The Men In Black[Private]

OOC: Thread is Death and Maim Disabled.

“So uh...Micah. You said we have enough, why do I have to go out and get more?” A large man, too large to be fitting in the small EconoBox four-door car spoke into the cellphone in his hand. In the other, a burger from some kind of Japanese McDonald's knockoff. Wasn't like the burgers back home, but it did the trick. Day after day, he ate local cuisine and tonight....Well, tonight, he just needed something greasy. Just a few more weeks in this country, and him and the rest of his crew could go back home. There was no response following the large man's question, just silence for a few moments. Most others would be sweating bullets at that, but not Jeremy. Him and Micah went back, and if there was anyone who could speak up at any time to the leader of his “organization” in such a casual, every-day fashion, it was Jeremy.

“Those “Blessed”, as they call themselves, have been getting more aggressive. Outpost Algonquin was almost burned to the ground last night, and we need to make sure we are in possession of a backup plan.” The returning voice was low, and bold. It wasn't the voice Jeremy knew in the “long ago”, but something new. It spoke only objectively, but from time to time, the American heard his old friend's voice. “...Are you eating garbage again? Doc said your blood pressure was higher than normal, and your cholesterol was also high...No more while you're there.”

It sure was nice to know Micah—the Micah he knew, was in there somewhere. Jeremy stifled a laugh long enough to take a sip from the straw leading into his cup of iceless Coke. He heard a humored exhale on the other end of the line, just waiting for the questions that were inevitable. Jeremy put the greasy, half-eaten burger on his knee and looked at the steering wheel.

“...I know everyone can't be okay. Who did we lose?”

“Emily, Kristoff and Pat.”

Jeremy felt his free hand clutch into a tight fist.

“Were they...taken care of?” He didn't even need to ask, he already knew the answer but wanted Micah to confirm, to hear his words comfort him.

“Yes, Jerry. They've moved on. Peacefully. They didn't turn. After you finish, I'll have a plane waiting for you all at Okinawa. We'll postpone funerals until you're here.”

“Thanks Micah.”

“Call me tomorrow when you're on your way back. Don't draw unneeded attention, get the job done.”

“I will, Micah.”

“And Jeremy?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't forget the ketchup on your pants.”

Jeremy looked down and saw a small splotch of tangy red sauce on his right thigh. That forced a smile on his otherwise saddened face and he pushed the “end call” spot on the phone's screen. Despite all the things they did that others would perceive to be horrible, their “atrocities” were for the greater good. Things like this, helped to remind Jeremy that they were,in the end, all just human. The plans they had in store called for a select few to do things that would more than likely damn their soul, but Jeremy didn't care. He was already gone, as far as he was concerned. All he was doing now was making sure the man who saved him would see his plans not come undone.

He didn't bother finishing his meal, but instead set it all inside the deliciously smelling, brown paper bag. He took a few gulps from his Coke, and in that moment debated just finishing it. No. He'd be thirsty later, and it was a long drive back to their hideout. Needed something to tide him over for about fourty-minutes, then he'd stop at a Petrol Shop and get some water. Out of the driver seat and at the trunk, Jeremy's form looked even bigger, perhaps unnaturally so. His frame, powerful in just the black military fatigues, was exposed briefly to the elements until he donned the uniform of those of his persuasion. Atop the fatigues, he wore a full assortment of armor, kevlar-backed chain mail, and metal plating here and there. His weapons of choice, a rather robust and large hand-ax that would have taken someone small than him a longer time to swing. That was for when the getting got ugly. To keep things nice and sweet, Jeremy liked to carry around a veritable hand cannon, a custom made piece that resembled a fucked up child of a high-caliber Desert Eagle and an old Civil War-era revolver. Two additional speed-loading cylinders, and last but not least, a hunk of white-veined black rock. All together, Jeremy looked like some kind of End-World Knight, just by judging the giant golden cross applicayed professionally right in the center of his eighteen wheeler-sized chest.

Just as he was about to close the trunk of his car, Jeremy kept it open briefly.

“Stay in there, I'll keep it closed just enough that it don't latch. Three whistles means you come to me. Do NOT attack anyone unless I say.”

He couldn't risk another outbreak, not after that small village in Eastern China. That was a fucking doozy to clean up, dangerous too. Late at night, in this part of this town, there were a lot of punks roaming around. He kept his gun tucked behind him to ensure a possible encounter, as it normally scared the bat and pipe wielding thugs to Hell and back. Though this night was a slow one, maybe the rumors finally got spread around for them not to go out. The cops? They got paid out, handsomely. They'd be no trouble. Of all for him to catch, who did Jeremy find? Some pervert getting his jollies off to a middle schooler changing. As much of a heartless bastard as Jeremy was, he didn't take too kindly to this kind of act. The taking of the first soul was one that he'd enjoy and what went down was probably what you'd expect: A hand went around the perv's mouth and he was pulled from the bushes quietly into a back alley, all the while whispering all the horrible things that were going to happen to the guy, how his soul was going to be damned and how he would see to it. Normally, Jeremy would just get the job done...but this time, he made sure the pervert got a few broken ribs with a couple of kicks and nearly all of his teeth knocked out in one punch.

From within a leather pouch hanging off the front of his belt, Jeremy produced that veiny, black rock. Slowly, very slowly, his size 15 steel-toes crushed the wind pipe, and eventually the life out of the man. When the soul came out, the rock had let off a soft, golden hue. One that grew brighter the closer it got to the soul, and that soul? Well, the closer the rock got to it, the soul's body began to split and rip open as the essence of that very soul was being absorbed. Then, there was nothing. And the light was gone.

First soul down. Three more to go.

It didn't take long to get the other two, one was a man who reeked of alcohol and who's arm looked like a pin cushion. Him and the junkie woman he was shooting up with would serve their purpose. Most people who knew Jeremy always felt better when it was him going out and doing this, and not some fanatical aspirant. At least he targeted...the undesirables. People that society could really use to have themselves rid of, junkies and sex offenders were a good start, but in a place like this...He was just having real good luck tonight.

As for the last soul he needed, Jeremy just hoped his luck continued.

Meilin Tachibana