The Enthusiasts

42

Sasha sat, alone, perched atop the two-hundred-foot wall skirting the Stratosphere. Staying out of sight, she occasionally tracked guard movements from below her surveillance position. With her knees pulled up against her chest, she chiseled her thumbnail against the concrete base revealed under the wall's marble overlay. She enjoyed the sensation of the light rumbling that came under her nail as she imagined Emerson walking out of the elevator in some disguise that had fooled everyone. Her fantasy continued, as they were so close to accomplishing their goal. He had taken over the computer system now and figured a way in and out of the tower somehow using his genius. She imagined they'd quietly escape back to the van, reunite with Cheeco, and then drive off into the sunset never to be seen by anyone ever again.

Suddenly, alert sirens trumpeted the community's worst fears back at them. Adrenaline instantaneously filled Sasha's body. A genetic transformation ravaged the tendons, tissues, organs, and veins that structured her internal housing. She experienced a rising pulse and sharpened senses. Her muscles turned from supple to hardened stone. She could pull with the strength of an ox, charge with the force of a rhino, and maneuver with the agility of a stalking lioness. She observed the coordination of the grouping of guards below her as the screeching sirens and terror threat warnings pulsated through the air. Over the antenna spire jutting above the observation deck, the black storm cloud which had settled above the tower earlier remained static. Sasha had never seen a cloud like that before. It was like someone had cropped a menacing black storm cloud and blotted it over the city's background.

Death Bringer was awakened within her and spoke through emotions. 'Life is simple,' he said. She truly felt most comfortable with herself in life and death circumstances. She had developed something of a death wish after thriving in her adolescent training grounds at The Institute and with that wish she manifested the alter ego she named Death Bringer. Death Bringer cared for nothing and feared nothing, of this she was certain. Death Bringer could kill without guilt, and in fact enjoyed torturing victims before claiming their souls as his own. Of course, these were all lies, but Sasha felt at peace 'stepping back' and allowing the demon to materialize and handle all her problems. For Sasha, Death Bringer was as real and undeniable as a personal sense of morality. She had adopted a sanctimonious view of glorified killing herself. A strong sense of pride rippled through her when she leapt into battle, similar to the ancient Vikings and Samurai of generations past. Focusing on triumphant battles filled with glorified war heroes mixed with honorable killing rituals had shaped her mind. She sought to dominate others. She viewed death by way of massacre as a triumphant, prideful, and glorious final act that would exalt her to a paramount station in history... She didn't consciously believe in God or gods of any kind exchanging glory for brutal sacrifice. No Odin — The All Father — waiting to greet her into the halls of Valhalla as a blessing for her acts of violence. She had once served The Organization faithfully. Her creator was Man, and she dutifully served to protect the virtue Man called freedom, but she had never been motivated by what she felt at this moment. In that tower she saw her love and her salvation needing her services of rage and slaughter for a greater good than the credo she'd followed in the past. She thought about the messages he had shared with her over the years, and she knew that the whole world depended on her to protect him now. She would rescue him or die trying.

Sasha loosened up, stretching out against the surface of the great wall. With her feet planted behind her and her hands in front she pushed her head back and looked up at the darkened sky above. She let out a sound similar to a cat's meow while she naturally scraped her nails against the concrete attempting to sharpen them. She stood up and unsheathed her knife, cutting the straps of the large blue maintenance tarp secured to the railing next to her. Her grip tightened over the looped strapping as it blew open with the wind filling it from behind. With little hesitation, she looked down over the two-hundred-foot drop that plummeted outside of the Spectra compound to a starkly different, dilapidated, and abandoned set of former urban pathways below. She leapt from the ledge of the wall and plummeted quickly to the ground. The wind filled the giant air bag halfway through her descent and offered a lot of drag for the final fifty feet or so. Her legs cracked against the pavement of the street upon the crushing impact. She quickly rose to her feet and started into a jog down the adjacent side street that ran parallel to the wall separating Spectra from the rest of the world. Her legs felt good rather quickly and she ran faster, gathering her thoughts with the knowledge that she must get to the van to retrieve precious cargo suitable for a 'last stand.' Committed to success, she was shortly in a state of tunnel vision and galloping at full stride through the torn up abandoned roadways and mangled back alleys of old Las Vegas.