The QUEEN SONG

Part 2

(20) Scenes 43-44

08/10/2019
Mike W McCoy

Version 1.0

<>43<>  Yes, I know that one.

The cultic crowd’s cacophonous chanting quickly quieted.  But ‘Memory’ restarted the mind’s-eye recall each time the haunting hymn changed key.  It was a mental hiccup, and Jax was sure Mother was recalling the replay. 

The night time glare bouncing through the broken South wall into the carcass like main theater was more moonlight than fire pit.  It doused the crimson edge inside just enough to be almost a pleasant tint of dark.  The Firstborn smoothed the dead Club Uzi guard’s wild pastel patterned shirt he wore, struck his best Mafioso pose, and gazed at the prostrated mob of starving humanity.  At nearly 100 strong, they writhed wildly towards Mother, their Queen, who was still caressing the Alien egg on its pedestal. 

Beyond the crescent of craving cultists, several dozen walking-wounded milled about, and others had collapsed alongside the dead.  Together, they littered the edges of the debris filled Olympic-sized pool, and the dusty white limousine used last by the Yellow Hand triad.

Jax ground his teeth when the chant’s tenor changed again.  Mother was trying to tell him something, but he already knew whom she wanted.  It was that special agent man with the melted face, the prize Jax had allowed to escape.  

It was twice now that Boris had humiliated the Firstborn by surviving.  The deaths of the many cultists by the crippled man’s actions were of no practical concern, but their number and manor of demise reflected poorly on young Jax’s ability to lead. 

He felt this would be the last chance before Mother called out with another Queen Song.  Then it didn’t matter that he was the Firstborn, he would only be a failure in her eyes, and that sobering thought pushed him into action. 

Jax withdrew his eyes, and felt the theater interior with this own mental Alien acuity.  He could tell the players apart with ease, though with no specificity.  The cult followers were dull lumps of charcoal colored fog.  Their forms oozed and squeezed between the chanting. 

Amongst them, the 5 Triad Snakes appeared as crimson tinted columns of black smoke with green laser spots where their eyes should be.  The accompanying 4 Birds shimmered as un-focused clouds of oily steam which moved quick and hesitant.  The 7 armored triad soldiers from uncle Ueo, felt like pillars of frozen mud, hard and predestined in their actions. 

Opening the scope wider, Jax could clearly feel his eldest Twin sister being held in the arms of a burning red flame.  And next to Mei Liun, the slippery sensation of Xais was a familiar chunk of obsidian, which everything tried to avoid. 

Firstborn pulled back his searching thoughts to the cluster of cultists gathered near the sumo wrestler sized naked man at the South wall’s crumbled edge.  Immediately, the cultist clique scampered towards him like excited puppy dogs.

Jax addressed the biggest one. “I need your help with something, brah.”

“I live to obey,” Mr. Sumo growled back and kneeled.

Several other of the better fed cannibals, all shirtless and wearing the red rag of rank, followed the alpha’s example, and prostrated themselves alongside.

Jax tried once more, but he couldn’t feel special agent Boris anywhere.  “Listen carefully, I want the old man with the melted face.”

“Yes, I know that one,” the short wide mountain of sweaty flesh snarled without looking up. 

Jax draped his arms around wrestler’s neck, and began bringing both hands closer, tighter, and began to choke him. 

“Understand me.  This one is not to be killed,” his predatory smile beat down with evil intent.  “Mother wants him, but I want him first.”

Mr. Sumo tried to talk, but the pain of the talon like fingers digging into the fat folds of his neck flesh allowed only gasping sounds to escape.  The cannibal’s feet began to twitch, and Jax felt the man’s heartbeat change rhythm.  The sound thundered inside his mind, death was coming.

“Go, now.” Jax commanded, releasing the naked big man.  “Catch the agent man, and bring him to me.”

“Ye-yes.  I obey the Firstborn,” he wheezed. 

The clique of Enforcer cultists stumbled into a ragged line behind the super-sized naked man.  The chanting horde, inside the half-collapsed cave, changed tempo again as Mr. Sumo led the others past the pool and towards the open desert. 

The Firstborn watched them go, and smiled towards the night.  “Now, to my new brah and sister, I will escort you personally.” 

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<>44<>  ‘Hate’ had replaced ‘Sanity’.

“Agent Yoshi?”  The name speared the early morning darkness slowly but with a hint of urgency. 

“Ma’am?”

“Yes, Mr. Hiedo?” the Japanese woman answered just short of a growl.

“What was that sound?”

Agent Miako Chocolate Yoshi paused to think about it.

