The QUEEN SONG

Part 2

(23)Scenes 50-52

09/10/2019

Mike W. McCoy

Version 3.0

<>50<>  Contorted by pain and resolve.

“Damn it,” Mahn cursed, stubbing his foot on another chunk of unforgiving building debris. 

His actions were affected by a persistent drunkenness, mixed with ‘Hopeless’, but he believed in the job.  The Alien egg must be destroyed.  Underboss Xais was counting on him, but he also abandoned him.

“A promotion, he said,” the henchman mumbled, tripping against the edge of another broken concrete slab.  Looking up, his electronic T-glass shades instantly outlined many more mounds.  They were scattered like splintered shadows along the backside approach to the Resort’s main theater.

“Why did I go this way?”  The wind had stilled, but creepy calls still came from the carcass-like theater.  “Oh, yes.”

The dark night was fading into a brighter tint of daylight.  The fast swimming clouds were gone, leaving behind a moonless sky of a few stars and low orbit satellites.  The ruins of the Grand California Resort stood tall and depressing, amid the sea of sand and smart-cactus. 

“I know that sound,” Mahn commented, then listened to more moans of pain and death.  “Um, hold on.”

Each step across the splintered terrain pulled him closer to the East-facing back wall and a vertical crack of light.  Slowly, it became an unclosed fire-exit, and the body wedging it open was another triad brother.

“No, not you,” Mahn protested, collapsing to his knees.  The henchman lay still, the back of his skull smashed in, with bits of rock still embedded in his brain matter.  The blood was still warm to Mahn’s touch.

“Chang. Chang, what happened?”

“Mahn?”  A new voice called weakly from farther inside.

The Snake captain stepped onward, and immediately the optics of his computer enhanced eyes and pulled an ident on most everything the deep dimness hid.  Off to the left a dusty jumbled pile of forgotten stage props and a slick smear of blood trailing around the corner. 

Mahn advanced, cringing at the increased volume of the chanting background voices.  The crazy cacophony was mostly cultist yips and yells.  However, several audio tracks were distinct Chinese curses or cries from panic stricken triad Birds. 

A Queen Song of seductive-moaning echoed on a subconscious level.  Mahn could feel it starting to push and pull inside his mind.  The mob voices were curbed by just enough of ‘Laughter’ to sideswipe ‘Despair’ aside, leaving room for ‘Madness’ to cloud the adjoining room.

“Mahn, over here,” the same voice called again.

The muscular white-haired Chinaman, in the tattered gold suit, slid around the corner and was surprised his imagination was not worse than reality.

Inside the cave-like decay of the crumbling, high-ceilinged theater, the air was morbidly murky.  Off to the right, the chessboard layout of the main stage was now covered in crimson and chaos.  Holding at kings’ center square, was the Alien egg on its pedestal. 

A trio of Uncle Ueo’s dead triad men, dressed in dark dirty suits and yellow headbands, lay twisted heaps of mangled flesh, amid a sedan-sized stain of crimson.  Additional nearly-naked, emaciated cultist torsos and scattered severed limbs, were intermixed around the egg like offerings to a pagan deity.

A jagged line of disciples had prostrated themselves in the direction of the Alien totem.  The starved men and women were all costumed similarly: torn, filthy, summer-weight bright colors, greasy hair, and bloody cut marks of self-mutilation.  The blank-eyed followers swayed and moaned a steady dense sounding Soundtrack, which was pierced by screams of pain and pops of gunfire from elsewhere in the theater. 

Closer to the Mahn’s flank was the owner of the voice--a middle-aged Snake known as Kung.  The quick-breathing henchman was staring back with his own, now cracked, T-glass shades.  His jawline was contorted with pain and resolve. He was biting his lips as he tried to maintain pressure on a jagged leg wound, pumping blood between his fingers.

The wounded Snake was just below the stage, and next to him was the obviously dead Bird, Rea Wong.  A once elegant, light-green gown had been torn from her slim body, revealing a multitude of grotesque cannibalistic bite marks.  Mahn’s own optics revealed several broken teeth embedded into the gore of the missing flesh.

“What the-” Mahn managed before vomiting.

Kung tried to reach out and comfort him, but the pain was too much.  “Mahn, you should…it happened so fast.”

“What happened?”

“The crazies wound up…the singing, it…Ueo’s men freaked and…”

“I can see that,” Mahn heaved.  “I see it.”

“No…the ninjas.  It started…”

“Ninjas?” Mahn asked just as the mob’s calls suddenly spiked the Soundtrack.

“Over there,” Kung added, pointing with a bloody hand.  “Shen and Fong…I think Wun Chou and Chi Hu.”

“Overstood, I will-” 

“All animals,” Kung interrupted, pawing with a bloody hand.  “Mahn, animals.” 

He followed the younger Snake’s weak, groping hand to the mutilated body of Rea Wong.  “Look at my pretty bird.” 

There were no more words.  The anger inside had simmered to the surface, making him shake with barely controlled rage.  The henchman captain’s face was a mask of calm resolve.  ‘Laughter’ sharpened the scene, and Mahn almost joined in. 

“Let go,” he calmly told his brother Snake, then stood up.  “I can fix this.”

“Xais?”

“Not to worry,” he replied, checking his gun’s clip.  “He is gone, but I am here.”

Kung nodded, and after a brief understanding smile, his life stopped.

“So, who wants to die first?” Mahn called into the ruins of the theater.

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<>51<>All went insane.

“Was that Mahn?” the kneeling triad man asked.

“I think so, Shen, I do,” the larger Snake, dressed in a dark brown suit and yellow tie answered with a hint of excitement.

