Order

Chapter 1

More than a thousand miles had passed under his feet, yet his pace had not faltered, nor had he shown signs of fatigue. A soul driven by the passion of a cause does not tire.

Particles of sand hurled through the air like bullets and the wind howled as fiercely as a herd of wounded wildebeests, as the reddish orange sky domed the desert-torn land. It hadn’t always been a desert; civilization had once flourished here. However, there was no longer evidence of anything civilized. When the ashes brushed against his face and the all too familiar stench of the fallen innocent permeated his nostrils, he knew he had found it.

The long robed and hooded figure walked the sands until he stopped ten feet from a rising mesa, which seemed to be formed of ashes. He observed, and then proceeded to climb. Once atop, he pulled himself onto the small hill.

It was still smoldering from the battle that had obviously just preceded. Bodies lay as far as his eyes could see, a mile-wide and a mile-long stretch of death. He surveyed the whole area, from East Mountain to West Mountain, as the winds whispered into his ear the names of the lifeless victims that lay beneath his feet. If he could remember how to cry, he probably wouldn’t. Still yet, the thoughts came. How many of the faces did he know, or how many might he have met in the future? Thoughts like these he let fall into the cold void he called his soul. Ironically, it was those very thoughts, in multitude, had created the void.

A sound off in the distance caught his attention. A small, four wheeled vehicle sped his way. He observed, and then proceeded to make himself unseen. Buried up to his arm pits in ash and peering through a rib cage he placed over the rest of his body, he had a clear view of the two soldiers that stepped out of the vehicle.

Grim Reaper’s Shadow to Grim Reaper. Come in, Grim Reaper, one of the soldiers radioed in. He repeated the cadence.

A response came over the radio shortly after. This is Grim Reaper. Go ahead.

The sun is directly overhead and the Shadow is beginning to follow behind the Reaper, the soldier responded.

Proceed with your orders, then fall back to original coordinates.

Understood, the soldier responded one last time. He walked to the back of the vehicle where the other soldier unloaded Gatlin gun sized rifles. I hate this shit. Damned scavenger duty.

Me, too. I wish first wave would make sure these mother fuckers are dead when they shoot the first time. It’s a fucking damned shame we gotta go back and kill their missed shots.

There goes one. The soldier shot at a squirming civilian who hadn’t been lucky enough to die during the first wave attack of Grim Reaper infantry soldiers.

Damned piece of shit, he cursed at the new corpse, cocked back his weapon, and continued on.

The soldiers were called Shadows because they followed behind or backtracked a wave of infantry soldiers known as ‘Grim Reapers’, making sure anyone or anything that survived an attack didn’t survive for long. Their black hoods, trimmed in blue, half hid the mask with glowing red eyes that covered the top portions of their faces. A half face particulate, an air-purifying mask, protected them from the harsh, sand-filled winds.

The most distinguishable aspects of their blue and black armor were the human size skulls that were harnessed to their chests. As the onlooker looked closer, he could tell that the skulls weren’t just armor. They were real skulls cut in half and mounted over the soldiers’ black, white, and blue chest plates.

The soldiers were unaware they had a peeping Tom. He didn’t make himself known as they carried out their orders. He did not attempt to be the savior of the few who were left behind, for he knew that allowing their deaths meant the survival of a greater whole. Besides, they would probably beg him to kill them anyway.

Sporadic gun fire and staccato informal executions went on until the sun reached the other side of the horizon.

Well, that’s about the last of them. The soldier spoke as if he were a man finishing a hard day of work.

As far as we’re concerned. Anyone who did survive will be dead by sunrise, the other soldier spoke.

The soldiers finished their duty and proceeded to drive away, not knowing they had a stow-away under their vehicle.

Grim Reaper, this is Grim Reaper’s Shadow. Night has fallen over all and the Shadow rests until next day break. Returning to base.

Roger, Shadow, a voice answered back from the radio.

The vehicle rode across the sands until it reached its destination, a massive military compound standing in the middle of the wide open sands like a defiant castle; imposing in design and arrogant in aura. It was a short trip from the entrance to the vehicle garage as the two soldiers conversed about military gibberish before jumping out of the vehicle.

...I hear the next strike is out towards East Mountain.

They say Morrison is ready to begin the major portion of the campaign over the rest of this region…

Morrison! That is the name he wanted to hear. That name was the barrier of activation.

