The Alleyway

One man sets out to stop the reveal of the world's most dangerous machine.

The Alleyway

The P-226 Legion slid across the glass counter of the firearms dealership in a red box. A dark haired man inserted a card into a slot next to the register. His hair was close shaven near the bottom, and around his ears, but lengthening out near the top. From there, it  was combed to one side of his head. He was undeniably handsome, and a deep intelligence seemed to lurk behind his somber eyes. Only one thing marred his grave, and mysterious features. A long black, welted scar that ran straight from his temple to the back of his skull. His watchful eyes were of a jade green, but were at the moment dim and troubled, as if he was struggling with some inner conflict. His eyebrows carved deep furrows as he grasped the cardboard box with long delicate fingers, like those of an architect, or a mathematician. The clerk pushed a waiver across the counter and the man selected a pen from a nearby coffee mug to sign it with. 

From the moment he entered the dealership, the man’s stormy countenance had commanded an utter silence. Around him the very air seemed to hold its breath. Not even the arms dealer spoke as he retracted the waiver and made the transaction. The dealer nodded, and the man tucked the box into a messenger bag that hung from one shoulder. Without a word, the man walked to the door, placed a gas mask on his face, and vanished into the murky yellow smog that hung about the city.

 The world took a deep breath. . . And waited.

15 Years Earlier

The Laikas Engine was finished. It was the most entirely unprecedented machine of the century. It was able to shift a person across temporal  planes, without shifting their geographical location. Already, a flaming controversy had arisen over the effects of the machine. Some feared that it held too great a power, and that it recklessly tampered with the boundaries of nature. And others felt that the machine would change the world for the better, revolutionizing commerce, as well as industry. Its creator, Eric Salazar, was in the public eye, both a hero, and a thoughtless fool. But at this moment, he was a pedestrian, a walker of the endless, night encumbered city streets, no small detail missed by his piercing green eyes. Dark brown hair framed his flawless face, and a brown bag hung from one shoulder, and across his chest. A pair of neat glasses rested on his long nose. The street ran on, and on before him, an endless row of streetlights shedding conical beams of eerie light upon the sparse passerby. 

Without warning, Eric turned suddenly around a street corner, and passed into a dark alleyway, apprehensive of masses of people who often lurked on large, busy streets, waiting to spring upon a wealthy, well known man and pester him with pointless questions. 

There were few lights in the alleyway, making it suitable for men like him to avoid unwanted attention. He made his way down the thin concrete path, moving quickly around mountains of trash and fallen bricks. The alleyway was long, and its streetlights, all  neglected, some burnt out, and others flickering, cast a phantasmagoria of orange lights that seemed to put forth more shadow than gleam, crafting a wild dance of specters, dark and free against the red brick walls that thrust their rectangular summits high overhead, imposing their forms across the cloudy sky. Large dumpsters alternated positions along the alleyway, an empty wall opposite every bin. As he neared the end of the alley, he was inclined to look behind him, and finding nothing out of the ordinary, he turned away, and completed the journey to the end of the ghostly path. His feet never missed a beat as he turned the corner and down the empty road on the other end. From there he continued his walk home, free of notice.

---

He had a press conference the next morning, and simultaneously looked forward to it, and utterly dreaded it. He woke up, showered, combed his brown hair to the side, brushed his teeth, and fixed his glasses into place. After breakfast, he changed into a nice suit, navy blue, with bronze colored buttons. The suit was elegant, and tailored to his spindly frame, extenuating his height and handsome features. His eyes shone with a bright vivacity that did not usually enter his countenance; it was his moment, the moment when the world would see the capabilities of his machine, and its benefits, and potential. The world would see the possibilities, endless, and beautiful. 

But he knew in his heart that the world would never come to an agreement. There would be people who would support him, and there would be those who loathed him. It was inevitable.

Eric did not often use a car, for many reasons, but there was one in particular that he felt to be the principle idea behind them all. His reason was quite simple. He preferred walking. 

Long ago he had mastered the art of blending in, and knew how to disguise his identity without physically altering his face. He would simply shift his countenance, stride, voice, and often, he would remove his glasses. 

He knew today that he would not be able to hide his identity, considering his suit, and the momentous occasion. But he knew the side-roads and alleyways as well as normal routes, and the more populated parts of the city. The alley he had traversed the night before, however, was a recent addition to his collection of routes that he could use to invariably avoid attention, as well as return home, to reach his destination faster.

Today, the aforementioned alleyway suited his purpose quite nicely, offering to him a straight, quick line, free of obtrusions, to the road leading to his desired location. He had grown fond of the alley, for he had never come across anything, or anyone that would immediately render the path ill to tread, for fear of danger. 

Walking quickly, as he had done the night before, he curved instinctively around large clumps of trash, and other materials, and marched ahead through the dingy surroundings. The brick flanked path now served to comfort him, and hide him from the prying eyes of the press, and civilians who either wanted an autograph, or wanted to throttle him.

A clang sounded nearby, and Eric jumped. A tall man, with dark hair stepped out from behind a dumpster. His face was solemn, and a hint of fear played across his cloudy features. His eyes were a dazzling jade green, and his nose long and slender. He was pale, but not sickly. Slender, but not skeletal. 

But Eric, upon seeing the man, was drawn only to one feature of the stranger’s face. A scar. Black and terrible, it seemed to be an entity, long, and ghastly, that had fixed itself to the man. Eric stood his ground, scrutinizing the man. 

The stranger spoke first, his voice determined, yet trembling. “Eric, I have to do this.”

“Do what?” Eric snapped. The man’s eyes widened, and his voice convulsed. “I have to kill you! Your machine will cause unhindered destruction to the world. It will rip dimensions apart! The very air will become a poisonous gas! I can’t let you go any further. I’m sorry, I truly am.” The stranger reached into a pocket, and pulled out a black gun, his hand on the trigger. Eric was frozen, still in distress over the sudden situation, and before he could regain the will to move, the stranger had aimed the barrel at his face, point-blank, his hands shaking madly. He pulled the trigger.

The man’s frightful shaking affected the blast, and the bullet that rocketed from the gun only made a deep graze on the side of Eric’s head. He toppled over, and through a haze of pain saw the man stagger as well. The stranger dropped the gun to the alley floor, and fell to his knees in what seemed like horror. The stranger lifted his hand up to the scar that ran along the side of his head, and a look that could only have been a revelation overcame his features. 

Unconsciousness took Eric away, and all was dark.

---

Eric woke up in a hospital bed, he was breathing hard. A nurse came into the room a few minutes later, and asked how he was doing. He told her he was doing well, just startled, that was all. It was a hideous lie, but all lies contain a grain of truth.

When she had left, he took the liberty of checking his appearance in a small hand mirror that had been laid on the bedside table for his use. 

What he saw in his reflection seemed to be an apparition directly from his nightmares. On the side of his head ran a long, black, welted scar.

 

Reviews

[avaya]

I really love your use of imagery. Incredibly enticing and beautiful story.

[DomCobbNolan]

Thank you so much!

[GodDemon7]

Nice tone setting language, and nice imagery. I liked the overall somber mood of the piece, it lays a nice backdrop to an otherwise intriguing sci-fi dystopia. Enjoyable and suspenseful.

[DomCobbNolan]

Thank you!