Gabe stood in his garage, standing over a table with some cans of paint and masking tape. An army ranger helmet sat at the end, covered in desert camo cloth to obscure the identification. In front, on painted cardboard, was a ballistic mask painted in full matching camo with hand painted fake blood scattered randomly like a Rorschach test, and black accents to emphasize the punisher skull theme. Justice, whether the law permits it or not. He carefully applied some epoxy around the eye openings and placed in the polycarb safety glasses lenses with an American flag print. He double-checked the printout of the Archangel logo he had in a stack next to a staple gun, and decided it was close enough for the symbolism. Another similarly-built man with a bushy beard and extensive tattoos, hovered near, as he gave it a test fit.

  “How does it look, Dyson?” Gabe asked.

  “Pretty badass. Intimidating, I wouldn’t wanna be a terrorist and fuck with someone wearing that kit. I’ll be honest, I still think the silver cross stood out more on the posters.”

  “Well, the colorless plate didn’t look silver, it looked iron. That’s a bronze cross, not an iron cross. We’re patriots, not fucking Nazi bikers. I don’t want to intimidate the public and cause fear, I want to cause fear in the hearts of the terrorist group that killed my brother. Anyone in that specific group has reason to fear us, because we’re about to rock their world and bleed some motherfuckers. The last thing we need is the public, already scared and some people rooting for a terrorist organization, thinking we’re just another faction fighting for control and causing more terror. The laws aren’t working, nobody is stopping these assholes, we’re doing it ourselves, and when they’re all dead and forgotten, we stand down and end it. That’s the mission, soldier. Strike down the enemy and fade away.” Gabe said.

  “I got you. Maybe we should have just left out the religion entirely. All they need to know is red, white, and blue.” Dyson chimed in.

  “It’s my idea, and I’m catholic. I can’t stand seeing some murderous prick shooting up public places and taking hostages to torture, while misquoting MY bible. We need people to see that the cross is not the enemy; it’s just being used to mock us. They’re mocking God and freedom. There’s an election coming up and people are going to be afraid to vote at all, and maybe that’s the point, I don’t know. But people need to know they can do their duty safely and not get shot up at the polls. Freedom to choose your leaders, even if that’s not what I voted for. We still live in a Democratic America, even if it’s turning to shit every day. That’s why I’m a DuPont Supporter. He’s pro traditional American values, and you don’t think Sage Ember getting abducted, a big supporter and active speaker, was coincidence? She's probably dead already.”

  “So put some DuPont shit on the logo. Get people voting the right way.”

  “It’s not about voting our way, it’s about the vote itself. The right to stand up on stage and speak your mind to people, the right to fair trails and justice when the laws work. Where was the Justice for Caleb? He broke a few laws, he was a kid, he should have done community service or something to pay for some drugs and a stolen car, THAT would be fair. Not targeted and set up for murder, while the fucker who set him up just goes free, the fuckers who shot him down while trying to help others like himself who just made young stupid mistakes. He did nothing to deserve what happened, and those responsible are out there, causing more harm to other kids like him. He may have fucked up a little bit, but he was a good kid, and he got no justice from this incompetent system. That’s the president’s job. What the fuck did Bloomberg do for 4 years? Kiss some liberal ass and push electric cars for kickbacks? What about crime and terrorism, busted laws and crooked cops? Didn’t do shit. It got worse. All flash and show, no action, well DuPont is about action, and so are we. He’s cleaning up the problem, but not fast enough to finish before elections. Maybe another term would be enough time to do something big. Fixing the laws are his job, making sure people are safe enough to vote and don’t get shot for going out to a concert should be the cop’s job, but they’re not doing it. So if the laws don’t work, fuck the laws. Fuck the terrorists, fuck the system, we joined the army to protect the homeland from ANY threat foreign or domestic, and we’re gonna do that if the broken laws say we can or not, for America, for Caleb and for freedom. I won’t lie and say this isn’t personal or about revenge, but it’s also about so much more than that. We’re trained to do this shit, so why aren’t people like us being sent out to take them down right now? Why is this getting buried?”

  “Fuck If I know.” Dyson shrugged

  “Politics. Money and greed and bribery. No matter who’s elected, there’s always opposition and corruption, and someone is bogging down the effort and preventing shit from getting done. You think DuPont doesn’t want action taken when he’s the target? Former ass-kisser Bloomberg is either behind this, or someone with money and power backing him up is. He’s trying to disarm us either way. There’s a reason we have Second Amendment rights and a damn right to vote, to get rid of corruption when the government can’t. To defend your home when someone breaks in before the cops can show up, and to fight domestic terrorism on the homeland, American soil. So you wanna wait around and hope for re-election, hope the terrorists getting funding don’t out-fund the good cops and hope they don’t get dragged down by the weight of the bad ones? Just sit around for a few years, another 4 with nothing getting done or things getting worse if they Elect Bloomberg? Not on my watch. People are gonna vote right because they’re gonna feel safe enough to vote, because I’m gonna post a video holding mister Black’s head and tell people nobody fucks with America and God and freedom, get out there and make a difference. This season of red and black bullshit is about to turn red white and blue, and the only red and black is gonna be Mister black, covered in red, on my table. Fucking get some.” He said pounding the table with his fist and getting a patriotic grunt from his buddy and a very messy fist bump with two cans of American beer in the mix.

