Induction through Hell (Solo)

Of all the reasons to end up locked up at the downtown station, John thought this had to be the most ironic. He had stolen and ground a few faces into burger meat, but, that night, he had been caught sleeping behind a gas station. The store owner, obviously terrified of John’s presence, threatened to shoot him if the police didn’t “Take care of this filth!”

Maybe the guy knew he stole a few Hershey bars, some beef jerky, and a six-pack that all vanished into inside pockets of his coat, but he doubted it. The cops, however, happily confiscated the goods and decided to treat themselves to the spoils while John shared an uncomfortably cramped space with a man who resembled a seven-foot-tall and built Santa in combat boots.

John spent the next hour or so leaning against the bars, expressing his defiance to move any further. Santa sported the same lightless look in his eyes he had on since before John’s arrival. If he had to guess, he’d say the old man was one hit from an acid OD. The old man made no motion from his seated position until the far wall against which the weathered man rested exploded spectacularly.

John moved to save the stranger from slamming against the bars, but he only ended up taking a 300-pound meat missile straight to the chest in an attempt to catch him. John gasped and fought to reintroduce oxygen to his body. Only when his senses returned to him did he realize he had dug his fingers into something wet, sticky, and oven-warm. Oh, no! He thought and looked down at the elder’s back, instantly wishing he hadn’t.

John almost vomited as soon as the smell of what he observed reached him, but he kept his system under control out of respect for the recently deceased. All clothes, skin, and hair had been incinerated off the man’s backside including from his arms, legs, and head. Blood dripped freely from the still-sizzling and very exposed muscles and organs of the once-living stranger. John caught the surreal image of bone protruding from certain areas, but he had no inclination to take a closer look.

He immediately dropped the dead man onto the floor as officers hurried toward him, demanding what the hell had happened. John and the officers then witnessed, through the hole in the wall, the coffee shop across the street explode. John couldn’t help think it fortunate that the shop was closed and empty. “What’s going on!” An officer screamed.

“I’m not staying to find out,” John casually said to no one in particular; he then left through the makeshift exit to the present officers’ protests.

The reason why the police station did not resemble the pile of rubble that had once been a coffee shop became obvious to John as he began sliding uncontrollably down a crater, a crater that had resulted from the first explosion. The station had been just within the blast radius whereas all four lanes of the street had suffered massive damage.

Amidst the chaos was a wrecked minivan; its entire front half had been crushed and twisted into something almost unrecognizable. John felt sick again when he noticed an arm lying some feet from the wreckage, having been sheared off from its owner, a young owner. John knew without drawing any closer that the delicate limb and the tiny hand to which it remained attached belonged to a child. He turned his gaze from it, but not before seeing splintered bone dangling loosely from its gaping crimson opening.

The wail of an infant sparked some hope within John; it emanated from the wrecked vehicle. He immediately dashed toward it to extract the survivor. The remaining doors were locked and even if they had not been, they were badly twisted, rendering them inoperable. He peered through the tinted windows for any sign of a way inside and almost wished he had not. The entire interior of the once luxurious vehicle was bathed in the blood of at least two occupants, but he couldn't make out any bodies. He saw only masses of crumpled red flesh that could have once been organs and tissue. John turned away and finally threw up what little he managed to eat that day. The infant owed its survival to that fact it had been strapped securely in its car seat in the very back of the van, but John very much doubted the newborn had survived without injury. It needed to be taken to a hospital immediately.

Sirens approached and the entire macabre scene was highlighted in flashing lights that alternated frequently between blue and red. He felt men pull him from behind and heard them issue him orders to get back. A pair of axe-wielding fire fighters descended the sloping crater and went to work tearing apart what remained of the totaled van.

Hopelessness and helplessness claimed John in that moment; these people hadn’t deserved this. A parent and a child dead, forever and an infant who probably faced a terrible fate, one that John had lived through. He hoped to God that the child had someone to care for it; otherwise, it would end up in the system, an unloving and uncaring beast where no love was issued or received. He silently prayed that the babe’s mother, father, aunt, or someone had a home for it, a real home where it would find tender loving care in abundance because it was going to need it after this horrible nightmare.

A silhouette of a man drifted down from the sky and all eyes turned toward him as he spoke. “Good evening gents,” He said; the light that flooded out from the mostly intact police station illuminated his unnerving grin as he floated gently onto the crushed minivan.

The firemen had only just extracted the crying infant and they both gazed in shock at the stranger who regarded the scene with childish delight. He appeared entirely human. He had strawberry-red hair and boasted a slim, albeit lean muscled, figure. His attire mimicked John’s style, a pair of jeans and a sleeveless shirt. The flying man’s clothes were much cleaner by comparison, however. He also wore a casual pair of flip flops, making him appear as though he meant to embark on a stroll along the beach.

