The Phantom Service: Monochrome Monday

By Scott Stacher

Imagine Copper-clad warships with insect shapes soaring unseen through contemporary skies, their gears and steam-powered engines propelling them into battles against equally unseen mythical creatures, sin-infected shrouds, and other Aethereal Phantoms.
Monochrome Monday is the first stitch in a massive tapestry of intrigue, betrayal, and heroism within unseen corners of reality, where the veil between the mortal realm and the Aethereal overlap. An adjacent enigmatic plane of existence where a secret war is fought to protect humanity from themselves. A warzone where the laws of physics are different and ancient myths materialize as tangible threats, unreal horrors that defend, support, or deliver phantoms, shrouds, and entanglements that surreptitiously infect humans, twisting and warping their perceptions of reality.
In and out of the Aetheric Plane, The Phantom Service stands as humanity’s clandestine shield against an unseen malevolent enemy in an intricate dance between modern times and the elegance of Victorian-era technology. Begin your journey into this unseen world that bridges our reality with the macabre and pits hope against hopelessness with the crew of ‘The Dragon Lady.’ A cold-steam-powered prototype warship long thought lost to the annals of time, resurrected by a mysterious Captain to breach the veil between realities and end a war that has raged since the dawn of humanity.
Six years ago, a terrorist bombing and a small plane crash started a chain of events that will unravel a conspiracy intended to bring an end to The Phantom Service. Will the ‘The Dragon Lady’ and her crew overcome the hurdles within and beyond the Aetheric Plane, or will they succumb to the machinations of those who seek its demise? Find out within the pages of this gripping series where steampunk innovation meets timeless courage and where the fate of humanity hangs in the balance between the distant past and the world’s end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cypris Media
• Release date: Jan 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215749586

Scott Stacher

Scott is a seasoned project management professional and covert wordsmith with thirty-five years of industry expertise spanning aerospace, passenger rail, utilities, and more. Outside the conference room, Scott dons the cloak of a ghostwriter, anonymously crafting tales that traverse the realms of sci-fi. A master of the written word, Scott recently moved from fiction to non-fiction, publishing a series of Information Technology titles under their own name for the first time.In the literary shadows, Scott weaves narratives with a hint of mystery and humor, offering readers a glimpse into the unknown. In the business world, Scott navigates the complexities of worldwide systems deployments. With experience across several industries and multiple literary works under various pen names, Scott is a unique blend of experience, expertise, and literary finesse, tackling conventional business challenges in the office while exploring fantasy worlds full of adventure and mysteries within your imagination.

Book preview

The Phantom Service

Monochrome Monday

By

Scott Stacher

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof. No part of this literary work may be used or reproduced without written permission.

Portions of the cover art have been derived from works in the public domain or copyright-free works.

Copyright Cypris Media LCC 2024

ISBNs:

9781095206829, 9798215749586, 9798759194675

ASINs:

B07NMB6SXW, B09KN2QCLF

For the wonderful woman who encouraged me to pursue my dream

-----------------

WARNING

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THIS SERIES CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT, SUPERNATURAL THEMES, WAR THEMES, VIOLENT INCIDENTS, DEPICTIONS OF HUMAN SEXUALITY, AND NUDITY

Dragon’s Eye

US Marine Corps Reserve Center - Austin

Jun 13, 2014

Baby-faced Naval Ensign Clint Murphy sat and waited in the perspiring, humid Texas air, covering his ears as a passenger airliner roared into the sky, rising above the three-block-long hangar blocking his view of the airport.

A segment of the green horizon held up a bright, light blue, puffy cloud-filled sky beyond the south end of Austin Bergstrom International Airport’s runway, offering his only view of the outside world.

One slowly meandering cotton ball briefly interrupted the sun’s morning warmth as Clint waited in his dress-whites on a concrete bench outside the turquoise-tinted United States Marine Corps Reserve Center.

Clint slowly inhaled, savoring the ambient warmth around his body when the morning sun chased away the shading cloud, quickly restoring the ambient temperature around Clint to a bone-warming 26 degrees Celsius. Looking up instinctively, Clint covered his ears again when he heard the unmistakable thumping of an approaching helicopter.