The unknown visitor climbed from under the vehicle and began to walk at a pace as cool as a winter’s cave. Even if the soldier had seen it coming, he still wouldn’t have known what split him. With one quick stroke, the visitor unsheathed his sword, aptly named Silence, and took one head.

What the…? The other soldier said, as he spun around.

A question he would never know the answer to. Not once did the visitor break his stride. He sheathed Silence just as fast as he had unsheathed her, then stepped outside. He was only a few paces out when a soldier, posted on a flight of stairs above, spotted him.

Hey you! Identify yourself…aahhhh!

Cut off by a barrage of gun fire, the soldier’s body fell from atop the stairwell and crashed into steel drums below. The visitor’s guns were already back in their holsters. However, his presence was made known to all now.

Soldiers flooded the area and all hell broke loose. At least for the soldiers. He un-hooded himself and flung off the robe, revealing the shiny metallic body armor that covered him from neck to toe like a skin. His head was shaven, and his face rigid. A wicked, jagged scar played from his forehead and curved down into his right eye brow, through the glassy dead eye he had lost from whatever wicked tool made the scar, and down into his cheek.

His appearance was enough to freeze an army, and it did for a few quiet seconds. The soldiers stared at him, guns aiming and ready. The visitor gripped the two laser-dot pistols from his side: Revenge and Retribution, two custom altered machine-gun thirty-eight hand guns, which activated at the touch of his hands.

It fell silent at the sound of the pistols charging from his grip and the loud, unyielding stare in his stolid eyes. From the back of his metallic suit, where the suit met his neck, a silver liquid cloth sprang out and began to mold itself around his head and face. A soft crackle whispered in the anxious silence as the cloth solidified like ice into a metal layer of skin, taking the full form of his face. Gunfire rang from his pistols, followed by the sound of bullets cutting into soldier flesh.

In an office on the other side of the base, the sound of the battle raging on the outside was heard by a rigid faced man sitting at a desk. His regalia showed that he was definitely in charge, and his face told the story of experience. His name? Thomas Morrison.

What the fuck is going on out there? Morrison exclaimed, jumping up from his desk as the sound of explosions interrupted his work.

Sir, there’s someone attacking the compound! A soldier’s voice came from over the desk intercom.

Does it look like resistance infantry? Morrison responded. Is it a small band of soldiers?

"It aaaappears to be only one man, sir… I think," the soldier informed him, stumbling over his words.

"You think!?!"

Who could be attacking the compound? Another soldier in the room questioned. Morrison didn’t respond with a verbal answer to the question, but his eyes showed that he knew very well who it could be.

Soldier… bring me my sword.

Back on the outside, soldiers continued to fall left and right. They didn’t stand a chance against the opponent they faced. But now his clips were empty, blood was spilt, and anger was still at its highest inside the visitor, leaving a trail of dead soldiers from the garage to the office.

Morrison stepped outside to be greeted by an individual he knew very well. Although the figure was covered from head to toe in metal, the face was still no less familiar.

His guns extended to his sides, still smoking. Without a word, he holstered them. A soft crackle broke the silence as the metal layer on the visitor’s face began to loosen up, like a snake shedding its skin. It folded back on and withdrew within itself, returning to the spot it came from.

Morrison began to walk slowly towards his imposing guest.

So you finally caught up with me. he said, with as much cavalier as he could.

The visitor only unsheathed Silence, placing her tip on the ground, angled in front of him.

I never thought for once that you would stop your insignificant crusade, Morrison continued.

Then you are a wise thinker, the visitor finally spoke. Morrison saw that he wouldn’t get anything here except words of resentment and anger.

You never understood the full scale of this war! Morrison justified himself, as he casually walked towards the visitor, lessening the space between them to a few cordial running strides. Soft idealistic hearts have no place here, or in any other place we may visit.

I understand that you are now part of the Hand that wields destruction; one finger that I will sever and cast back into the pits of Hell.

Bitter words from an angry heart.

Then come, Judas. Taste my blade and savor the rancidness of my soul!

With that, the visitor sprang at Morrison, catapulted by the pain and anger of the betrayal which had marinated for years. The sound of the blades biting into each other rang throughout the air like the sound of metal being forged in Hell. Back and forth they went, trading steel for steel. The sword fight looked choreographed, as they were equally matched. They would be, as at one time they both helped father that particular style of sword fighting.

In the end, revenge served as the master final stroke. The visitor broke down his molecular make up, disappearing from his current standing position. He rematerialized inside Morrison, bursting out of his body like a being born anew, covered in the blood of his enemy, arms stretched wide towards the heavens, with a roar that would extend just as far… The baptism of a dying soul.

