Krullins’s Crusaders: A Spy on Venomshroud Part 2

“Lowe, I need you,” John whispered in the dark of the apartment, glancing back at the spikes in the wall. A second too late, they would have been sticking out of his chest, and he would be dead. He couldn’t die until his masters said he could. He looked around the room in the dark, waiting for something to move.

                “You aren’t taking me alive,” Claudia said.

                “Wasn’t planning on it,” John said. Where are you, Lowe?

                Claudia chuckled to herself. “Sounds about right.” Something rolled into the room, and John didn’t have to see what it was to know it had been a bomb. He dashed for the door, but he knew there was no reaching it in time. He couldn’t outrun the fireball, but John had never given up; he would go down fighting.

                He reached the door right when the room hissed into a bright light. The fire raced for him as if it was trying to hug him and he sighed, feeling the heat seconds before it touched him. The fire flew out of the door, pushing against the walls, and John stood there in the middle of the fire, watching it cut through him, but not hurting him.

                John glanced to his side to see his tall friend, Vincent Lowe, the skinny man smiling at him. Vincent had sweet brown eyes, a nasty broken nose, and a killer hidden within him. He enjoyed the act killing far more than John did and took his time with his foe. He wore a plasma pistol on his hip and his two long knives. Vincent loved his blades.

                And yet, at the moment, John could care less about his friend's love of blood. All he cares about was the man holding his arm, causing them both to be thin like a ghost; everything pass thought them like they were wind.

                The fire huffed its last bit of heat, dying out with Vincent smirking at his boss. “Sorry, I’m late,” he whispered, but then again, Vincent never spoke above a whisper anyways. “I was freaking out some kids.”

                “Move Lowe,” John ordered, breaking away from his friend and dashing back to the doorway to the other room. He rolled across the open space waiting for another round of spikes to follow him, but they never came. Lowes stepped through the wall with his blades at the ready, but no gunshots were heard from the room.

                John went into the room, his weapon at the ready, and found only Lowe standing there. They both were looking around for their target, the windows were blown out, and the sirens of station peace force were racing for the apartment building.

                “Merrill?” John asked, putting his finger against his ear. “You have eyes on the target.”

                “Yes, sir, I do,” Merrill said through her deep breath running after Claudia.

                “Dot your location,” John said, pointing with a knife-hand for Lowe to get moving out of the room.

                “Already done,” Merrill said, and a map of the station blinked into John’s left eye. They all had a nanobot in their eyes, allowing them to bring up a map of the whole place when needed, along with enabling them to hack into the net of the station.

                The ghostly blue map of the station showed in John right where Merrill was and the fact, she was running at full speed after their target. John could at will pushed the map down over his eye as he saw it from his point of view, and it would draw a bright red line to his friend.

                “Lowe, we are moving,” John rushing out of the room. “Beiler, it looks like the target is heading for the hanger, get there.”

                “Yes sir,” a deep voice echoed in John’s ear as they ran out into the hallway.

                “Don’t move,” someone shouted from behind them. “Put your hands up.”

                “We don’t have time for this boss,” Lowes whispered, turning around to see the two Peacekeepers standing there. Both of them had their weapons drawn and pointed right at them.

                “We are with the I.G.P,” John hissed. “Stand down.”

                “Do not move,” the other young Peacekeeper said, fear beaming from his eyes as he faced these two men wearing colors to the Imperial Secret Peacekeepers. They must have found the body in the lobby along with the bomb going off; it didn’t help matters.

                “Son, stand down,” Lower said, staring at them hard.

                “Put your hands behind your heads,” the first keeper said, taking a step closer to them.

                John shook his head at them both. He didn’t care about killing these young men. They were in their way, and they had to be put down, no matter what, and they were beneath them, not knowing they were standing in front of the true apostles of the real Emperors of the Stars. If these fools knew who they were standing in front of, they would fall to their knees, begging forgiveness.

                 Lowe hissed, pulling one of his knives free, forcing the keepers to open fire, but the plasma bolt passed through him. They keep firing, backing up from the killer moving towards them. One of the men almost started to scream, but John put them both down with his weapon.

                Both of the keepers went crashing to the floor as Lowe became whole again, looking back at his friend. John spun on his heels, dashing for the stairway watching the red dot of Merrill get farther away from them, but not slowing down.

                The doors to the elevator ding open, and John pulled his gun out opening fire on anyone on the other side of the door. Plasma bolt washed over a mother and a son, killing them before they could scream from the heat of the weapon. He flipped the gun in his hand, putting it away, not staring at the dead. They both started to run to catch their target, but he did glance into the steel box.

                He didn’t like killing women and children, but as the masters said, their deaths were better than their lives because they lived in a falsehood.

Author's Note

If you had made it this far, then I appreciate it, and before you start to tear my work apart (which doesn’t bother me too much), let me explain something. The most common critique I see is about my spelling and grammar. It is an understandable critique, and I do not blame you for pointing it out. After all, spelling and grammar are the tools in which we use to craft our work, like a paintbrush or a chisel. The artist must know how to use these tools well, but like an artist who has a tremble in their hand's somethings will never be perfect.
My tremble in my hand is caused by my dyslexia. It is something, no matter how much I learn, study, or works on, it will never go away. It is the reason you will find a good bit of spelling and grammar mistakes in my work. I ask you to keep this fact when you are about to write your critique.
Also, I feel the need to point this out, this website is like a journal for me. A messy journal I used to work out problems in my stories or to simply warm up before digging into my novels. I do not hire an editor for the work here. I do not spend hours and days pouring over these stories to make them perfect, that energy is saved for the project I plan on taking to market. Everything on this website is my world-building exercise or sketches for other projects.
I do hope you enjoy my work, but this website is not a publishing house for me, and it shouldn’t be for you either. Something to keep in mind as you write your critique.