Twisting to look up over the three-story, mostly glass aquamarine structure behind him as a CH-53 Sea Stallion galloped over the top of the building before slowing its approach on the other side of the hangar, blocking his view of the landing tarmac.

Standing up, Clint re-entered the building. He followed a path he knew well to one of the building's side entrances. His timing was near perfect, arriving as a Humvee stopped in the striped walkway between two empty reserved parking spaces.

Approaching the vehicle as it came to a complete stop, Clint opened the rear passenger side door, proclaiming, Morning, I’m Ensign Clint Murphy.

Ensign Sora Hayata, a handsome Japanese man, also wearing dress whites, replied before twisting and sliding out of the oversized vehicle. When his feet touched the ground, he saluted, almost shouting, Reporting for duty.

The babyfaced Ensign Murphy leaned into the Humvee, looking for the Ensign’s seabag; not finding one, he tilted his head forward, declaring, Thanks, guys, then backed out, closing the door.

Returning Ensign Hayata’s salute, as the Humvee drove away, Ensign Murphy declared, Welcome to Phantom Service South Central.

Lowering his hand and offering it to Sora, Clint’s head motioned toward the departing Humvee, asking, Where’s your stuff? while they shook hands.

Still on the Helicopter, Sora replied, Those over-eager Marines rushed me off and into their Humvee before I could grab it.

I’ll make sure your stuff gets stowed in our cabin, Clint replied, You’ll be bunking with me for now, as he gently turned Sora, aiming him at the nondescript side entrance to the Marine Center.

Walking the short distance and up the three steps to a gray door, Clint explained, I’m the Executive Officer of the Dragon’s Eye. It’s a little busier than normal today; it seems all the Central Texas Marine Reservists picked this weekend to meet their service requirements.

Clint opened the thick fire-rated door and allowed Sora to enter first. A long, silent walk down a wide hallway ended before reaching a guarded reception desk. Clint saluted the posted guard, then motioned for Sora to follow him down a narrow side hallway.

Whispering loud enough for Sora to hear him, Clint explained, The Marines and supporting personnel here are under the command of the 23rd Marine Regiment and the 4th Marine Division. The base’s commanding officer and staff know a covert operations group operates underneath this building, just not how far below. Our official cover story is that we are part of a covert Defense Security Service anti-terrorism task force on special assignment to the United Nations Security Council.

Understood, the formal Ensign nodded.

Clint turned another corner at the end of the hallway, stopping in front of Sora as he entered an access code into another unmarked door’s mechanical lock. Clint held the door open as Sora stepped inside a cramped elevator lobby.

Clint closed the door behind him as a set of elevator doors opened. We don’t use card keys or conventional physical security beyond this point. Operations manage access from this point forward, he said as he pointed toward a camera mounted to the ceiling.

It was the same way at Bayview, Sora replied, following Clint into the empty elevator.

That’s right, Clint nodded, You’re coming from Bayview. I trained in San Diego. How was your flight?

Long, Sora replied succinctly.

Are you alive or dead? Clint asked.

Alive, Sora nodded.

Family? Clint inquired in response.

Married with a little girl on the way, Sora’s stern appearance finally broke into a slight smile.

I’ll see what I can do to make sure you can spend as much time with them as possible, Clint offered as the doors opened, But I can’t guarantee anything. Some of our recon assignments are a month long.

My wife understands, Sora replied just before the elevator stopped.

The clingy, humid Texas air that accompanied the two men in the elevator flowed up and away when the doors opened, replaced by a ground-hugging chilled but not quite cold damp-smelling wave that crawled up their dress-whites pant legs.

Sora followed Clint into the nondescript, beige, human-made rounded tunnel.

We’ll find someone to give you the grand tour later, Clint offered as they walked side-by-side, Our Captain is Commander Mankato Smith; he prefers Mani when we’re not around the brass. He came out of retirement last year, and I’ve been his XO on the Eye ever since. He’s also the Dragon Master for South Central, so we get all the fun missions.

Sora nodded as he followed Clint until the other Ensign stopped before a pair of closed double doors, The Dragon Rider’s briefing is in here. We’ll sneak in quietly, watch from the back of the room, and listen in, Clint directed, holding his hand on the door’s silver handle, If you have any questions, I’ll answer them after the briefing is over, or on our way to the Dragon’s Eye.

