Dark Angel
A Sentinel Story
By: Clarence P. Browne -and- Mary Shukes
Part Three - Cabbage in the Coalmine

    Darkness...

    Simon paced the area in the predawn twilight seething with a helpless rage. The 'Angel' struck again... BIG. Thirty-four dead men arranged to spell out 'You're Welcome' in the middle of the street. This was definitely beyond his ability to contain, and he tasted bile at the THOUGHT of the news choppers getting a lead-in for the six o'clock parade. It didn't seem POSSIBLE that ONE twisted son-of-a-bitch put himself against more than THIRTY - let alone WIN. Those that didn't catch each other in their own crossfire were put down like dogs, most with a single killing blow! Some sort of shadow stalker that contents itself to rip the hell out of crooks and lowlifes - at least for NOW... Crime in general - not counting THIS stuff - was down 80% from last week, and after this should be damn near nil. What happens when this 'Angel' doesn't have any more crooks to kill? He shuddered at the possibilities. Whatever it was, it was having a ball tearing up the citizens of HIS town. Garbage level citizens, sure, but citizens; and for all the manpower he had, he couldn't stop it. Best case scenario has the press GLORIFYING this twisted fuck into some kinda badass Batman, and THAT'LL bring all SORTS of would-be vigilantes out of their Apocalypse Bunkers to take their OWN bites out of crime... This was spiraling from 'out-of-control' to 'Dodge City' and he had no answers to give... How do you stop a guy like this? Did he even WANT to?
    Jim drove up to the scene, and looked around morosely. "He's been busy," he grimaced as he took in the carnage.
    "Busy isn't the word," nodded Simon. "We've got the leaders of four out of five of the area crime factions present... Mario 'Snake Eyes' Bonelli, Dawson 'Creek' Morosco from the Voids, Lawrence 'Jazz' Jefferies from the Dueces, Wataru 'Blade' Ikeda from the Yakuza..."
    "What about Alfred 'King G' Smith, isn't he the current leader of the 357's?"
    "That's the funny part... Seven from every side BUT the 357's... Only SIX, and no 'King G' among the dead..."
    "A survivor? We've gotta grab him... He could make this 'Angel' and we'd finally have something to go on!"
    "Well, we issued an APB for Smith, but we haven't netted anything yet," replied Simon. "Look around, see if you can come up with something. Here come the press, and I don't think I can hold off the dogs this time... We're going to have our hands full, Jim."
    "Blair SAID that they'd come out after him, AND that it would backfire," mused Jim.
    "Sandburg has some information!?" exclaimed Simon. "And you didn't come forward with it?"
    "It was a theory, Simon. Pure speculation. If we jumped at every cockamamie thought that spilled out of his head, we'd never get ANY rest. He's in anthropolology, remember? He's not a profiler, so this was pretty much just him taking a shot in the dark."
    "Dark or not, it was a bullseye. Where is he? I'll have a chat with him to see what ELSE he THINKS this monster MIGHT do."
    "He's not with me on this, Simon. I figured, since the last time he saw this thing's handiwork he cracked his skull on a curb; he'd pretty much be better off somewhere else. So he went over to the University to chat up ol' Kelso for some other conspiracy theory to run down."
    "Well, as soon as you see him, bundle him over to my office, okay?"
    "Will do, Simon."
    "And see if you can't scare up King G... Maybe you'll have more luck finding him than us."


