sick?” the Khan grabbed her wrist and bent it back, free hand snatching a handful of hair and yanking it back, his knee swinging up to repeatedly crash into her kidneys.  “I will save or damn this country!”

Ignoring the pain coursing through her back, Faith leg-swept the Khan’s legs from under him.  “How,” the moment the Khan hit the ground she went for a stomp he only just managed to roll out of the way of, “do you,” he blocked her knee to the face on his hands before springing to his feet and back-pedalling, “figure that?”

“Either those in power will be shocked by Chicago’s fall and create more stringent laws to deal with the criminal scum.  Or,” the Khan’s smile had more than a hint of insanity, “emboldened by Chicago’s example, the country will fall into anarchy.”

“Not gonna happen,” Faith lunged forward, catching the madman with an uppercut to the jaw that sent him crashing into the wall only for him to slide, eel-like, away from her follow-up thrust kick.

“Child,” the Khan smirked at her.  “I am the Khan and as such immortal.  Only defeat in battle can end me. I have ruled Il Lumison Legatus for over sixteen centuries-.”

“Pleased for ya,” Faith threw a swinging right only for the Khan to duck and retaliate with a finger-poke to the armpit that sent pain blazing through her arm.

“I have studied the martial arts of the Orient and Africa, too numerous to mention,” Faith back-pedalled before a roundhouse kick by the Khan, the foot coming close enough to part her hair.  “I have wrestled in the sumo, freestyle, Greco-roman, and Cornish styles.  I have boxed in the western, savate, and Thai styles.  I have learnt at the feet of masters, no mere child can ever defeat me.”

“Smug bastard ain’t, -oof,” Faith grunted as the man stepped inside her guard and simultaneously kneed her in the stomach and elbowed her in the side of the head.  “Shit!” Dazed and winded, Faith hit the floor on her knees, a knee between her shoulderblades knocking her forward. 

Wounded, she nevertheless had the presence of mind to fall forward onto her palms.  The moment her fingers touched ground, she pushed up, surging back up to a stood position. 

And right into a clubbing forearm to her lower back.  Legs suddenly rubbery, she fell to her knees again.  She dimly heard the Khan’s exultant laugh a half-second before he snatched her right arm into a bar and started to force her down.  Blood roaring in her ears, Faith twisted at the waist as far as her position allowed, reached across her body, grabbed a hold of the Khan’s nearest ankle, and pulled.

The Khan let out a shocked cry as he released his hold and fell away.  Shaking her head clear, Faith rose and looked at her formidable opponent.  She didn’t know how much of what he said about himself was true, but the guy could fight, maybe as good as X.

Maybe better.

Which was another reason she had to beat him into the ground.  No way was the son of a bitch getting his hands on her boy.

Faith feinted with a left jab that the Khan correctly ignored to leap into a roundhouse kick.  “Fuck!” Faith staggered as the foot smashed into her forehead.  Ignoring her impulse to retreat, Faith came back in fast and hard, tackling the man around the waist, lifting him off his feet and dumping him on the ground.

The moment the Khan hit the ground, Faith went for the full mount position, only for the Khan to get a hold of her left leg, and leverage her off.  Faith scowled as she rose just in time to block an attempted knee to the face in the knelt position but not a downward elbow to the side of the head.  Dazed, she was unable to defend when the Khan grabbed her in a bear-hug around the shoulders and flung himself backwards, releasing his grip when he was roughly parallel with the ground.   Faith hit the floor on her side and rolled up, her entire left side one long bruise.  Fuck, but this guy knew fighting.

The Khan advanced on her, eyes cautious.  Suddenly he threw a left hook that she blocked on her forearm only to get a hook in the ribs.  Ignoring the pain she bent her knees and dropped under a roundhouse kick from her adversary, striking at him with a fist to the knee. 

”Ahh!” The Khan’s leg folded under him, knocking him down to one knee.  The moment he hit the ground, Faith left it, leaping up in an axe kick, the heel of her foot slamming down on the back of the Khan’s face.

The Khan’s face made a slapping noise as it collided off and bounced off the ground, a bloody mess where his features had once been.  The Khan rolled up to his feet, eyes glassily disbelieving. 

Faith smirked at the man as he raised his fists.  It was about to get a lot worse for him. 

Faith surged forward, hitting full speed as her left fist battered through her rival’s guard and smashed into his gut.  Even as he grunted the Khan managed to smash a forearm into the bridge of her nose.

”Jesus!” Faith stumbled backwards, blood pouring down her face.  The Khan came in fast, crashing a karate chop into the side of her neck.  Ignoring the pain raging down the right side of her body, Faith tried for a left hook but her rival predicted the move and grabbed her arm at the wrist and bicep, twisted at the waist, and threw her over his shoulder.