Sora silently nodded his understanding before Clint gently opened the door. Sora stepped inside the conference room ahead of a quick and quiet Clint.

Several long, narrow tables in a U-shaped pattern filled the conference room. The outer perimeter seats filled by dark uniformed officers, lower-ranking officers, and the non-coms rested their backs on three of the room’s wood-paneled walls.

At the front center of the room, a long, dark-haired, gruesome-faced man continued barking while nodding toward Ensign Murphy when he and Sora entered.

…on to the southwest region. Operations predict a high-risk overlap over the Phoenix area starting around zero nine hundred local times. The overlap will exist for eight to twelve hours, with few water-bearing formations other than high spotty clouds. These are perfect conditions for simultaneous Phantom incursions, the stern, brown-skinned, long, black-mustached man directed.

Pausing to review the tablet in his hand, he read from it, The wind should be slow, under 15 KPH, so keep an eye out for any fast-moving cloud formations as they are most likely phantoms in a pre-emergent state; you are free to engage if you happen to be in range.

Commander Smith moved to one side, and a projected map appeared behind where he was previously standing. The Phoenix area map faded, except for three highlighted circled areas. The airship Excalibur out of San Deigo is almost on station; her Wasps should launch soon to establish a High-Cap."

Stepping into the projected light, the man ordered, Let them deal with the emerging formations. Keep your Dragonflies close to the ground and take on what gets past the upper-level defenses. Stepping out of the light, Commander Smith gruffly declared, There are three possible hot spots, and I want a wolf pack of Dragonflies over each for the duration of this overlap.

Stepping in front of the screen again, he pointed at downtown Phoenix and explained, There is a political protest planned around City Hall today. Dragon’s Keep, you, and your wolf pack will patrol here. I’ve asked the Marines to assign a Scarab to your group to help if things go to ground.

Moving to point at another location west of the city, he declared, A white supremacist group calling themselves the White Hand of God has been advertising a recruitment rally on social media. It’s somewhere in the White Tank Mountain Regional Park. The Marines sent in a recon force late yesterday to find them. They should have this covered between their Scarabs and the Marine ground forces. However, you and your crews need to watch for friendly fire in this area; the Scarab King told me last week that they had upgraded their cannons, and their range has increased significantly. Stay clear of these hills, but be ready to come to the rescue if the Marines need backup.

Moving his hand directly south of the previously highlighted location, the Commander proclaimed, There will be a memorial service and plaque dedication at an entertainment venue in this area for those that died in a lone wolf massacre last year. The Dragon’s Eye will lead the group covering this area.

Clint nudged Sora, whispering, Looks like you’ll see some action your first day. I’ve never known Mani to be wrong about where Phantoms will pop-up.

The meeting ended as most conferences do, with everyone slowly exiting the double doors, taking their hushed conversations with them. Clint and Sora stayed behind, allowing Clint to introduce Sora to selected individuals as they exited the briefing room.

Sora’s shifted to an attention stance when the briefing presenter approached the two men. Is this my new right chair? the intense-eyed, facial-pitted Commander Smith demanded, forcing his hand toward Sora.

Sora’s hand briefly bounced between a salute and a handshake before accepting the Commander’s firm grip, declaring, Ensign Sora Hayata reporting for duty.

He’s another suppressor like you, Commander Smith muttered at Clint, Isn’t he?

Releasing Sora’s hand, Commander Smith faced Clint, growling, I’ve got a meeting with the base Commandant. Have the Dragon Glass and the Dragon Stone launch when ready; we’ll join them on patrol.

Aye-Aye, Sir, Clint nodded.

Commander Smith glared at Sora, looking him over before sneering and lunging.

Sora didn’t move or flinch.

The Commander smirked approvingly before walking away.

Is that his way of greeting new crew members? Sora asked quietly after Commander Smith marched out of earshot.

Sometimes, Clint nodded, leading Sora into the hall, Mani’s… more pissed off than usual. He does not agree with the policy to push emotional suppression techniques to recruits; he’s old school, and so is our Master Chief.

Pausing for a moment, Clint added, Mani does not like change either, and you represent change. I think that maybe why he’s meeting with the Commandant.

We just met, and he’s already trying to reassign me? Sora inquired.

It’s not you, Clint replied as the two walked down the arched tunnel, It’s who you’re replacing and why.

