Watchman: The Auction
"What do you miss most about the city, my friend?"
"I miss being famous."
"You fool. You are no one on this island."
"What am I then? A ghost?"
"No. Not yet. That is a skill to be learned."
"You're going to teach me?"
"You are going to learn."
I awoke with a start. The nightmares have been coming back with increasing frequency, and I don't know why. Perhaps my time on Monster Island had taken a greater toll on me than I had previously imagined. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I glanced at the clock on my nightstand: 11:34 AM. Overslept. Great.
After finishing my morning routine, I left my bedroom and walked downstairs to the living area, casually picking up the remote from the table and lazily turning on my flat screen television. I had previously left it on the news channel last night, so that I wouldn't have to do any extra work in finding it later. In all honesty, I was eager to see the aftermath of my little stunt last night, and I knew it would be on the news the next morning.
"... more on that story later. In celebrity news, CrossCorp CEO Gavin Cross was reported drunkenly harassing people at a local nightclub last night. Apparently, he had too much to drink and yelled at staff members to fetch him another glass of alcohol. After about thirty minutes of belligerent shouting and catcalls, one of his associates picked him up from the club and reportedly drove him home. It appears that the celebrity hasn't changed much ever since he was reported missing several years ago ..."
Good. They believe it. As of right now, Gavin Cross is laying in the bed of his penthouse suite, suffering the effects of a bad hangover. He'll be out of commission for the rest of the day, and he'll be expecting no visitors at his doorstep. At around 2:30 PM, his smartphone will receive a voicemail from a high-ranking official on the CrossCorp board of directors, berating him for acting immature and putting all this bad publicity on the company. Cross will call back late at night and apologize, promising that this was just a minor relapse and won't happen again anytime soon. The public thinks he's just a reckless thrillseeker, an amoral playboy that doesn't deserve to run his father's company.
I agree.
"... heroes congregating at SUMMIT as the crime rate begins to rise ..."
Click. The television shut off, quickly bringing about an eerie silence within the loft. As I set the remote on the table, I made my way to the office area; the large exposing windows let in an unnecessary amount of sunlight, quickly reminding me of the consequences of not waking up at six in the morning. Looking to fix my problem, I placed my hand on the concrete wall adjacent to the door leading to the living area; my office turned increasingly dark as the windows became reinforced by rising metal plates from the inside. "Welcome back, Mr. Cross," chirped a metallic voice as the concrete wall opened up to reveal a highly technological elevator that greatly contrasted with its utilitarian surroundings. As I entered, I pressed a key within the elevator and said, "I need to speak with a friend. Bring me down."
"What troubles you, my friend?"
"I can't do it."
"No. You refuse to learn."
"I can't steal back your things from the camp. The cultists will kill me."
"A man can kill a man, but a man cannot kill what does not exist."
"You're not making any sense."
"Go tonight. If you wish to survive, you will become a wraith among men."
"Lights."
The cave brightened. A large metal platform reached across an endless chasm, containing various terminals and tech that littered the ceiling and the walls. To a normal man, this was an old cavern that rested between the sewers and Millennium City itself; to me, this was my domain. I walked across the catwalk and stood in front of a large computer that contained all of my work. This was my own private database and control center from which I monitored the entirety of the city. Unfortunately, I had no time to take pride in my work, and I probably won't ever be able to.
The computer was already on when I entered the cave, so after a few keystrokes I pulled up a private chat room with someone nicknamed "The Messenger." I knew his real name, but in the event of my being compromised in the inevitable future, I didn't want my friend to be targeted, so I referred to him as "M." Conversely, this was the same with him knowing my identity as well, so he referred to me as "W" to be safe.
Exhale. Various shipments have been coming in from different parts of the world: China, Europe, Australia, India, South America, et cetera. Curiously enough, they all carry large supplies of a rather peculiar item: teddy bears. At first glance, this means absolutely nothing; however, further analysis shows that items are being hidden within the bears in order to quietly ship them under the radar. Moreover, it seems that these items are actually individual parts for a weapon, implying that whoever is moving these things intends to make a fortune off of these on the black market. Perhaps this person intends to manufacture the weapons and then sell them to the gangs here in Westside, or he might just use them himself for his own nefarious uses. If I don't act fast enough, there will be a lot of unnecessary bloodshed, and I can't let that happen.
