Phantoms and Devils

"Did you make sure Luke's drugged brain will remind him that he's supposed to show up or will we have to make a special appearance over at his pathetic apartment?" A silhouette of a man spoke from the darkest corner of the room, a light-hearted tone lacing his melodious deep voice. His voice was soothing in a disturbing way, like a madman's lullaby. You could hear the danger in the graceful way he spoke, the way he demanded respect.

Damien lounged on his desk, using it as his own personal couch, as he stared up at the office ceiling. His fingers were interlocked as he laid his hands out on his stomach, a smirk flickering over his shadowed features.

"How did you know Luke was high, Jericho?" He asked sarcastically.

"There has never been one time I've seen that damned clown sober and I hope I will never see the day, Damien," Jericho replied as he propped his shoes up onto the edge of his desk while he lounged back in his rolling leather chair. It seemed as though the sarcasm flew right over his head. But he made himself comfortable and posed as Damien did, interlocking his fingers and laying his hands out on his stomach in a casual fashion. His unusual vivid green eyes stared coolly up at the ceiling, illuminated by the only light in the room, which shone in from the old-fashioned blinds that remained cracked. Always.

"Why?" Damien's own dark green eyes flickered over to Jericho's face. The man who was his boss, but the closest thing to a best friend that he had. Anybody else who dared lay upon Jericho's desk in such a careless fashion either had their head plowed off by the .44 Magnum he kept in his drawer or pushed violently off the surface. It depended on how much he liked or respected the trespasser.

"Don't be ignorant, my friend," Jericho didn't move a muscle as he spoke, though his eyes seemed to darken a shade or two, "That boy is dangerous. Perhaps even more dangerous than the two of us combined. If he weren't on our side, do you think we would have lasted as long as we have? All these years?"

Damien's eyebrow furrowed at the thought of Luke surpassing Jericho, as well as himself, in importance and skill. But, as he followed the thoughts, he knew that Jericho was correct. Luke had saved the reputation of the Shades more times than he could count. If it weren't for that psychopath, they would be long gone by now. Another gang would have taken their place as the most lethal organization in the world, stolen their territory, and murdered their members.

"Yeah, Boss, you're f****n' right."

"Of course I am, Damien."

There was a moment of silence.

"I suppose all that's left to do is wait." His voice purposefully dragged out the words as he tapped his left hand with his right pointer finger languidly. His green irises flicked over to the clock that Damien was using as a pillow, taking in the red numbers glaring back at him. It was 2:30 PM. They had half an hour left to wait until they made their first move in this high-stakes gambling game. The one they played every day.

- - -

HONK.

There was that unmistakable, attention-catching sound that told of Luke's imminent approach. The two guards standing at the graffiti-ridden door of the factory exchanged glances before they both turned their heads to search for him in the shadows. But he was already there, a phantom that had manifested itself in the quick second the guards took to look away.

"Gettin' your motherfuckin' guard on, brothers?" Luke asked them in a voice that sent chills down their spines, as if his sudden appearance and the way he looked didn't have that effect already. This time, Luke had his hood pulled over his head and his clown make-up applied the way he liked it. His mouth was set in a straight line, while the black paint smiled for him. His hands were stuffed in his pockets as he hunched over slightly, his inky curls obscuring chemically hazy eyes.

"Y-yes, sir," The guard on the right, the one who appeared dominant, managed a reply, "Jericho has been waiting for you, um... s-sir."

This time, Luke's tight-lipped expression broke out into a mischievous grin. He began moving toward the two guards in a slow, deliberate way. As if he had all the time in the world. The two guards became rigid as they stood their ground, their muscles coiling underneath the film of sweat that appeared on their skin. As Luke neared them, he turned his head toward the guard on the right, who fell silent underneath the dead eyes he couldn't see.

"There's no need to all act like you're damn scared," Luke's dark voice held a sort of impishly playful tone to it, as if it were laced with promises of the guard's inevitable sadistic death. Luke's chilling grin grew slowly as he watched the guard's attempts to contain the fear radiating off him in waves. It was like some sort of sick and terrible fascination with their terror.