Stepping into a sizeable concrete-defined space, Clint took possession of one of the available electric carts, motioning for Sora to take the passenger seat as he explained, A week or so ago, the Dragon’s Keep was on patrol near the Grand Canyon when they spotted a Mogollon.

What’s a Mogollon? Sora inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Arizona’s version of Big Foot, Clint explained, then resumed, The Captain led an away team to hunt it down; half the recon team and the Captain were killed when they found a pack defending a shroud infestation.

Clint’s story stopped as their quiet electric cart passed several clusters of officers walking down the long tunnel. Out of earshot, Clint resumed, The Keep’s XO threw together a rescue plan without knowing what was waiting for them.

Executing a fast but controlled turn into an off-shoot of the main tunnel, Clint continued his quiet voice, Somehow, the crew from the Keep took out enough of the Mogollons and Shrouds to rescue the few survivors. And, despite the outcome, it was a complete cluster-fuck that never should have happened.

The Keep’s Captain should have stayed on the ship, Sora nodded, Those actions and the XO’s rescue mission directly contradict standard operating procedure.

Yet somehow, Clint nodded, The XO got promoted to Captain and stole our co-pilot, which is why you are here today.

Ah, Sora nodded as the confining concrete tube exploded upwards, replaced by an ancient underground reservoir's natural browns, whites, and golds.

That would explain Commander Smith’s frame of mind, Sora suggested, scanning the high ceiling and the intricate web of lights below a thick plastic substance attached to the top of the cavern.

Not really, Clint replied, keeping the cart between two yellow lines painted on the polished floor, taking Sora deeper into the massive limestone void, I thought he was kinder and gentler than normal during and after his briefing.

Clint smirked as he changed the subject, nodding upwards, Natural aquifers like this one are under most of Central Texas; the shallower ones are open to the public, but the deep ones we claim for the Phantom Service. We are about a hundred meters below the underground rivers the public can access. These caverns and the former airbase, now public airport above, were built during World War Two.

Gesturing above, Clint pointed out, It used to rain down here about a month after it rained on the surface until we installed a plastic barrier on the cave's roof; it redirects the water for storage and reclamation.

Slowing to allow a flatbed utility cart to cross their path, Clint pointed as he explained, We’re currently under the airport's south end; this cavern used to be where the Airships and Wasps called home. When the Formula One race track got built, they got the new digs, and the Dragonflies moved in here. There’s a similar cavern to the south that we used to share with the Scarabs, but it’s all theirs now, and considering it’s under a landfill, they’re welcome to it.

Clint glanced at Sora, shaking his head slightly as he said, I swear some of the crap from the dump on the surface is seeping into the Scarab’s cave. When that cavern is dry during the summer, there is a distinct aroma of latrine mixed with rotting eggs and sour milk. I think it’s an incentive the brass wants to keep in place to encourage the Marines to board their ships and transition to the Aetheric Domain as quickly as possible, you know, to lose their sense of smell.

Sora nodded as he looked around, admiring the collection of iron-beamed, copper-skinned, bug-eyed bubbles, each sprouting intricate dark wings from their ironwork spines. All brightly reflecting the golden lights anchored along the tall, wide underground cavity roof.

As Sora continued his visual survey, several bright pink lights suddenly aimed their illuminations toward a cluster of dark circles in the cavern’s roof, pulling Sora’s attention toward their focus.

A single, large, transparent, dull gray Dragonfly floated down and out of a pitch-black opening.

That should be the Dragon Wagon, Clint explained; she’s the base’s supply ship, running cargo and crew back and forth to the airships in our region."

Resuming his drive down the row of bug-eyed ships, Clint advised the Dragon’s Eye’s newest crew member, Don’t worry too much about the Commander. His bite is worse than his bark, Clint smirked again, He saves his bites for Phantoms and only barks at those he cares about.

Clint quickly slowed the cart to a stop as multiple red warning lights on the ceiling began to rotate. Clint quietly suggested, And don’t try to impress the Commander either. Just be the best you can be and follow orders, his voice drifted off as he studied the indistinct descending craft.

I’m not sure I understand, Sora replied with a robotic tone.

Mani’s not a fan of suppression, Clint offered, focusing his attention on the pink-lit, barely visible, bug-eyed, long-tailed ship, He understands the technique, but he’s more of a directed rage kind of guy.