    Blair sauntered into Kelso's offices and talked to the receptionist. A little charm and a phone number from a pretty girl named 'Amber' later and he was in to see the Former Big Cheese of Obscure Evil Government Schemes. He looked at Kelso sitting in the center of his office with the blinds all closed, and blurted, "JACK! You look like Hell..."
    "BLAIR! It hasn't gotten to you! Thank God!"
    "It?" Blair raised an eyebrow. "You know about IT?"
    "It's a long story... With lots of really bad stuff in it..."
    "Bad or not, you'll probably bust if you don't get it off your chest. Besides, anything I can learn about it has to be helpful."
    "It's the result of a project I was on years ago... Project BOBO."
    "Bobo? That doesn't sound all that scary..." interrupted Blair with a smarmy grin.
    "It was an acronym, Blair... Blackest Of Black Ops. The stuff that was so bad, even our EVIL guys wouldn't do it."
    "W-who did?" stammered Blair, suddenly very worried. "I mean, where did these guys come from to DO that sort of thing?"
    "That was the beauty of it... We pulled suitable candidates from the dregs of the prison system. The worst creatures imaginable..."
    "What, like the Dirty Dozen?"
    "No. We came up with ALOT more than a dozen, but you're on the right track... People that were going to spend the rest of their lives locked away, either on Death Row or in the Dungeons..."
    "The Dungeons?"
    "The areas of the prisons for the WORST class of criminal. Monsters in every sense of the word. Most prisons have them, though none admit it. The theory was that we could kill two birds with one stone... We'd have a force of men that we could send to do REALLY bad stuff, and if they failed it was chalked up to an escape attempt."
    "Are you SERIOUS? You helped put MONSTERS into the world on the THEORY that they'd do what they were told?"
    "It was more than that," continued Kelso. "We figured that the nature of these creatures was inherently unreliable, so we created The Course. The Course was a grueling crash in all we thought they'd need... Infiltration, camouflage, all manner of fighting and weapons training, plus tactics and et cetera. It made SEAL training look like summer camp. The Course was DESIGNED to DESTROY the applicants... We figured that those that SURVIVED would be more pliable due to the extreme stress involved in the training..."
    "How... Many... Survived?" whispered Blair.
    "The survival rate of The Course was static at 15%. The other 85% didn't make it in EVERY sense of the phrase. I was in charge of the BOBO Project for six years, and we used those that survived strictly for suicide missions. Of course, they were promised all the help they needed, but that never came... Of all six years, we didn't have ANYONE come back for a SECOND mission... Except ONE."
    "One guy lived? Out of morbid curiosity, how many suicide missions did he complete?"
    "SIXTY. We kept sending him out, and SOMEHOW he kept coming BACK... We trained him in Demolitions, Surveillance, Disguise, Counter-espionage. The WORKS... He was like a sponge that soaked up all we could teach it. His code name was FIENDISH because of his intensely sadistic tendencies with his victims."
    "Why did you guys teach him all that stuff?" asked Blair in horror.
    "We never expected any of the BOBO's to live, but we DID expect them to be able to get the job done BEFORE they died," shrugged Kelso. "He was a John Doe... He was responsible for a killing spree that spanned six states and one-hundred and seven victims at the age of sixteen, starting at the nuthouse he was in - ALSO as a John Doe - for reportedly wiping out his own family... He led the Law on a merry chase for two and a half years, and then just TURNED HIMSELF IN."