Luke's hand shot out from his jacket pocket with a shiny silver horn and, before the guard had a chance to realize what was going on, he HONKed it in his face. The man could have jumped straight out of his skin, more than likely pissing himself, as Luke headed inside with a dry cackle. The door slammed shut behind him, he shoved his horn back into his pocket and began heading for the office on the other side of the building.

The whole building is used as a sort of laboratory, the reason why everybody calls it "the factory" in conversation. A number of drugs are made here from the hands of experienced chemists. You name the drug, it's being made within these walls at this very moment. All except Tetrasil, the most illegal substance in the world.

As always, Luke gets paid in drugs since that's what he going to spend the money on the moment he gets the chance anyway. Every time he comes in to see Jericho or Damien, he gets a sample of the latest batch. Only a sample, enough to draw him in and have him work himself to the bone for more.

The building is made up of an intricate series of hallways and rooms. Each hallway has a sign above it that displays the name of the drug that is the scientist's main focus in that wing. The hallway is lined with doors that have similar signs on them, displaying the room's function.

Every hallway has the same types of laboratories. There are the studies, which are focused around learning more about the drug in question and ways they could enhance said drug. There are the sampling rooms, where highly paid "lab rats" sample the newest batch. The scientists explained once to Luke that it's because, if the chemist were to make a mistake and somehow ended up with a defective batch, the "lab rats" would consume the lethal substance before somebody of importance did. They thought of everything here, something Luke admired. But that wasn't all the factory had to offer.

There was the main room, which was the room entered first upon arrival. It was where the gang members hung out and bullshitted with one another when they weren't completing a job or attending to personal matters. There was a polished high-class bar to the right, where a bartender was busily scrubbing away at glasses from the other night. It was a woman that Luke flirted with often, though it was innocent play and he meant nothing by it. She seemed to take it to heart, though, because when she noticed him walk in, she waved sheepishly and a blush lit up her face.

Luke sent a sly smile her way as he scanned the rest of the main room. Parallel to the bar was a large fully-stocked fridge containing various alcohols and a snack machine that you didn't have to put three dollars in just to get some damn pretzels. All you had to do was press a few buttons and you got the snack you wanted. Miracles, if you asked Luke. Between the bar and the two machines were a couple of mahogany round tables, where a few of the gang members sat. Their eyes were fixed on the flat screen TV that hung from the wall between two short hallways marked "ADMIN" and "BATHROOM".

Luke sauntered over to the one of the left marked "ADMIN" and, as he passed his “family”, they threw slurred greetings his way. He removed the horn from his jacket pocket and HONKed at them as he strolled away, his own personal greeting. It left them howling with laughter and slamming their hands down on the tables. Luke smirked to himself as he approached the door on the left, the one single door in the hallway. He honked his horn once as a warning of his entrance as he wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and let himself in.

HONK.

Jericho's eyes snapped up to meet Luke's, which were suddenly mere inches away from his own. He found himself staring into the deep pools of empty blue that seemed as if they stared not only at his bodily form, but his most basic form as well. His soul. There was not a single man in the world who could make Jericho's skin crawl... But Luke was no ordinary man.

"Ah, Luke," he cleared his throat as he stared straight into Luke's eyes, never missing a beat, "I wasn't expecting you to show up on time."

"Oh?" Luke's voice was inquisitive, though his eyes remained the same. Dazed, uninterested, expressionless. He wasn't genuinely intrigued nor did it ever seem as if he were. But his straight face broke into a smile. A cold, mirthless smile. "Why the motherfuck not?"

"Insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, but expecting different results," Jericho replied in a smooth tone, a smile beginning to creep up onto his own lips. "A quote from Einstein... and you, my friend... well, I don't think you're all there."

Luke exploded into a fit of laughter as he bent over holding his stomach and broke eye contact with Jericho, who stepped away to create distance with a silent sigh of relief. It was short-lived, though, since Luke's icy irises snapped back up and connected with Jericho's own. The psychopath stood up as straight as his spine would let him, slowly. All mirth drained from his face, every hint that had indicated he had been amused.

"I don't think you heard yourself, you uppity f**k," his tone was light and airy as he regarded his boss, perhaps in an almost joking voice as he continued, "Wouldn't that all and make... you the lunatic?"