I got that from his briefing, Sora nodded, also looking up at the Dragon Wagon, commenting, I don’t see any damage; why are the emergency lights flashing?

She must be carrying wounded, Clint answered. He then resumed the cart’s forward motion, suggesting, Let’s see if we can help, twisting the steering wheel, turning the cart in a different direction, toward where he expected the copper-clad Dragonfly-inspired ship to touch down.

The two men joined the gathering crowd just as the thin mercury-filled hydraulic legs unfolded under the Dragon Wagon, each reaching out to feel for the ground. A crescent formation of anxious service personnel wearing various flight and non-combat Phantom Service uniforms gathered where the ship’s ramp would extend when it transitioned back into the prime universe.

The vague outline of the craft hovering over its mooring was made visible by the intense ultraviolet tracking lights. The energies and the emotional impact of the ship’s aethereal field began affecting those within its sphere of influence.

Clint and Sora were part of that group; both felt the same soul-vacating, emotionally draining, anger-enhancing sensations they did when transitioning into the Aetheric Domain onboard any Phantom Service vessel.

Both practiced the suppression technique taught at boot camp, struggling to repress their greatest fears and regrets. The transition into the unreal dimension reminded the humans why they should not venture into the painful purgatory known as the Aetheric Domain.

Sora remained silent; the stoic Japanese man stared unblinkingly beyond the vague craft landing before him. His blank face and narrowed eyes demonstrated his mastery of suppressing and compartmentalizing the lingering emotional scar his brother’s death carved on his soul.

Clint also looked beyond the landing craft, quietly repeating, No Patience, Patience, please.

Several around Clint and Sora cursed under their breath, cringed, or quietly groaned while mentally encouraging the thin mercury-based hydraulic landing struts to speed up their contact with the ground.

When the spiny protrusions under the ship interacted with the polished concrete tarmac, the craft winked into physical existence, bouncing on its creaking supports. The previously dull, mostly transparent ship’s silhouette blinked into existence, transforming into a brightly polished copper curved structure, a bug-like assembly reinforced with iron I-beams integrated into the smooth golden structure.

When the artificial aetheric field around the Dragon Wagon collapsed, the somber and troubled mood of the gathered crowd instantly changed. The horrible, emotionally charged memories and the sometimes barely tolerable rage in each of them evaporated just as quickly as they manifested.

The now transparent bug-eyed portals swooping across the flight deck showed the pilot and co-pilot quickly freeing themselves from their harnesses as the chain-fed ramp under the flight deck rattled down to the ground.

Like a well-practiced drill team, the service personnel rushed up the ramp and into the ship’s cargo bay. Two lines formed without anyone barking out orders. Those rushing aboard flowed up the right side of the ramp while the wounded departed on the left. Clint and Sora joined the inward wave, each finding and helping a wounded gray camo-colored leather uniformed Marine to assist.

Clint shoved the shoulder of his dress-white uniform under the arm of a slightly taller female Marine. He seemed to fit perfectly under her arm as he led her down the wide ramp toward a waiting electric vehicle.

Half of her face and scalp appeared coated with a fine powder. The bleached flour-like former flesh began floating away, dusting the shoulder of her dry and cracking uniform.

With his arm around her, lifting her, taking almost all her considerable weight, Clint noticed she seemed to grow lighter on the side he was not holding up. He looked across and under her chin at her opposite sleeve. Her arm was pure white, just like the side of her face, flaking off and disintegrating in the same way, dissolving into the air behind them.

Clint forced her to walk up the slight incline inside the cargo bay. When they reached the top, the flaky white sleeve above her pale white hand feathered away, dispersing into a powdery cloud of dust particles, as did her arm below the shoulder, leaving a vague trailing wisp behind the hip-conjoined couple.

She did not flinch or moan when her arm evaporated; she was, to Clint, uncomfortably silent as her half-faced head slowly turned to look at her now missing appendage.

She turned back to look at Clint as he helped her onto the downward-sloping side of the ramp. The unaffected half of her masculine face appeared blank and expressionless, yet her one remaining eye questioned Clint silently, asking what had happened to her arm.