Although the days where he would find any form of peace or happiness were long gone, the visitor still found some contentment in the vanquishing of the old friend who made himself an enemy. The moment passed.

It was done, but he knew that Morrison was only one of many that he had sworn to seek out and send to Hell. There they would serve as messengers to the unjust and the souls of the damned, and they would know his name. They would know he was Dizz, the Phase.

His thoughts returned to him and he gathered himself. He was weak, but he still had to move on. Slowly, he began to walk away from the one for whom he had been searching for years, as if the confrontation had never happened.

As he walked, he raised his arm and tapped a few buttons on a metal band attached to his wrist. In a matter of a few moments, air crafts phased into the sky, at full speed, blasting everything in sight.

Dizz, the Phase, continued to walk casually, as if the explosions going on around him weren’t happening. Dizz closed his eyes and concentrated hard. With a sudden burst of blue lights that engulfed his body, he was gone.

Chapter 2

Lost souls wander aimlessly for eternity, but souls driven and crazed by the passion of a cause wander farther and longer. At one time, he led thousands who called him Father and Moses. He watched them all perish at his feet. At times he felt as a child born of damned souls, and at night he would hear them cry out to him simultaneously…

Father, why have you forsaken me?

…but for them he had no answer, only his cold existence, which did not serve as enough payment. Yet he would offer it anyway, as a sacrifice to the people he once led and protected, those who are now the collective rulers of his soul.

Chapter 3

Dizz walked through the door of the main science lab. Blue flickering lights danced off his face as he passed row after row of data storage units. The aisle led to an open area. As usual, the lighting in the room was dim. The wall-size computer screen on the far wall, shotgun across from the entrance door, illuminated the area with the sleep mode display. The control console to the massive screen spanned the length of the wall. Only three entrances accessed the room: the main entrance door, and two open entryways a few feet apart on the right wall.

You cannot continue to compromise the purpose of this whole mission, the voice came through the darkness, calm and nonchalant.

Here are the logs of my ‘Tour’, of the reality I found at T.H.E. Corporation compound, Dizz responded as he set down a stack of data storage units.

Damn your reports! If you continue to use the Phase technology for your own personal grudges, you defeat the purpose of us continuing to use the technology to fight those who are doing the same.

The speaker stepped out of the shadows. He was a man of light complexion. His green eyes hid behind glasses and neatly placed brown dreadlocks came down to his shoulders. His face seemed young, but it also showed that he was a man of seriousness and dedication to a purpose.

He was the main science engineer of the small underground resistance they both worked with, the man behind the machines, weapons and technology that they used, as well as the technology they fought against. They simply called this man Mech.

Technology? Humph, Dizz said. Don’t ever compare me to them! My mission and our mission are undeniably related. I found the aligned reality and notified base of its coordinates.

You also took it upon yourself to infiltrate the compound and initiate the attack. It fell quiet for a few heartbeats before Mech surrendered in the debate. Well, which one was it?

Morrison.

Did you get him?

You know I wouldn’t have come back if I hadn’t.

Look, I know the size of this for you, but you know this war is bigger than personal vendettas and grudges for both of us.

I will continue to find the aligned realities and I will continue to hunt them down and personally stop their life lines.

With a heaving sigh, Mech decided to discontinue the futile conversation. He knew that, for his close friend and brother in arms, that was what this war was really all about.

At any rate, come check this out.

They walked over to the mega computer screen on the main wall. On it was a single line that broke off into a confusing web of lines which crossed one another at varying points.

I found several more realities that have the possibilities of being sites which align with T.H.E. Corporations typical activity. He braced himself. He hoped his phrasing of what he was about to say would mask what was really about to happen, until it happened. As usual, we will have to explore them all to find out which reality actually aligns with this one, and then find T.H.E. Corporation compound, before we can send any resistance there to counter T.H.E. Corporation.

Dizz studied the screen casually. What do you mean, ‘we’? You can't hunt because you have to stay here and align the realities, so who is the other part of ‘we’?

I’m sending Diamond to explore one of the realities. In doing that, hopefully we can cut down on some time and catch up to T.H.E. Corporation. We can’t afford to lose any more time, seeing that we have no idea how much time we have.

Diamond? We just picked her up no more than a year ago. Do you really think she has enough experience to handle a ‘Reality Tour’? Dizz contested so hard not because he doubted someone else in their ability to perform the duty, but more because of the chance of someone finding the aligned realty before him and robbing him of his chance at vengeance.