The smile dropped off of Jericho's face faster than he could snap his fingers, but Luke's seemed to grow. He knew it was impossible to guess if he would be on time or, if he were late, how late he would be. When you expected him to show up later on, he was on time, and vice versa.

The tension between them was diffused immediately when a mocking laugh echoed around the room and a pair of hands clasped together multiple times in a sort of sarcastic clap. Luke turned his head slightly toward the sound, his inky curls falling over his eyes once again.

"Well isn't that a f****n' surprise?" Damien's gravelly voice entered the heavy atmosphere as he forced himself up from the red velvet chair that was sitting in the corner of the room. Luke noticed him when he walked in, but he'd been forgotten as soon as Jericho mentioned the quote. He began strolling toward the two in a casual fashion, his hands still clasped together, "You haven't rotted your brains out to the point where you become incapable of a cheeky reply! Congratu-f****n'-lations."

A sneer of disdain twisted Luke's expression as he glared at the man from underneath his onyx curls. Methods of the most torturous death he could perform at this very moment flashed before his eyes, creating an itch in the back of his mind. An itch that needed to be scratched. His fingers twitched as he imagined them around Damien's throat, as he imagined his lips turning blue. Gasping for air, gasping out for help from a man who stood frozen in horror not but a few feet away.

Do it. Dibbuk's voice hissed in Luke's head. His fingers clenched as he fought the urge, his knuckles turning white. His lips curled over his teeth and caused them to gleam in the dim light of the office. Do it, you coward... DO IT.

Luke's eyes seemed to burn a hole into Damien's very soul, the glare was so full of barbaric bloodlust. When Damien saw Luke's expression, his fingers curling into fists and his lip twitching sporadically in a malicious sneer, he paled. Swayed back a bit. His heart was beating rapidly, it felt as if it would rip its way through his chest. Yet he glared back at Luke, his odd eyes challenging Luke's icy cerulean death glare. That's the only way Damien could explain it. He knew that his own murder was taking over Luke's mind, fueling some kind of animalistic urge to slaughter. Jericho stiffened and he waited for Luke to attack Damien, he held his breath.

No. Luke couldn't kill him. If he murdered Damien, he would be turned on by the Shades. It wasn't the fact that he'd be forced to rise up against an extensive number of his “family” than ran through his mind, it was the fact that he wouldn't be able to get his next high. His fix.

The two watched as Luke uncurled his fists, slowly, and the bloodlust in his eyes faded. He tilted his head into an angle where his eyes were no longer glaring at the man through his unruly fringes... and a grin grew on his face until it appeared as if he were grinning from ear-to-ear, accentuated by the black paint.

Luke began to laugh, throwing his head back in an insane cackle. The sound of it sent chills down the men's spines, there was something wrong about it. It sounded as if there were two people, laughing the same laugh, in sync. But the one who was not Luke sounded sinister. It was dripping with malicious, devious intent and caused their being's to be strangled by horror.

Jericho felt his throat tighten as he watched Luke until his laughter faded into a chilling chuckle. His eyes connected with Damien's once again, his smile still stretching across his face.

"You're all kinds of motherfuckin' hilarious, brother," Luke snickered as he stared into Damien's eyes. Damien's stiffened frame relaxed and he ran a hand through his slicked back, brown hair. He cleared his throat as he met Luke's now droopy-lidded, passive gaze.

"Well I'm glad I can f*****g amuse you, assclown," Damien fought to keep his voice level. He was shaking and he was fighting back hyperventilation. There was a new fear that had surfaced in Damien's mind. He knew, always, that Luke was a psychopath... that he was dangerous in a way nobody else was, but never to this extent. Plus, that laugh. That laugh that sounded in sync with Luke's but... wrong.

Luke smelled Damien's fear, heard his thoughts. A knowing, dangerous sparkle entered his irises as he continued to stare at Damien. Damien, back at him. Then, Jericho cleared his throat, demanding attention.

The man had regained his composure. "Luke, I think that's enough. Their headquarters is located across the country in the abandoned districts, East of here. I think you know where to go and, of course, we will take care of the tickets for all transportation. I expect you will pursue aerial travel."