The other side of her face looked like a white sandy desert; an empty socket where her other eye should have been appeared to be the most prominent crater on the surface of her moon-like flesh. The rest of her former flesh was a disorganized collection of half-exploded bubbles of bone-white frozen skin that continued to litter a trail of ultra-fine particles.

After helping the Marine into one of the waiting carts, Clint watched her as she and the three other similarly disfigured Marines leaned against each other when the vehicle sped away.

After turning around, he saw three more stretcher-bearing utility carts preparing to carry more wounded away. Clint stepped aside, clearing a path for the convoy. After the train of wounded had departed, Clint sought out and found an equally stunned Sora.

Who are they? Sora asked quietly as the last of the stretcher-bound, wounded, or dead rode off toward the artificial tunnel Clint had driven Sora through when they entered the cavern, Where did they come from?

The Hamburg, a gruff voice replied from the other side of the white-striped pathway. Both looked up to see Commander Smith’s stern grimace.

They were part of the advance deployment force sent to watch over and prevent any further infections at a white supremacist rally outside of Phoenix late yesterday, he explained, I was with the Commandant when he started debriefing Wagon’s Captain.

Commander Smith motioned over his shoulder as he lowered his voice, From what I heard, it seems that right after the Marines deployed, the Hamburg crashed. The recon team hiked through the woods and found the wreckage. The recon team and the surviving crew set up a defensive perimeter and hunkered down inside the wreckage until the ship's AFG imploded.

Sublimation, Sora commented quietly, nodding, That’s rough.

The worst, Commander Smith growled, The Dragon Wagon was making its rounds when they overflew the wreckage. They picked up the survivors and brought them home.

Was it a crash or an incursion that brought down the Hamburg? Clint asked.

The man I escorted off the Wagon was muttering something about Phoenix, Sora offered, Maybe that’s where the Hamburg was going when they crashed, he added, To Phoenix?

Nope, Commander Smith said, We don’t have a base of operations anywhere near Phoenix.

Damn, Clint muttered, That means….

They weren’t going to Phoenix. A Phoenix attacked them, Commander Smith growled before he ordered, You two get out of those whites and into your flight gear; we have an impossible-to-kill mythical creature to seek out and destroy.

How Right They Are

The Alfarsi Residence - Long Beach

6 Years Ago

Zahid Alfarsi did not understand why his family had moved to this accursed place. Everyone looked at his dark skin, black hair, and masculine features as if he were a threat. Someone willing to do anything to advance his personal beliefs and slaughter the ones they loved.

"Little do they know how right they are," Zahid told himself as he gazed down at the instrument of their destruction. The gray fishing vest he had purchased at a local swap meet had been the perfect platform to mount his homemade pipe bombs.

The three-quarter-inch thin silver steel tubes contained various small bolts, screws, and anything else he could combine with the triacetone triperoxide concocted from the pool cleaning supplies stolen from his neighbor. The black and white wires connecting the igniters inside the death tubes came from a dim-witted girl at the home improvement store. The handheld trigger and model rocket igniters were from a hobby store.

Zahid mentally laughed as he carefully wrapped the tight-fitting gunmetal striped vest around his body, "Well, spending three months planning and constructing my vengeance could be considered a hobby.

The heavy-duty dark nylon zipper pulled the vest tighter to his body, the voice in his head strengthening his conviction to enlighten those who had lost their way.

The voice in his head echoed his sentiment, What they did to our country… our people will be avenged. They will know what it means to terrorize us with their drones and smart bombs, to preach their wicked ways to our children. We will wreak havoc on their families just as they have done to our people.

The faded charcoal single-breasted big and tall overcoat covered his instrument of retribution entirely. It was well suited to the rare cold, wet, dark weather entrenched over the Los Angeles basin. The weather and the loose-fitting coat's color reflected his mood perfectly as he progressed toward his final destination.

The publicly accessible Blue line stopped near where he and his family lived, but it was not his home. The apathetic passengers limited their eyes to their visual comfort zones, bringing little attention to yet another dark man in a raincoat during the turbulent weather.

The screeching wheels and the almost violent rocking motion of the Japanese-made rolling stock carried him and the other passengers closer to the heart of Los Angeles. The doors hissed open, freeing the impatient office workers to stampede into the tile-lined cavern, scurrying to their jobs.