She, alongside Mr. Hiedo and Mr. Takaoka had been sneaking across the cult compound of the Grand California Resort.  They had separated from the other Ninja Team Six members almost an hour ago, and were now only car lengths away from the South side cabanas.  At 1st she had thought their approach was lucky in that only a few dead decaying cultists were lying about, scattered like windblown leaves, but now as the trio neared the low broken buildings, she wasn’t so sure.

The noise Mr. Hiedo indicated was emanating from across the Olympic-sized pool.  It came from inside the vast chamber what used to be the Resort’s theater. The Soundtrack volume and tone was of a chanting that she felt more than heard.  Hidden inside, behind the crumbling 4 story walls, was a darkness Yoshi believed was more dangerous than the desert itself. 

The crazy eyed woman slid up close to his crouching form.  “That, Mr. Hiedo, is the background music of Hell.”

The younger Ninja stared back at her, he wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.  Her long facial scar hitched up the left eyebrow and curled the right cheek just enough to almost be a smile.  But only a glimpse into her dark brown eyes would confirmed otherwise.  ‘Hate’ had replaced ‘Sanity’ half a lifetime ago, and ‘Laughter’ hung around just for the ambiance. 

Agent Yoshi was still wearing the designer black dress slacks below her naked torso.  The long wide swaths of white bandages covering her form from breast to bellybutton was now splotchy with fresh crimson.  They paired nicely to the Shogun styled head-wrap holding back her tangled black locks.

Her elaborately tattooed muscular arms, and exposed upper back, were covered in sweat, desert dust, and additional bruises below more bloody bandages.  She had taken a small filthy blanket form a corpse, and was using it as a type of grimy shawl.  But what imaged the strongest, was the scalpel sharp knife clenched in her left hand.  Its shinny surface glistened as if was alive and waiting.

“Agent Yoshi,” came the harsh whisper of Mr. Takaoka as he approached their half-assed foxhole.  She nodded, recognizing his form.

“I have it,” the Ninja added, holding up the dented slab of silver that was special agent Boris’s vidfone. 

“Good work,” she praised.  “We need cover.  I don’t like the look of that,” the woman finished by pointed her blade towards the fast moving clique of cultists being led past the pool by a huge sumo wrestler.

Once inside the same semi-intact leaning cabana, which Boris had awoke in only a few hours ago, the trio gathered near the burnt-out fire pit.  The darkness was an oppressive feeling as well as fact. 

“I’ll try to salvage what can be,” Mr. Takaoka began, and connected the device to a compact combat computer.  Agent Yoshi watched the man work by the dull glow of the LCD lighting.

He was much like his fellow Ninja, in that they both wore stylized traditional black clothing from forehead to feet, Katana swords across their backs, and additional smaller blades at their waists.  Although, he had less of a firearm fetish than Mr. Hiedo.

She knew they would kill or die without hesitation on her order.  They owed her that much, but Yoshi no longer felt the need for such fierce loyalty.  That was part of the reason she had released them from their debt.  The other, overwhelming half, was her desire to personally kill the thing that called itself Jax.

“While you continue, I will patrol the immediate area,” the calm voice of Mr. Hiedo stated with a matter-of-fact tone.  Agent Yoshi nodded approval, just as he stepped back outside.

“I have something,” Mr. Takaoka confirmed more to himself than her.

The woman slid over closer and watched him work the keyboard controls.  Her eyes became more intense, and the small vidfone screen broke into lines of static.  It lasted several seconds, then the image of special agent Boris stared back at her.

“Agent Yoshi, it’s me, Boris.”

“No shit,” she couldn’t help stop her smirking smile.  The recording of the man who’s right facial profile was only slightly better than that of wet, burnt bacon, broke into his familiar stupid grin.

“But I guess you know that,” the video continued.  “I’ve had an exciting day since you swan dived off the roof.”

Again she couldn’t help but smile. 

“Jax tried to kill me.  I pissed him off by surviving.  Twice now.  There is an evil vibe here, a ‘Something’ big…” he hesitated.  “So your brother tells me.”

“You bastard,” she cursed at the screen.  A tear was trying for form, but with a quick grip of her knife, Yoshi pushed the emotion away.

A sudden mad howling flooded onto the audio track. 

“Swell,” Boris continued.  “The crazies are closer.  Yoshi, forget about me.  Maybe go find Mahn.  He’s a good guy for a criminal.  Get out of here.  I have a ‘Something’ to take care of.”  And with that, the screen jumbled back into static. 

“That is all Ma’am,” Mr. Takaoka said softly, and disconnected the device. 

Agent Yoshi was about talk, but the other Ninja, Mr. Hiedo interrupted.  He was streaked with fresh blood across the chest and thighs, and held his sword low in a defensive stance.

“We need to go, now.”

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