Her mind is the only other one in the resistance that can even remotely endure the Phasing process. And you know as well as I do that her combat ability is well past sufficient, Mech responded.

Three Phases and you’ll rip her mind apart.

Actually, I’ve done some tests on her and she is showing remarkable and fast results. I’m supposed to run some more today. I’m just waiting for her to get here.

Well, wait no longer, gentlemen.

The extremely feminine voice came from the open door way. There stood a short, athletically built woman of about twenty years of age. Her cheek-length hair bounced playfully as she made her way in. At a glance, an individual wouldn’t suspect she was the skilled soldier she was.

Speaking of the she-devil, Dizz said softly.

Her real name was Rezina Washington and she had a past deeper than her forward appearance showed.

Right on time. I was just talking about you, Mech said to her as she entered further into the lab.

I bet you say that to all the girls, Rezina joked.

No, you don’t want to hear what he says to all the girls, Dizz, said under his breath.

Mech continued on with the discussion of business. After I run these test on you, to make sure your body can withstand the Phase process, you need to start getting ready for your Tour.

When do we leave? A curious Diamond asked.

Tomorrow, Mech responded sternly.

Tomorrow! Why so early? Her curiosity was still peeking.

If you understood the nature of this whole thing, you would know that tomorrow isn’t early enough, Dizz informed her.

Do I sense a hint of antipathy? Diamond asked.

No, call it boyish infatuation; this is the only way I know how to show it.

Dizz will brief you on ‘Phase protocol’, Mech interrupted the banter again with the topic of business.

That ought to be fun. Again Diamond offered sarcasm.

Be in the training room tonight at 2000 hours… Oh, and be dressed for some fun.

With that, Dizz walked out of the laboratory.

***

He decided to walk the streets. He couldn’t escape his thoughts, so he decided to dwell on them for a while. His past never left him alone. He journeyed back to a different time and experienced the taste of regrets.

It was your average city. The future hadn’t changed much of the physical architecture of it: building lights still illuminated the night sky, high rises still stood and touched the skyline, and cars and pedestrians still zoomed the streets.

What had changed, however, was who controlled these lights and these streets: a single corporation, which blurred the lines between government, big business, and scientific advancement, all in years of complicated sequences of events. Their control not only touched this reality, but reached into other realities. Reality travel was still a striking notion to him. How they did it, he had a partial knowing of and did not want to think about, but the why he was still unaware of. It didn’t totally matter to him anyway; his vendetta against T.H.E. Corporation was forged deep. All he knew was that their actions were of no good, and that’s all he needed to know. Their actions in these other realities led to whole city populations being wiped out, not leaving one living, breathing soul and, in some cases, not even the remnants of one standing building. No trace of civilization remained except for the trail of death and rotting bodies, which set a cast like meaningless fallen leaves of a forest of autumn trees.

He observed the surroundings of the city as he squatted on a wall. Right fist in left palm in front of his face, he swallowed the pain of knowing that he helped mold society into what he saw now.

Across the street, a child was running up to his mother in the cool, city night air. He couldn’t help but think of the future he had chosen for that child. A future the child had no choice in, one that is definitely uncertain.

***

The elevator call switch flashed the -26th floor. The door slid open and Dizz stepped off. Each step down the dark corridor reminded him of why he didn’t come here often. However, he continued to navigate the maze of shadowy halls. He sauntered around a corner into yet another long, dark hall. At the end of it, several armed soldiers lined the walls and two guarded a door that read maximum security.

Evening gentlemen, Dizz greeted.

Where to, sir? one soldier asked.

Special Holds, Dizz informed him.

Any specific?

Detention block 2122.

The door slid open and Dizz navigated new walls of chain and bars until he came to a door made of solid silver. He stared at the door as if the guard behind the three-foot-thick reinforced glass next to it didn’t exist.

Open it, he demanded, without breaking his stare.

Bright U.V. lights flooded the wall and Dizz became a silhouette beneath them. The door slid open with a monstrous metal grind and he walked in.

Inside was another layer of mesh fence made of silver. The mesh fence slide open as the huge metal door closed behind him, swallowing the bright U.V. lights. Once again, it was dark. He entered and closed the mesh fence behind him, taking a seat next to the single cell that inhabited the room.

Close. So close that the prisoner inside, balled up against the wall and hidden in the corner next to him, could reach out and grab him