    "He WHAT? Why?"
    "He said he was BORED with making the cops look bad. Naturally, he was IMMEDIATELY flagged for Project BOBO. He had no papers of identity, and he was TALENTED in EXACTLY the right skills. He was, in short, a Natural. Not only that, but he made it through The Course with flying colors - even took it twice MORE for the FUN of it. It decided to take the name we gave it as its own, and so called himself Bobo Fiendish from that point onward. It knew what it was, and gave itself the honorific of 'Angel of Death Most Exalted', and after that it started getting... Creative."
    "Creative? Creative HOW?"
    "In short, it's a two-legged massacre-machine on the hunt. It started doing things to the targets that would puke a buzzard off a gut-wagon... The Marquis DeSaad would be disturbed by Bobo's extreme methods... Bobo was, by and large, wierd..."
    "Bobo was getting wierd? I assume you tried some psychological counseling...?"
    "Yeah. We TRIED... A couple sessions with the bastard, and we had THREE docs and TWO priests all commit suicide..."
    "What? Why?"
    "Bobo was sharp as a tack, and got so far inside the heads of the people we sent to bring it around that they felt they had to die to clean themselves of his taint. No other attempts were made to reform him... It was irrevocably evil. We knew he had to be killed, and since I was the one ultimately responsible, I elected to do it... He trusted me - even promised he wouldn't kill me. Ever. So I shot it... And...," Kelso's throat tightened with the memory of those days, and he trailed off.
    "So you shot it. Then what happened?" demanded Blair. "Jack, I need to know all you can tell me..."
    "It took two bullets before it swatted the gun away and drove me across his knee like a twig. He shook a finger at me and said, 'Sometimes, it's worse to let them live. You're welcome. See you soon.' He took off, escaping the compound and going on another killing spree. Ninety-seven dead on that one... It took eight months, but we managed to capture it and locked it back up - presumably forever."
    "Why didn't you kill it when you had it caught? Why just put it back in jail?"
    "It had taken precautions... Records of Project BOBO... Mission slips... Names... It was kept in a box that Bobo checked in with every week. If he missed a check, the records went public. We were stuck, so we tossed him back in the Dungeons in the hope that we could find out where the evidence was and destroy it. It was a bluff, though, and once he was in the Dungeons we couldn't get at him any more than he could get at us, so we considered the matter closed and scuttled Project BOBO. I spent the rest of my career at a desk with my own CHAIR..."
    "Only, now it's OUT. And it's after YOU?"
    "No. It stopped by, but just for some information."
    "On Jim?"
    "On YOU. It knew your NAME, and that you fainted and were released from the Hospital after seeing his work..."
    Blair sweated bullets. "Did it say WHY?"
    "No. I told it you were a friend, but I didn't tell him anything else... He accepted it and left. You're in terrible danger, Blair. Get as far away from Cascade as you can... Never stop running! I would have warned you sooner, but you weren't online... I'm sorry. It's as close to pure evil as anything I've seen - or even READ about... You have to go... Quickly!"
    Blair was on his feet and shaking. "Jack... I can't run. Jim can protect me..."
    "GOD can't protect you!" shouted Kelso frantically. "RUN! Never look back! RUN!"
 

