Abuse of Chikara (book 1) (24 page)

Both male and female actors sold their souls to maintain their place as idols. It was not just the money and lavish lifestyle they wanted to maintain. Humans wanted to be liked by those around them. These stars were loved by many, valued and appreciated. Humans spent their entire lives wanting to be accepted and loved by those around them. These actors could not bear being forgotten and ignored. Females always outnumbered the male actors looking for his services. Like many areas of human society, women were treated worse than men. Female actors in their 50s were regulated to playing mothers or lesser roles. Men could still play the dashing hero or major roles well into their 50s, provided they stayed in good shape. In their society things were vastly different concerning the different genders, women were treated no differently than men. Many of the highest-ranking members of their order were female. Just one more reason they were a more advanced species than humans were. They did not mistreat and abuse each other. Racism, sexism, child abuse and other human issues were unheard of in their species.

He left the museum happy with his day’s work. This had been a good haul today. He had an expensive white limo, but liked taking the bus or train at times. This gave him an opportunity to interact with different humans of different races, ages, and cultures. Basically his entire job revolved around studying humans. He read the local Chicago newspapers and found a rather interesting article. Seems someone had shot some of Quinton's relatives in Milwaukee. His grandmother, two brothers, and two of his grand kids had been shot. To make matters worse, some hooded gangbanger had gone to the funeral home and shot up the bodies of the relatives. Of course, the article said it was all gang related. It seems that drugs had been found in the home. The two young men had been selling drugs for a local gangbanger. They had skimmed a little too much off the top, according to the story. Of course, he knew better, and Quinton would no doubt know better. That was the point though. It was Bill’s way of saying “I can still hurt you.” His way of teaching the man a lesson for causing him to lose millions with that business in the forest preserve. It was rather amusing to watch these two try and screw each over. It would be over soon when one would find a way to kill the other.

Quinton was powerful, but not invincible. Bill was clever and resourceful, but also lacked Quinton's abilities. Soon this matter would come to a head. He rather hoped Quinton came out the victor. Quinton would no doubt continue to kill gangsters and criminals. Sending them to hell before any of them had a change of heart. The level of carnage and death would be far greater than anything Bill would cause. Quinton’s actions had already helped cause a strike by local police. This had caused an uptick in crime in the city. The acting mayor had to call in the National Guard to restore order. In some ways he was much worse than Bill would ever be. Bill would kill people, of course, but only those who got in his way. Quinton was mostly focused on Bill, but killed thugs who were abusing others. No doubt if he killed Bill, he would move on to another crime boss. Quinton may not know it, but he was developing an enjoyment for killing. Anything could become pleasurable if you did it enough. Most humans were violent anyway. Oh sure, they had created rules and regulations. Laws and culturally had developed a less violent and less animalistic humanity. Of course, the entire planet did not always share the sudden enlightenment of the Western democracies. Take away family, laws, fear of punishment, and you were left with a beast. The man was slowly becoming a animal that killed when he felt like it. In any case, whoever came out the victor, he would ultimately become the winner.

Quintion was at home watching some films of the Producer. He wanted to get an idea of the person who had caused him so much pain and torment. The Producer was a prolific filmmaker who wrote, directed, handled his own casting, and even created and played the music in his films. It was shocking how someone so talented could be so warped. Two of the characters in two separate films caught his attention. One man called himself Legion. Legion was a white male, 6 feet, 1 inches with a medium muscular build and blond hair and blue eyes. Legion was a highly skilled soldier who had served in the US Marines for years. Going into some of the worst hot spots on the planet. He had left the core and become something of a mercenary, selling his services to whoever was willing to pay. See Legion was a hard-core white supremacist who hated other races of humans. He was an ardent fan of Hitler and believed in Hitler’s theory of the white man as supreme in nature.

However, he was not stupid like other racist people. He did not go around making racist comments directly to other races and could work with people of other races with no problem. He found ways to exercise his racism in ways that would not cause him any problems. He had joined the Marines so he could kill people of other races. In fact, if you thought about it, that is what the military mostly killed, people of other races. It seemed this man had the ability to create duplicates of himself of up to a hundred at a time. He did not have super strength, but was almost impossible to kill as he had an incredible healing ability. He could go out as his own military unit and engage the enemy in combat. He was currently involved in the northern Mali conflict, killing Africans. It did not matter to him that he was working for Africans as long as he got to kill Africans. The Mali government was more than happy to pay a white super soldier. He did not possess super strength, but claimed to have super intelligence, which he said he used in his combat strategies. His incredible intelligence, according to him, allowed him to outsmart and out think most other human soldiers, as he was always one-step ahead of them. In any case, the mercenary group he was working for was more than happy to put him in charge. Working with the French military, he and his men were feared by the opposition group. They called them the white devils, which he found highly amusing. This man was sick, but oddly fascinating in a way.

What really got him interested was when Legion talked about how he got his special abilities to make duplicates of himself. Seems he had met a man who wore mostly white with blue trim and strange cuff links with a weird symbol on them This man was white and had given him his abilities in exchange for his soul. So there were many others like Lucian and the Asian man in white working for the same goal. There was another film about an African man who practiced some form of voodoo. The film was about black magic and the power it had on people. This black man was a sick puppy who worshiped some type of death god, and simply wanted to kill people. He terrified people in north Africa with his powers. This was a strange film that he could not decide if this was real or special effects. However, the Producer did not make phony videos, so he guessed it was true. This man also talked off selling his soul to a dark-skinned man who turned out to be Lucian. This interested him a great deal. He would make it a point to watch all of the Producer’s films and see if he could get more information on these men who these men had given powers to. He had started to understand the sick thinking of the Producer now.