"You return. Did you grab my things?"
"Here."
"Your voice is different. Did something happen?"
"I-- yeah."
"I see. You murdered a man."
"He saw me. I had to do something or the whole camp would have been alerted."
"Good. You finally understand. Come, drink. I must teach you now."
9:45 PM. The hours flew by surprisingly fast. Because of my alter ego's current predicament, it wouldn't make much sense for him to venture out into the city and risk getting swarmed by the public because of his little charade last night, so I instead took the liberty of meditating to pass the time. It was calming, for this was something I had learned from one of my teachers on the island but never once put into practice because of how stubborn I was back then. Now I see the importance of balance and tranquility -- something Gavin Cross never fully understood.
As I finished my meditation, I got up from my knees and walked towards the armory at the end of the catwalk. The armory was not too large, for it didn't have much to store; however, it guarded my tools and provided ease-of-access in case I needed to grab something for an emergency. In my line of work, this was almost always the case.
My hand brushed the surface of one of the tables, showcasing my compound bow and hunting arrows. Archery was an odd skill; I could have easily used guns instead, but there was something satisfying about using the bow for both combat and deception -- something a firearm could not do for me. I needed to be cautious, however. This Gunrunner might give me a run for my money if I'm not on my game tonight. Even if my suit was reinforced with Kevlar and titanium, it wasn't exactly a full suit of armor; it was lightweight and gave me free range of motion, but I could easily be injured if I made a mistake.
Deciding it was time to go, I exchanged my casual attire for my armor and quiver, taking great care to fasten everything and make sure it was all in place. I held the black domino mask in my hands, glancing over its built-in white reflective lenses. It's amazing how this small thing hid my identity so well even though it covered about fifteen percent of my face. Nevertheless, I pressed it over my eyes, giving it a couple of seconds for it to adhere to my skin. The mask contained a non-toxic adhesive on the inside that protected my eyes from fire or electrical shock, but I only needed a small amount to prevent it from falling off. Finished with my preparations, I made my way to one of the many exit hatches nearby and left the cave.
My journey through this hatch led me through a tunnel system that I had previously discovered a long time ago when I first built the cave. While it would have been easier to leave from the penthouse roof, I did not want to be seen for fear of my identity being revealed -- a vigilante constantly leaving and returning to the same spot in a heavily populated area would raise much suspicion within the community. In order to remedy this problem, I use the tunnels to transport me to different areas in Millennium. This particular path took me up through a manhole into an abandoned warehouse in Westside that was close to the docks. Closing the manhole, I quickly exited the building, fired my grappling hook at a nearby ledge, and swung towards the target location.
Landing on a rooftop, I immediately took note of a sniper overlooking the docks; his attention was focused on the freighter that just recently pulled into the harbor. "Sector Three's clear," he muttered into his earpiece, before I immediately pulled him to the ground and slammed my gloved fist into his uncovered face, subsequently rendering him unconscious. Slow reaction time. No awareness of his surroundings. This was just an ordinary gang member equipped with a hi-tech sniper rifle. If I had to guess, the rest of them were probably brutes that could be easily dispatched.
"... gentlemen, we're about to begin ..."
My eyes glanced at the loud earpiece in the incapacitated mook's right ear. Need to find their frequency. Lifting my hand, I pressed a few hidden buttons on my bracer before it projected a small holographic 'map' of radio frequencies emitted nearby. As I quickly pinpointed the one at my location, I transmitted the signal to my own earpiece, intending to listen in on the deal that was about to happen. When I focused my gaze on a large group of men in front of the warehouse, I couldn't find anyone who looked like a competent hitman. The group was comprised of trigger-happy gang members and greedy suited men, presumably black marketeers. One suit looked like he was the one speaking on the comm channel. Attempting to eavesdrop on the auction via the radio, my eyes curiously noticed the hanging shipping container being transported above the group via the crane. Perfect.