  “Hell yea, brother. Just like old times. Home turf, same game. I’ll fight these bitches on sand or green American grass. Semper Fi, or Sua Sponte. You lead the fucking way. HOOAH!” barked Dyson.

  The Whitehouse lawn gleamed like a field of emerald from the bulletproof window, where a tall bearded man in an expensive suit stood, drinking something on the rocks and looking worried. He turned to a set of screens, the left side showing a series of riots and news feeds, on the left, President Boris Sergey Ivanova in Russian uniform.

  “You see the problem, Boris?” he asked, sipping his highball.

  “Don’t worry so much. Everything is fine.”

  “Everything is fucking fine my ass, your granddaughter is on a killing spree in my country and it’s almost election time. The last thing I need is more death threats and people thinking about me and Russia in the same sentence.”

  “William, you have no concern. She appears chaotic, but she is doing her job. There will be President DuPont, the sequel. Your competition, former President Bloomberg, will be taken care of. Elections are nothing more than a show anyway, we have them here too, you know? He won’t survive the debate, and his vice president is even more of a joke than you.”

  “I asked for a rigged election, not an assassination, certainly not a cult following leading to an assassination, making it look like I had him killed.”

  “You didn’t.” President Ivanova shrugged. “I did. Russian operatives did. You don’t make the decisions here. I do. I write your checks, and I know where your family sleeps. We had a deal, the deal is fine. You want more money, I will raise 20 percent.” Boris sighed, almost yawning.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “What good is more money if I’m dead?” I have riots, crime sprees and some cult shit spray-painted on every building in DC. This black and red Terrorist cult is a lot of attention, getting people worried and suspicious.” President DuPont said nervously.

  “You have Secret Service for a reason, hire more. So what if you have riots and crime, this is America. It’s what you do with your guns and your freedom. Nobody even knows who she is, a female figure in black robes obeying a man in a mask quoting the American bible and preaching hellfire. People need to rise up and create sides, because sides fight and divert attention, and attention creates theories, all crazy and nonsense. A terrorist group on your side is what you need right now. Look how well it worked for other American presidents. A handful of dead celebrities endorsing you and a handful of dead celebrities endorsing Bloomberg only looks like radical infighting.”

  “Why Sage Ember? I liked her. People liked her, and she talked me up.”

  “Exactly. She is a replaceable celebrity face, and your terrible acting looked genuine when you found out she was dead on live TV. You can’t act very well, people know that. So that genuine confusion and shock that your own supporter was killed made you the victim, not an accomplice. Half the death threats you received were from people I hired, and next week while addressing the terrorist attacks, shots will be fired at you on stage, blanks of course, a few live rounds into the crowd for effect. Then, when the debate comes, my best man will kill former President Bloomberg and you have your re-election. I can even have your security team bring down the shooter, a plant of course, and after rigged elections are ended, you will make a speech about how outraged you are that Terrorism in America has robbed you of your fair and elected win, and of course you will accept it reluctantly and promise to bring down both groups taking the law into their hands. We have plenty of people willing to die for either side who don’t know it yet. Imagine the news. The Terrorists have been taken down by President DuPont’s team. We both win.”

  “And I owe you a lot of favors, and there are a lot of Russian agents in my country to remind me of that.” President DuPont said nervously.

  “You already have that problem. You’ve been paid well for that problem. You will be paid more when it becomes a larger problem. Relax, William. Smarter people than you have this arranged already. You shiver like the war is going to be a real one. Presidents don’t fight wars anyway. They only profit from them. The economy booms, the jobs rise, war is good business, even fake ones. Patriotism will surge, and you will be the face of it. The only terrifying part of war is knowing your enemy could win. We already agreed who wins, and at what cost. A staged war makes as much money as a real one, but you get to sleep at night knowing when it is done, we will negotiate peace, and you will be praised for strength against me, and none of us ever even have our hand on the launch codes, so there is no real danger.” Boris calmly reminded.

  “Lot of American soldiers and Russian soldiers will die anyway. Civilians and rioting casualties. How many have to die to make it look real?”

  “That’s not your problem. Your family is safe, your bank account is safe, and it is enough when it seems enough. Cheer up, Mister President. You get to rule twice, you make powerful friends. Remember, Presidents that end wars are loved as heroes. It more than makes up for your…public mishaps and sketchy past accusations. You should be thanking me. I may be a warlord like you, but at least I like my whores old enough to drive. People forget things like that when war is happening, and when you, bravely, make the great and powerful Boris Ivanova agree to a draw, well they will build statues to you. Ones that you did not have to pay for yourself and deny. And of course, if I were to find myself with advanced American drones we shot down and reverse engineered during a brief conflict, then it doesn’t look like you sold them during a time of peace. Everyone wins this game, Willaim, except Bloomberg and a few people none of us care about. Legacy is everything. Image is everything. A tyrant showing mercy and restraint because too many good Russians have died, is as beneficial to me as America’s strong hand leader showing he will not back down from a fight. Stop acting like you feel guilty.” Boris scoffed.