The man often did director’s commentary on all his videos. He was one sick, twisted puppy, who made him once again understand the importance of what he was doing. He was tired of watching these films and being alone. He decided to get out and go some place with plenty of people. He hit the streets and started looking for a good place to hangout for a few hours. Finally he decided to hit a bar. This place was loud and had a vibrant energy about it. He had never been one who liked to frequent bars all that much in the past. Today he did not feel like being alone. He wanted to be someplace where people were laughing and having fun. He had spent most of his time out of imprisonment killing gangbangers, or spending time by himself. After his grandmother and cousins had been killed, he could not stand being alone right now. He knew Bill was really a cold-hearted bastard. That is if the man actually had a heart. It did not surprise him that he had an elderly woman and children killed. In truth, he was angrier with himself for not anticipating exactly this type of move. Even with these enhanced abilities, Bill still found ways to hurt him.

He had been sitting in this bar drinking for an hour trying to think of a way to kill Bill or at least piss him off. Bill did not seem to care about anyone except himself. So killing any of his family members was a waste of time. He was taking a bit of a chance hanging out in this bar to be honest. It was possible that the fake mustache, fake hair and glasses would not be enough. He would continue to risk it tonight, though. This drinking game he was playing with some college student was actually kind of fun. Some kid calling himself the host would ask them a trivia question. If they did not answer it correctly, they had to take a shot. They were drinking vodka straight right now. He was competing against some young white college kid named Matthew at the moment. The kid seemed like an affable enough type who loved to drink more than he should. Matthew was rambling on about women and midgets while slurring his words. He would quit or pass out pretty soon. Unfortunately, he did not know he was competing against an abnormal human. If he could get drunk, he had not reached his limit even when drinking for hours sometimes. The kid finally fell off his chair and had to be helped out by his friends. Funny how Matt had continued to force himself to keep drinking, even when he obviously reached his limit a few drinks ago. Guess he cared that his friend would call him a punk or something. Caring too much about what people thought could cause people to do silly things at time. He kept playing the game against a young African American male when something came to him. That is how he could hurt Bill. The man only cared about what other people thought about him. Bill had a vision of running for mayor one day. Then possibly on to congress and maybe even president. The man had spent years building up his perfect super cop, hero of the people image. Mindshare among the general public is one of the main things he cared about. If he could find some evidence or plant some type of rumor, he could really piss him off. He would have to check in with some of his informants and try to find more information on Bill tomorrow. For now he would spend the rest of the night drinking courtesy of the $1,000 he had stolen from the Street Captains.

Quinton always loved snow, even as a child. He really liked it now because it made things easier for him. Everyone looked the same bundled up in large coats and face masks. Police would not be getting out of their nice, warm cars to stop every random dude matching his height and body type. This snow was pretty deep, had to be at least 3 1/2 feet. It would be to his advantage concerning moving around. He woul not have to only come out at night now. He was meeting with his main informant, “The Carpenter.” The guy always had his ear to the ground and could find out anything. There was a rumor that he was a former FBI or CIA agent who still had connections.

Psycho boy loved hanging out at the funeral home at night, sucking up the atmosphere. Digging up a grave was hard work even for a guy in shape. He hoped his grandmother would not be terribly upset about him setting her body on fire. He had loved his grandmother as a child. Unfortunately that is why he had to desecrate her remains now. He had the unresistable urge to destroy anything that he loved or cared about. He could not say why and was not one given to deep introspection. He finally reached the coffin and opened it. Taking some gasoline and matches, he did the dirty deed. Once the remains were burned beyond recognition, he started shoveling dirt back in. Once he was finished, he went back to the nearest grave where his friend Big Josh was sitting. They had been working on a couple of joints and were pretty blasted. He loved getting drunk, high or in any abnormal state of mind. He had tried asphiaxtion and some other stuff years ago. The rough stuff was not his cup of tea, though. In this state, he would able to commune with the dead. Right now he was talking to Dirty Red. “What's up bro, how you been?”

“Been doing good, my man. Since I'm dead, I will need you to take care of some shit for me, okay. I need you to fuck with crackers for me all right.”

“Red, I would do anything for you, but I don't have any problem with white people. Shit, I happen to be white myself.”

“Look, white boy, I did not ask you that. I'm fucking dead; the least you could do is fuck with motherfuckers for me beyond the grave.”

“Okay, you got a point Red. So what do you have in mind exactly.”

He listened patiently as Red told him about some old scores he wanted to settle, and how he still wanted to screw those fucking crackers. Both him and Josh are tired and start to make their way home. Red’s revenge could wait until tomorrow at least.

Quinton honest. He found his strange habit of repeating random words over three times amusing. Maybe it was just one small part of his life that had not changed. He would talk with the man whenever possible. Unfortunately, the Carpenter really did not want to talk much unless there was money involved. Anytime cash came into the picture he was your best friend. The Carpenter motioned for them to follow him. “Hey guys. Guys, guys. Let’s not hang-out on the street looking like were planning a robbery, okay. Let’s head into this restaurant and talk business over a hot meal.”did not know if the man sold drugs or was some type of undercover agent or what? Over the years he had always been able to find out things other people could not. Or in this case, locate people others could not. He had found someone that Quinton desperately wanted to see and had arranged a meeting. Quinton rather liked the man to be

The Carpenter walks up to the table and inhales the smell of the food he has preordered for them. “Damn, daaaamn, daaaaaaaamn that smells good. Hope you guys didn’t mind me ordering ahead.” They both respond that this is not an issue and sit down on the wooded chairs and start to dig in. Scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast and jam. With his abnormal metabolism, he would have ordered 10 or 12 plates, but did not want to draw any attention to himself. They talk about his plan between bites of food.