The moment she hit the ground, the Khan dropped into a crouch beside her, hands reaching down for an undoubted choke.  Faith’s leg swung to parallel with her head, kicking the Khan in his shoulder.  The man grunted as he hit the ground.

Drawing her legs up into her chest, Faith arched her back and kicked back up to an upright position.  Spinning around, she barely had time to duck under a right haymaker.  Realising the Khan had left himself hopelessly open, Faith stepped into his space, kneed him in the gut, linked her hands behind his head, and pulled him down into a trio of viciously brutal knees into his already ruined face.

Releasing her grip, she allowed the beaten thug to fall to his knees, stepped behind him and applied a triangle choke to his throat, cutting off his oxygen until he died.  Satisfied her battle was over, Faith let the body drop to the ground before falling to her knees beside it, exhaustion running through her.  “Guess you ain’t taking three Slayers after all.”   She grinned at the sight of Xander rushing towards her, the cop in tow.

A:N:  Thanks to all who contributed to the recent discussions.  Your comments were instrumental in this part.

FIC MC 41  Sept ’01 – Il Lumison Legatus (10/10)

“It’s quite a world you live in,” Jack commented.  It was the morning after the brawl, and man could these two kids fight. He wouldn’t want to take on either of them, especially the young girl who seemed like she should be modelling but was the most fearsome fighter he’d ever seen.

Now they were in a quiet coffee house populated by commuters on their way to walk, its blandly beige walls and white tiled floor a million miles from the last night’s drama.

“About that,” Xander licked his lips.  “I was wondering if you’d be interested…”  The youth paused to lick his lips.  “I was wondering if you’d be interested in running Illinois for me.”  The boy continued before he had chance to reply.  “Chicago’s got two groups of ten hunters,  Aurora, Rockford, Naperville, Joliet, and Springfield all have had at least one group with six to eight hunters.  Of course,” the youth reddened slightly, “I’d have to get the exact details to you later, our paperwork girl, Tara, she’s not here right now.”

“I’m flattered honestly,” Wild verbally stumbled, put off by the sudden daggers Faith was shooting his way, “but I’m no demon hunter. I’m a cop it’s what I know, what I do.”

Xander shook his head.  “You handled yourself great last night.  I can tell you’re not a man who likes playing in the rules.”  Wild grinned wryly.  The kid had him read.  “I can offer you a life we’re your own boss and you’re still helping people, but with way less politics and a lot more resources.”

“Like what?”

“How does the annual interest of a hundred and fifty million dollar trust fund to run your operation with sound to start with?”

Jack’s head swam at the figure mentioned.  It was more than the money though, he was a warrior born, and this sounded like a real test.  Finally he nodded.  “I’m in.”

                        *                                  *                                  *

“Hey X!” Xander heard but didn’t reply to Faith’s holler as she and the other girls returned from the spa, his eyes fixed on the computer screen.  “You better not be looking at naked ladies in there!” Xander heard the door open behind him.  “A map, what ya looking at a map for?”

“It’s taking too long,” Xander rubbed at his weary eyes.  However he looked at it, the figures weren’t getting any better. 

”What is, hon?”

Feeling Faith’s soft hands on his shoulders, he turned to the three girls staring anxiously at him.  Xander forced a smile.  “Any idea how long Il Lumison Legatus was around for?”

Faith shrugged.  “You said thousands of years.  X, what is this about?”

“It’s a legacy, in the original Khan’s case a pretty crappy one, but still.”  Xander paused.  “It’s what I want for The Brotherhood.”

Kennedy and Tara exchanged confused glances.  Faith just blurted out what she was thinking.  “What are ya talkin’ about Xander?”

“Right now according to these,” he lifted up Stark’s discs, “there’s over two thousand demon-hunting groups spread all over the world, nearly fifty thousand people in total.”  Xander paused.  “In ten years I want one hundred teams working for us.  In twenty, I want two hundred and fifty.”

“Shit!” Faith’s eye’s widened.  “But I thought this threat was gonna happen in just a few years’ time?”

“It is.”  Xander nodded wearily, shoulders unconsciously sloping forward   It all seemed to be happening so fast.  Too fast, they were never going to be ready in time.  “But afterwards,” he had to believe there would be an afterwards, he didn’t want to lose Faith or any of his girls, “there’s still going to be demons no matter what.  People are still going to need protection.  And look at the map.”  Xander pointed at the screen behind him.  “We’ve got plenty of coverage in north America, but nothing in South America.  Europe’s got some cover – Russia, Greece, and England are okay.  But what about France, Germany, Italy, Spain, the Balkans and Scandinavia?   They’re wide open.  Then there’s Asia – Japan, India, Pakistan, Korea, we haven’t got one team there.  And it’s the same in Africa and Oceania, nothing.”