  “And you’re willing to risk your own granddaughter for this? I’m willing to let people die for my family’s strength, but you really just let Nadja dodge bullets and probably get killed in this?” he asked skeptically.

  “It’s adorable that you think the rumors are true. I have no granddaughter anymore.” He chuckled. “That monster I summoned is no blood of mine. I wouldn’t care if she died, even if I believed anyone could kill that thing. You see how easy rumors are to spread and confuse, even to your allies?” Boris grinned.

  “Then what is she to you?” president DuPont asked. Boris smiled distantly, looking into the void of the room and not the camera, as if thinking on that very question himself, a glint of fear in his eyes.

  “You say in your country, something is the lesser of two evils one must choose…whatever you chose instead of her is always the lesser evil. It doesn’t matter what else you compare her to. We all pay a price for power, and we all answer to someone for it. You would be best not to worry about anything above your…paygrade.” He said, looking oddly distant and hanging up.

  “What the fuck did you turn loose in my country, you son of a bitch?” DuPont asked, feeling chills at the notion, and washing it down to focus on the show, and his own presentations.

  A single candle in the dark wavered, as Nadja sat legs-crossed and eyes shut, hands to her side, palms open as she recited something incoherent. Her heavily tattooed skin, and shoulder scar visible in her naked state, sitting on the wooden floor. 2 pistols rested in front of her at 45 degree angles and between them and her, a wooden bowl of something dark. She dipped her fingers in the bowl, pulling them out red and wet, combing through her hair and taking in a long deep breath. She exhaled, reaching the end of her oxygen, and with mechanical precision she grabbed one of the guns and dry-loaded an empty magazine, cocking and double-clicking the trigger, repeating it and swapping to another empty magazine, eyes still closed and still whispering wordless phrases. She placed the gun down and took another breath, repeating it with the other gun exactly the same way left-handed, as if trying to shave off milliseconds or get to a specific aiming point without looking. She cycled the same movements and alternated for several minutes before finally opening her eyes, as the candle went out.

  “Michael.” She whispered almost silently in the dark. “Another angel rises.”

  Mike sat silently in bed, across the cabin and separated by several rooms. He heard the call and knew what to do. A dead stare burned in his eyes, reaching for a bottle next to the bed, cap already removed and partially empty. He leaned forward, grabbing the Army Ranger M4 in his lap, field stripping it and checking the parts for any dirt or debris, re-assembling it and loading the magazine as he walked to the window and peered through the scope, at something in the yard, no glow or lack of it. He placed his finger on the trigger and pulled it halfway before realizing the figure standing in the water was himself. He glanced down at his arm, skin darker than his, and he felt the cold weight of a watch on his wrist he never wore before. He peered back at himself in the yard, the rising scope, the other Mike shouldering his MPX as the 2 scopes met and aligned with a flash.

  He sat up in bed, checking his wrist and surroundings. Just a dream. The word “Michael” still whispering in his ear. The ruffling sound of Nadja in the bed beside him rolling over to pull him back down to a laying position.

  “You summoned?” he asked dryly.

  “What a good listener you are. Did you see him again?” she asked.

  “No, but he saw me. He’s fast on the trigger. Maybe as fast as I am. That’s the second time I’ve had that dream. Is that you warning me, or just my paranoid mind creating nonsense from your hints?”

  “mmm, who would know?” she moaned. “Does he frighten you? The man with the watch and the M4?”

  “No. I still got the shot off both times. I’ve killed him twice already, I’ll kill him a third time. The only thing that still truly frightens me, is you.” He admitted.

  “Good.” She whispered.

  “Tell me. What did Yuri get for his soul?” Mike asked.

  “Nothing yet. He disappointed me. He’s correcting mistakes, and if he is a good boy and obeys when I ask, he will get his passports and his immunity.” She shrugged.

  “Do you really honor your deals, or are they just lies to control us? You’re gonna kill him when he’s done, when you’re done with him. He knows things about you, you’re not going to just let him go, are you?” Mike asked.

  “Michael, my word is absolute, and it is the only guarantee I make. Deal is deal. If he breaks it, I break him. If you run, I will hunt Tanner. If you obey me, she will be safe from me. And as long as you stay by my side, she will never be harmed. Yuri’s loved ones are just as safe as long as he obeys the deal as well. You will never fully trust me, so I will never fully trust you. You do this to yourself, over-thinking, worry about nothing when you are safer than anyone.” She said, rolling over on top of him and swinging her hand abruptly, Mike’s hand catching the incoming knife to the throat and turning her wrist to point it back. “See? Mister Black won’t let anything hurt you, either. Slaying angels in your sleep and devils in your bed. How quick you are without that soul slowing you down anymore.” she whispered darkly.