"Abandoned?" Luke turned his gaze to Jericho, as if he forgot Damien completely. His mind slipped from him momentarily and it caused his expression to glaze over in his daze.

"Yes." Jericho replied as he leaned up against the edge of his desk. His green eyes met Luke's piercing empty stare, his coiled muscles relaxing only slightly. "After the earthquake that devasted the east coast and the living were made to evacuate, they cleaned up the place and set up their headquarters in a mental hospital. I want you to go there and learn their secrets. We talked about this last night, if you remember."

"You got it, Boss."

"Get your a*s moving, Luke." Damien growled, though still unsettled.

Luke cast another glare at Damien, before he turned his eyes maliciously to Jericho. "What about my motherfuckin' payment?"

Jericho jumped slightly as if he were terrified that he'd forgotten, slid over, and opened the drawer to his desk across the surface. He reached in and grabbed a small bag which contained a crystalline, white substance. He stared down at the bag in his hand for a moment before he held it out to Luke.

"The same amount as always, though I did only eye it. You'll get more when you find out more."

Luke snatched it from Jericho and gave a deranged smile at the bag in his hands. The sight of it excited him, his brain longing for his next high. Slowly, his fingers curled around it and he looked up at the two of them.

"Consider it up and done, all but set in stone, my brothers."

Then, in the millisecond it took for them both to blink, he was gone. They tore their eyes from the spot where he had been standing to lock gazes. Jericho smiled smugly at his friend and ran a hand through his own obsidian locks.

"I could've sworn that I just told you not thirty minutes ago, Damien… He's dangerous… and you need to watch your damned mouth before you're killed... you, or Avery."

"F**k that. I'll make damn sure that shithead NEVER touches her." Damien spat before he turned away and he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Jericho merely watched him go and, once he was gone, fell back into his chair with a heavy sigh in an ostentatious show of exhaustion.

"Watch what you say before you learn why you shouldn't underestimate that psycho." The man whispered as he stared off into nothing, his hand absently lifted up his shirt. His fingers delicately stroked a long scar that stretched across his stomach. As though he had been gutted. It was a jagged scar that looked as though someone had sloppily stitched the wound together, a scar time couldn't heal.

Meanwhile, Luke exited the building. He did not cast a single glance at the guards that stood there as silent, stony guardians. The bag was clutched tightly in his hand as he slipped away, but he didn't get far into the tangles of alleyways before he felt Dibbuk's claws dig into his shoulder. He was stopped abruptly in stride, his face convulsing in unexpected pain as his eyes snapped to Dibbuk's face lingering over his other shoulder.

"I thought we decided you'd heed my commands, Lukey," He whispered in a devilish tone, the sound causing goose bumps to appear on Luke's skin. "Do you want to disappoint your dear old best friend?"

Luke shuddered and rolled the shoulder in which Dibbuk's claws dug. The demon didn't budge, only further clenching his fingers around the human's body cruelly. "Come on, best friend, you know I couldn't murder that blasphemer, speaking wicked heresies and s**t. They have the drugs and I can't all have the brothers up on my a*s."

Dibbuk's expression, a moment ago filled with a black rage, became an impishly mischievous grin. The demon's clawed fingers loosened from Luke's shoulder as he transferred his energy into the empty atmosphere in front of Luke. It appeared as though he had teleported, at least to a human's deceptable eyes.

"Excellent! Excellent! My dear Luke, you're still as sharp as a razor!" He cackled, bringing his hands together to grip each other in a delighted expression. "I was only testing to see if you were ready for the beginning of our game! Now, I believe you have a date with Blackbloods! I'd tell you to be a gentleman and bring flowers, but it seems..."

The air around Luke seemed to darken and grow heavier. Dibbuk fought to control himself, his chilling laughter dancing in the air.

"Hehehe... They're going to be pushin' up daisies, aren't they, dear boy?" Dibbuk disappeared, then, as if he had never been there in the first place. His presence was gone. Luke twisted his head and a sickly crack echoed around him in the alleyway. An excited smile crawled across his face, his droopy-lidded eyes taking on a faraway look.

"They'll never guess what's f****n' comin'."