"Black Aces, New Purples, and Cobra Lords all here. No reps from the Maniacs or Red Banner? Fine with me. Didn't exactly wanna do business with 'em anyway. Okay, glad to see you all could make it tonight. Shipment just came in with the last of the stock, so we're gonna start bidding now. What you see is what you get." He gestured to a thug behind him holding a highly-modified carbine. "Our boys have been makin' these for the last month or so. If you want a whole container of 'em, we'll start the bidding at twenty-thousand."
The group of criminals became increasingly louder as they shouted their bidding numbers at the man. That was my cue. Five snipers. Two on the ship. Two on different buildings. One on the crane. The noise from the auction will drown out the sounds of my work. Wasting no time, I pulled out and fired two hunting arrows in quick succession at the rooftop marksmen's torsos, immediately silencing them. Next, I jumped from one building to another and repositioned to take care of the ship snipers; my arrows incapacitated them in similar fashion. My gaze turned to the sharpshooter on the crane in front of the warehouse. Time to cause discord. My aim never faltered, and the force of my arrow sent the fool flying off the edge into the crowd of greedy thugs below.
"What the hell?!"
Initial confusion. I wasted no time in firing a second arrow at the cable of the hanging shipping container above the group, severing it completely and causing the large metal thing to fall onto the auction below. The thugs had more than enough time to get out of the way, but my plan wasn't to kill them -- No, I didn't need to, for I had already frightened them with my presence. Panic. Look at them run. What's the matter? Too much trouble to buy death when I'm around? Most of the black marketeers stayed; they wanted to face me.
"Someone's tryin' to crash the auction! Find and kill whoever's doing this!"
The rest of the guards scattered and attempted to hide behind whatever was close to them: shipping containers, vehicles, crates, et cetera. Can't hide from me. A well-placed arrow caused a large truck's fuel tank to explode and send half of the men flying into the bay. Unfortunately, this gave away my position as evidenced by their retaliatory gunfire, so I ditched the rooftop in order to hide within the shadows. "Don't just stand there! Find him!"
From around the corner of a stack of containers, I waited until one of the thugs got close before I startled him. Striking his rifle down with my gauntlet, I got in close and slammed his head against the shipment's metal surface, knocking him out and alerting another guard to my presence. In a fluid motion, I brought out another arrow and fired it at the man's chest right as he rounded the corner. Two down. Three to go.
Quickly scaling the metal containers, I immediately saw one guard below me attempting to investigate the noise disturbance, clearly scared. He had no time to react as I landed on top of him, the force of my boots knocking him out cold. When I had peeked around the corner, I spotted the last two thugs: one of them was the guy heading the auction, the one who spoke on the comm. Reaching into my quiver, I pulled out a trick arrow with a large capsule and metal claw on the end where the arrowhead would be and fired it at the marketeer's left leg; almost immediately, the capsule opened itself on impact to reveal a secondary "turret" that automatically aimed and fired a miniature grappling hook at a nearby streetlight, effectively pulling the man towards the pole and hanging him upside-down for the cops to take care of. One more arrow cleanly took care of the last guard, the impact causing him to fall onto his back.
"What the-- God damn it, someone get me down!"
He saw me walking towards him. He thought I was going to kill him.
Static came from my earpiece, and then suddenly: "Because I knew you'd be here, bud."
Loud noise, probably weapon discharge. A split second later, the flailing auctioneer was silenced by a bullet in his head. What? My body took control and moved me behind cover. The bullet trajectory came from... the ship? Of course. He was waiting for me all along.
Cocky. Another warning shot was fired near my position, so I relocated to another place of cover behind some crates. Can't believe I didn't anticipate this. He set a trap for me.
He fired again, this time the bullet ripped through crate and grazed my right pauldron. His aim is deadly. I need to move. As I rolled behind a shipping container, I attempted to locate my aggressor, looking for anything that resembled a sniper rifle.