The girls stared at him for a long time before anyone spoke.  “A quick solution to increase our intelligence coverage would be to throw Lorne a ton of money to set up more clubs.  But if you want an organisation that big, you’re going to want to re-organise,” Kennedy said. “I’ve been reading about organisational theory.”  The potential trailed off, for once nervous. 

Xander nodded encouragement.  “Go on, Ken.”  All ideas were welcome he was stumped.

“The cell structure you’ve got works because each unit covers one area and that’s great,” the potential said.  “But within the cells needs re-organising.  In the fire service groups work in a control span of 3 -5 with a commander having no more than five people reporting him, to prevent confusion.  If there are more than that in an organization, they report to a junior officer, who in turn reports to the incident commander. More than five makes it too difficult for the commander to communicate with everyone in the heat of things, and of course less than three is inefficient. So when patrolling groups should be broken down into groups of five and report up a chain of command.  Have another officer co-ordinating each patrol.”

”The patrols will have to be more than five because of a lot of demons’ unnatural advantages over humans, perhaps seven, but it is a good idea,” Xander commented.  “Except we’ll have to have a visible ranking system, and that’ll make our officers noticeable not only to the demons but to the police who tend to have this thing about para-military organisations.”

“Oh,” Kennedy looked downcast.

”I….I have an idea,” Tara raised a hand.  Xander nodded at his friend.  “H…how about pin badges, a red sword for a ‘Fighter’, a patrol member, a bronze sword for a ‘Warrior’, a patrol leader, a silver sword for a ‘Hero’, a group leader, a gold sword for a ‘Champion’, a leader of a region’s groups, and a gold star for a ‘Legend’,” Tara blushed, “one of us four.”

“Sounds artistic,” Faith caustically replied.  “Doesn’t solve Xander’s visibility problem though.”

”If you’ll let me finish,” Faith grinned and raised her hands at Tara’s glare.  “I’ll put three simple charms on the pins.  ‘A Notice Not’, so only another designated pin wearer recognises the pin.  ‘A Find Me’, that’ll act as a sort of magical locater in the case of a team leader going missing.  “A Lose Me Not’, so that once the pin is fastened on it can’t be lost.  If anyone else acquires a pin unofficially, it’s nothing but a piece of metal.”

“Neat idea,” Xander nodded.  “But it’ll be a lot of work for you.”

“No,” Tara grinned.  “If you just let me bless the machine being used to make them, it’ll only be an hour tops.”

“Looks like we have a plan then,” Xander grinned back at the witch.  “I’ll get in touch with Mr. Stark about a machine.  Once we’ve got that going, I’ll send off an email about the changes to all the teams.”

 “And if you’re gonna get hundreds of units, Tara’s gonna need help with the paperwork,” Faith pointed out.  “You know, the patrol reports, inventories, and shit.”

“I know,” Xander nodded.  “I was thinking about seeing if Brill could recommend someone for the job.  Failing that I’ll talk to Mr. Stark.”

“Kay,” Faith winked.  “Nothing can’t be handled if you don’t ask women’s advice, Harris.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”  Xander forced a smile.  If Faith knew his other problem, she’d go thermo.  One day though he’d have to bring it up.

                        *                                  *                                  *

“One of the wonders of the modern world it-…”  His voice trailed off as he stepped out of his box to find carnage everywhere.  “Well I never,” he sighed.  “Someone did the job for me.  A little messier than I would have, but nonetheless.”  He shook his head.  “Ah well,” he stopped and grinned as he sensed something.  “Well good on you, I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”  He shook his head.  “Didn’t realise it was time for that.  But then, time’s all relative.”

                        *                                  *                                  *

“X!  X!  Wait up!”

Try as he might, Xander couldn’t shut out his girl-friend’s insistent tugging on his arm.  “Faith,” he groaned as he forced one eye open and looked up at the admittedly alluring shape of his girl-friend knelt beside him completely naked exact for the ever-present Slayer’s Strength medallion around her neck and lying just above the start of the deep valley between her breasts, “we did it all night.  Can’t I get at least some sleep?”

Faith shook her head, full hair bouncing.  “I ain’t messing around,” Xander’s other eye opened as he recognised the tremble in his girl-friend’s voice and something approaching fear in her luminous eyes, “I thought it was a movie, but it ain’t.  The crazy fuckers.  The Twin Towers, they’re on fire.”

Return ToThe Mithras Chronicles