The pair were deep inside the cavernous room, and a small, pumpkin-sized fire cast a dull glow over the narrow collection of figures huddled near them.  Wun Chou and Chi Hu were attending to a petite woman who whimpered uncontrollably and shook with fear.  Each Bird was clinging to the remnants of the bright colored designer gowns they had worn since the Club Uzi Massacre.  Splatters and streaks of fresh blood stained the fine garments.

“Mahn?” the cowering woman asked between sobs.  A fist-sized patch of her long hair had been ripped away, leaving an angry welt above her eye. 

“Stay calm, Tso Dau,” the big-breasted Wun Chou answered, as she gripped a short length of rusted steel re-bar tighter. 

“Is he going?”

“Quiet, all of you,” Fong, the larger Snake, demanded.  He stood up and scanned the close surroundings.  Mahn was near the main stage, looking back at him.  The triad captain waved and gave a questioning shrug.

“There!” Fong called back, pointing to the broken back wall of the theater. 

“Get up, we move now,” he commanded the Birds and reached out for Shen.

“Plan?” the shorter man wondered, adjusting his fancy blue tie.

“Circle that group,” Fong pointed with his big knife.  “I will tag Mahn, and we flank from the stage.”

“Got it.  Watch your step, brother.” 

The Birds prepared themselves and looked intently at both Snakes. 

“And so will we,” Wun Chou smirked and saluted with the rusted length of iron. 

Shen broke concealment first, angling away from the large group of cultists.  The Birds stayed on his tail, no more than a few strides behind.  The women’s barefooted steps were unsteady over the dark and broken ground.  The terrified Tso Dau had to lean on Chi Hu to avoid a complete collapse as they curved around a shift in the cult mob. 

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Crouching low, Mahn wormed his way down the left wall, and past the stage.  He saw the Snakes separate, and the Birds following tightly behind Shen as they skirted around a big clump of cultists.  The larger triad man moved more deliberately and strutted fearlessly towards Mahn. 

Fong was aggressive and swiped at the closest devotee who tried to block his path.  His big blade almost severed the thin man’s waving forearm.  Just as the victim clasped with a blood-spurting limb, another grotesque cultist lunged, only to have his throat slit by Fong’s backswing.

The disciple dying with a bloody-gargle was just the giggle that ‘Laughter’ needed to bring ‘Hysteria’ to the scene.  In a heartbeat, all went insane.

Mahn surged forward, stopping alongside Fong who was bent over, wiping fresh blood off his knife on the ripped skirt of another twitching, skeletal-thin, follower.

“I leave for a minute, and it all goes to Hell,” Mahn grunted with just a hint of ‘Laughter’.

Fong chuckled and reached out to grasp his brother Snake.  “Underboss Xais?”

“Off on honeymoon,” Mahn grumbled while bowing. 

“Great,” he bowed back.  “The plan?”

“We destroy that egg and wing it from there.”

Fong slowly looked around the playing field.  Between him and the bloody stage were at least 14 worshiping prostrate followers.  Grouped near the back wall was a mob of 30 or more cultists, vaguely looking his way.  Moving behind them was Shen, Wun Chou, and he hoped Tso Dau and Chi Hu. 

Off to the side, past the collapsed gap of the South wall, was the Olympic-size pool, and another mixed milling crowd of cultists.  Their attention seemed divided between something happening inside the waterless pool, or joining with another approaching group.

“We should get on with it then,” Fong finally said, ending with another bow.

Mahn smiled and bowed back.  “Yes, follow me.”

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<>52<> Deeper into delusion.

“Yes, Mother,” Jax responded without hesitation.  He and the trio of orange-costumed cultists started weaving their way thru the walking wounded, who now crowded the shallow side of the long pool.  Mr. Sumo and a few of the better-fed Enforcer types peeled off, following the slow walking Firstborn.

Boris felt strong waves from the Queen Song, and the pull centered on the inside of his chest.  It was as if something was wrapping a fist around his heart. 

He tried to walk, but his mind was being sucked deeper into delusion.  The moaning of the mob changed into more of a chant.  It felt like from before, the dream on the 4th floor sofa of the open air prison cell.  The nursemaid Courtesan duo pulled Boris back to a sand bank against the pool’s inside curve.  He couldn’t resist, and started reaching towards the Queen.

Her tall body and hair swayed like a tree in a storm.  The wedding dress kimono billowed, and clung at odd angles which didn’t appear to match human anatomy.  Her Alien acuity projected emotions, influencing the soft minds of the disciples and semi-dreamers alike.  The volume of the cult choir voices soon covered all the extra audio, including Boris’s own scream.

The Queen Song had become loud enough to underline the astonishment and repulsion of the moment.  And, like a fresh wave from the sea, the tranced sleep-walking mob surged forward, and went mad.

Boris was only partly aware of the disciples’ sudden amorous affection for each other.  And, as they began to fondle and grope, while rolling around the debris filled pool, he missed the Courtesans pulling the kimono from their Queen.

She stood before him with an image distorted by the Queen Song.  As a hybrid of Alien and human anatomy, her flesh was colored as dark as cold black coffee.  Her head, below the long, brittle, black hair had a profile more in the shape of a football than a human skull.  Her jaw jaunted low and forward, making room for large oversized canine teeth.  Her knees bent backwards like a flamingo, and a short, ridged tail protruded below a series of insect-like carapace plates, now covering her strongly curved spine. 

But it was the eyes that drew his focus.  The black on black orbs, like a void of nothingness, which revealed the Alien inside.

“I have waited for you,” she said more with her mind than mouth. 

Boris forced back his gag reflex, “I know.”

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