Bang. His bullet tore through the metal surface of the container and grazed my torso, causing me to fall down from the pain. How? He must be using infrared to target me through cover.
"Ouch, that looked like it hurt. Poison should start kicking in, I think."
He was right. My vision started to blur, and it became increasingly difficult to try and move my limbs. With all the force in my body, I grabbed a capsule from my utility belt and popped it into my mouth before I immediately blacked out.
"Here, drink."
"What is it?"
"An herb that has saved me countless times on the island."
"It tastes disgusting."
"The cost of evading death, I'm afraid."
"Will it get rid of the toxin?"
"Yes. And it will save your life."
My eyes opened. I'm alive? Looks like you saved me again. I was in complete control of my body once more. An idea popped into my head.
Immediately, I ran back towards the warehouse behind cover, pressing a button on my utility belt and bracing for impact. An explosion erupted in the area I was just in, caused by a primed explosive arrow that I had planted when I first got up. In response, I fired three more at nearby containers, creating a large display of fireworks and smoke.
He quickly grew silent, figuring out exactly what I was doing. I had taken a large gamble in guessing what technology he was using to locate me behind cover, correctly assuming infrared vision. The heat generated from my little stunt had completely hidden me from thermal imaging, not to mention the smoke did similarly in obscuring my body from visible light.
That's not all. Gunrunner had made the mistake of using the same comm channel as his thugs the entire time he was taunting me, so I quickly used my bracer to locate his emitted radio frequency on the ship. There. Bridge.
My legs put me in full sprint towards the cargo ship until I was close enough to fire my grappling hook into the bridge window, launching me up and through the glass which was enough to surprise the hitman.
"God damn. Not bad, slick. Not bad at all."
Malcolm Galloway definitely looked the part of a bounty hunter, wearing a dark brown coat to cover his Kevlar vest and sporting a hi-tech face protector and goggles to hide his identity. Oddly enough, he wore a cowboy hat, implying his origins probably come from down south -- the subtle twang in his voice attested to this.
Wasting no time, I closed the distance between us and knocked the rifle out of his hand, simultaneously elbowing him in the gut. He backed up from the force of my attack before going in for a right hook. Surprisingly, he was quick enough to nail me in the side of my face, drawing a bit of blood.
Right as he came in to jab, I sidestepped to his right and slammed the backside of my fist against his face. Continuing my assault, I grabbed a hold of his head and bashed it against the computer terminal. Finally when he attempted to get up for more, I immediately readied a trick arrow and fired it at his torso, knocking him through the hole of the window and sending him over the side. The arrow revealed to be another grappling claw device that I had previously used on the auctioneer, immediately prepping itself and firing another hook at a nearby railing. As the trick arrow hung him upside-down, the momentum of the fall caused him to crash against the wall of the ship, rendering him unconscious.
I let out a large sigh, watching police cars fill the docks. If the shooting didn't tip them off, the explosions from my arrows most certainly rose suspicion. Need to get out of here. My body was in pain from the event tonight, and I had to get back to the penthouse.
"You have learned much from me."
"You're certainly a generous teacher."
"What else do you need from me?"
"I need a favor."
"Oh? Speak, friend."
"I'm looking for something, and I think you might know something about it."
"Tell me."
My body had recovered slightly when I had finished treating the wounds and wrapping them with bandages back in the cave. The chatroom with M had been pulled up again.
I closed the chatroom, reclining back in my chair. Once again, I cheat death in order to keep this city safe, but sometimes I wonder if it's enough. At some point, I will figure out that I cannot keep doing this alone, that I will die some day if I keep trying to do things my own way. Maybe. But I will always remember my teacher's words: A man cannot kill what does not exist.
While Gavin Cross exists in the spotlight, the Watchman remains a ghost in the city. For all anyone knows, the police dismantled that weapons deal tonight. I don't exist, and I intend to keep it that way.
Sighing, I spotted my silenced phone on my desk and picked it up, noticing one missed call and a voicemail. With a smirk on my face, I dialed the number and kicked my feet up to force myself into character. "Hey, sorry I didn't call back sooner. Listen, about last night..."