Zahid was not in a hurry and casually walked among the sheep he planned to sacrifice for the greater good. The hollow-sounding underground station echoed his mood and was his transfer point to the red-striped busses-on-rails destined to convey him to the Metro Center Station.

He could have made his point with numerous causalities anywhere along his route, but he had something more meaningful planned. Something that would strike fear into the hearts of those who survived his fury. A newsworthy event that would demonstrate that no one could escape the wrath of his people.

The Italian-built Breda A650 electric train car’s brakes squealed to a stop. Zahid followed the herd of commuters through the brightly lit concrete, glass, and aluminum-accented cave toward the elevated exit.

Standing on the escalator, rising from the artificially illuminated depths into the blinding sunlit surface, reinforced to Zahid that he was on his way to paradise, and seventy-two dark-eyed virgins were awaiting his arrival.

As he hoped, the gloomy weather did not deter a gathering of young female infidels wanting to worship their latest vocally gifted false idol.

Zahid did not want to understand why their parents allowed these young girls to follow in the footsteps of modern false idols.

They will see the errors of their ways soon enough, the persistent voice in his head reminded him, We will deliver these lambs to Allah’s feet, and in turn, they will deliver our message to these unbelieving people.

Zahid’s sneering dark-coated figure followed and merged with the multitude of irresponsible youth migrating across the walkway-lined park, flowing up the ramps and stairs to North Grand Avenue.

Disappearing into the ever-growing mass of his prey, he and they waited at the pedestrian crossing, bunching up like flotsam and jetsam collecting in a flowing river of cars, trucks, and buses. Constricted by the concert-going crowd, traffic slowly advanced under the direction of two groups of police officers.

Zahid would be delighted with the carnage from his act of retribution if he were to trigger his device now. But, he also wanted to maximize the strength of the message the voice in his head insisted he deliver, so he waited.

He started to cross the four-lane street, moving away from the police officers directing the crowd, when Zahid realized he waited a little too long. Bumping into one of the women escorting several younger girls, she looked at him, screamed, then shouted, "BOMB! HE HAS A BOMB!"

Zahid reacted as fast as he could and squeezed the concealed button in his sweaty hand, but nothing happened.

Like a murder of crows fleeing from their treetop roosts, the screaming youths took flight in all directions, rapidly expanding away from Zahid, leaving behind a few trampled people at the center of a primarily bodiless vacuum, and the woman who had called him out.

Three police officers now faced him, their weapons raised as Zahid continued frantically pressing the trigger repeatedly to no consequence.

Two of the young girls squashed by the crowd during their panicked escape stood up, then limped away as fast as possible. A third body, the woman who had screamed, could not move. Zahid could see both of her unnaturally bent legs as she looked up at him, pleading for her life with her eyes.

Zahid’s eyes locked with hers, and a moment of regret passed through his mind upon seeing his sister’s likeness in her eyes. He also saw a glimpse of the future. A future with the woman pleading for her life. A future where they loved each other and raised a family together.

However, that unlikely scenario vanished, as did he, when the concussive wave from the explosive material wrapped around one-third of his body compressed, then propelled what remained of his now headless corpse against the front window of a bus waiting at the crosswalk.

Police Officer Second Class Eddie Aberthol’s badge deflected a half-inch zinc washer and a sheet metal screw.

Nevertheless, he died instantly, leaving his pregnant wife behind, when a three-eighths inch hex nut penetrated his clear rain cap-covered peaked hat and the frontal bone of his skull. The shrapnel entered his brain just above the nasofrontal suture. A mere instant later, the concussive wave liquified most of Eddie’s internal organs.

His death was not in vain; thanks to his heroism, two young girls he had shielded with his body survived the blast.

Avlynn Gardner didn’t feel the explosive wave that washed over her unmoving body. The eighteen-year-old woman’s mother would spend the next year of her life watching over her daughter’s bed-ridden body, refusing to accept her Doctor’s opinion that Avlynn would never regain consciousness.

Avlynn’s mother would also lose her other child for a while after this tragedy. A short, emotionally-charged battle related to the cost of Avlynn’s medical care would drive a wedge between them and force Avlynn’s brother to drop out of college.

Zahid and Eddie’s lives were not the only ones lost; in total, twelve people’s lives ended. Twenty-four people required hospitalization. Some, mere