    Blair staggered out of the office in a daze... Why did Bobo want HIM? He HAD to tell Jim... He walked numbly to a pay phone and became aware of a LARGE hand on his shoulder. He froze as it tightened on him like a vise.
    "Hello, my intended," said Bobo.
    "What... What do you want?" asked Blair - vaguely aware of his bladder emptying.
    "We have much to talk about, Little Brother. Much indeed."
    Blair fainted.


    Jim scowled as the last of the Angel's Message was loaded into the Coroner's wagon. Blair was right on the money about this bloodbath; he hated to admit it, but once in a while the constant stream of wild notions turns up a nugget of accuracy. Damn. This thing was definitely a spook, and it was only a matter of time before the suits came in and yanked the case away... Not that they were going to do any better, mind you, but Jim rankled at the thought of sitting on the sidelines while this Evil Sentinel tore all the ass he wanted. He listened intently to the areas, trying to zero in on something he could use... All normal heartbeats, considering the Meatwagon Crew had seen their share... Hey! Off to his left about a hundred yards away he could make out a heartbeat that was going like a machine gun. It was worth checking out, so he stalked over...

    "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle! 'King G' Smith, I presume."
    "Holy SHIT!" King G screamed in surprise as he dropped his bag.
    "Forget something, King G? Returning to the scene of the crime?"
    "Fuck that, man. You got nothing on me... I had nothing to do with this..."
    "Really? Then why are you sweating? I think you got something to hide, 'King'... Let's see the bag."
    "Fuck you. I don't gotta show you shit without a warrant."
    "Oh? How about if I run you in as the prime suspect for this little dance, huh? Right now I got probable cause AND reasonable suspicion. It won't be hard to add Motive, since with all the heads of the other gangs dead, you'd have some serious clout..."
    "I didn't do this shit, and you KNOW it! It was -" King G trailed off with a wince, knowing he slipped.
    "WHAT? Spill it, you bastard, or I'll see to it you burn for this!"
    "It was... Something. Something not human... It couldn't be, man... Nothing human could do what it did...
    "What happened here, King G? What did you see?"
    "What did I see? What do you THINK? It was the longest ten seconds of my life, man. I ain't King G no more, nah mean. I'm out."
    "Out? Out of what?"
    "Out of ALL of it, man. I quit the 357's this morning... I also suggested that if they wanted to keep doing like we did here in Cascade, they better find someplace else to do it... The Angel owns the streets now... It killed all the kings of the city, and left me to spread the word. I did, and now I'm out. So drop the King G, okay? I'm just Al Smith from now on..."
    "Not so fast, Al... What did it look like? Did you see its face?"
    "Not really... It was wearing some kinda mask like that guy in that Jodie Foster movie had on when he met the Senator, nah mean?"
    "Jodie Foster movie?"
    "Yeah, I forget the title, but it was about this one crazy fuck that helped this fed chick catch this other crazy fuck..."
    "Silence of the Lambs?"
    "THAT'S it! Yeah! But, dude, this guy wasn't some act... This guy laid into all of us like we weren't SHIT, and killed EVERYBODY. The smartass Mafia dude, the little crazy Jap, EVERYONE. Dudes I grew up with... TOUGH dudes... And he tore them apart like a buzzsaw... If I hadn't seen it go down, I wouldn't have believed it was POSSIBLE this side of some bullshit chop-socky movie..."
    "So why didn't this Angel kill YOU? You were there to kill it, right?"
    "Yeah, but when I saw it come down on us, I couldn't move... I just couldn't move... He knocked me down when the others shot in my direction, and then when it was all over he let me go..."
    "He let you GO?"
    "I'm HERE, ain't I? He said he gave me my life twice, and I shouldn't waste it anymore."
    "Waste it how?"
    "On the Life, man. See, I thought about it, and I guess he showed me that the Street Life was a waste, nah mean? Dudes killing other dudes killing other dudes, and for what? A street corner? Some money? 'Cause they can? In the end, it's just a news story and a statistic. I promised the Angel I wouldn't go out like that, and I go back to school today."
    "Back to school? Are you serious?"
    "As serious as it gets, man... Now if you'll let me pick up my schoolbooks, I can get on with my life..."
    "Wait a second! You said it killed guys you grew up with... Don't you want to help bring it down?"
    "Yeah, he killed some dudes I knew, man... But he let me live. TWICE. Those guys are dead, and me being dead too wouldn't have meant shit... So now, I'm gonna spend what time I got seeing to it that Al Smith WILL mean something, just like I promised... If you want to try and stop it, man, you'll have some more mornings like this, only it'll be COPS you're picking up like candy wrappers in the street..."
    "What makes you say that?"
    "Look, man, these guys were PROS and he tore them apart. Guys whose whole LIFE was dedicated to the Badass Way, and he came out of the shadows and ripped them all to shreds... Cops, man? Forget it. No chance in hell, nah mean? He'd stack you boys up like firewood..."
    "We'll see about that, Al."
    "YOU see, _I_ gotta get to school..."
    "Okay, but I'm going to have to get a statement from you..."
    "Now? C'mon, man, I haven't been in school for four years... I'd hate to be late my first day back, nah mean?"
    "Alright, Al. After school. Just don't skip town, get me?"
    "I get you... I ain't goin' nowhere, man. 'Cept to school, aight?"
    "Okay. I'll talk to you... Take care, Al." Jim let him leave. He was starting to put the pieces together on this Angel, and he REALLY didn't like how the picture was turning out. He'd definitely have to compare what he managed to pick up with whatever information Blair got from Kelso... Hopefully, it wouldn't match up as close as his gut told him it was going to...

On to the Next Chapter....