“Who are you?” One of the officers handling John finally shouted; his failed attempt at placing a tone of authority in his voice betrayed his fear.

“Who am I you ask?” He paused for a moment then maniacally declared, “I am the right hand of God!”

He raised his right hand toward one of the firemen nearest the minivan then a blinding flash of light emanated from his palm. Everyone, including John, looked away and shielded their eyes, but nothing could have possibly drowned out the gut-wrenching scream of the tormented victim. The darkness of night reclaimed its territory. Those who dared look saw a shimmering stain resembling a crudely drawn stick figure lie in the crater where there had been once a man.

The lunatic turned his gaze toward the firefighter cradling the hollering babe and pointed his right limb, now aglow with the same sinister substance that had claimed his partner’s life. The firefighter turned away and started running, but he must have known there was no escape for him and no life for him after that night because he screamed toward the remaining crew at the edge of the crater. “CATCH!”

The death light claimed him just as he tossed the helpless infant toward a pair of outstretched arms. Those too dissolved into the light and the infant continued sailing above the dead. John broke away from the officers and raced toward the child, unwilling to let it die like the others, like its family and those who tried saving it. He leaped across the crater and wrapped his arms around the bawling girl, for it must have been a girl given the pink dress and booties it wore.

John landed in a crouch and examined the girl for a second or so and would have wept over her fate if he had the time. Her clothes and skin gleamed in the night with the blood of her family, some of it dripped from the bridge of her nose and into her gaping mouth, causing John to tremble with a rage greater than any he had ever experienced. No matter what abuse he had endured in the past, none of it had sparked a hatred and anger as superior as that which he felt that night.

“How did you do that?” A third firefighter on the scene asked him, astonished.

Applause diverted John’s attention toward the flying man and he immediately bared his teeth at him. “I’ve been searching all over for you!” He exclaimed. “I knew you were around here somewhere; now I can have some real fun.”

John examined the scene around him and took all the horrors in with his eyes. As furious as he felt, he knew he stood no chance against the flying man; besides, his first priority was to see the baby girl off to safety. He turned and ran toward the ambulance parked at the corner; it could not have been more than twenty yards away, but John’s sudden fear of the death light enveloping him and the babe made that distance seem like a mile.

Flashes and explosions burst from behind, accompanied by terrifying screams that grew closer and closer. John knew then that people were dying and a sickening realization entered his thoughts. The flying menace was extinguishing human lives as a means to tell him he was getting closer and closer. Terror and anger injected him with an unparalleled adrenaline rush and he practically collided into the back of the ambulance with the baby in his arms. “What are you-” A paramedic began, but John cut him off by using one arm to drag him inside with him.

John banged on the glass panel that separated him from the front seat. “DRIVE!” He screamed.

He counted himself lucky that the driver had not yet exited the vehicle; either that or the driver had panicked after first leaving and rushed back inside. It didn’t matter so long as the ambulance moved and it soon took off as though the devil were after it and its meaty contents, which was not far from the truth if at all. The paramedic in the back and John both looked back and neither of them wished they had. The flying man chased after them through empty air and started discharging what looked like glowing softballs at them.

John felt certain they were all about to perish in seconds, but the glowing balls struck only the road just behind the speeding ambulance. Blood-chilling laughter chased after them from their pursuer and John wondered if the psycho was missing deliberately. If he is missing on purpose then how long before he gets bored and does us all in? John thought.

As if in answer to his unasked question one of the back tires of the ambulance exploded. The entire vehicle swerved and threatened to tip over. John reacted instantly and slammed his right shoulder into a cabinet bolted into the ambulance’s interior. He could not have been sure if his quick thinking helped any, but the ambulance righted itself and continued at a slightly lesser speed. That had been too close and John gritted his teeth in aggravation and came to a decision.

“I swear I’m retarded,” He declared.

“What?” The terrified paramedic asked.

John thrust the baby toward him. “Take care of her,” He said. “And shut the damn doors behind me!” He demanded as soon as the man obeyed him.

John looked at the road with great trepidation. How the hell do the movies make this look easy? John wondered to himself. Stunt men always had something soft to land on, John saw only asphalt. The ambulance had long since started blaring its siren, which meant it was going to slow or stop for nothing, especially traffic lights and stop signs. John then saw his chance, but taking it meant risking a broken wrist and worse.

The ambulance began speeding past a local park and John thought he might be able to hurl himself over the sidewalk and roll into the grass. He steeled himself for a world of hurt and leaped to the astonishment of the paramedic he left behind. He overshot his target to his own surprise and ended up snapping a sapling off its young trunk in midflight before crushing it beneath him in the grass as he came to a less than smooth landing.

The flying man followed John and levitated a few feet above the ground before him with a wicked grin. John heard him chuckle from behind and immediately rolled onto his back. The floating maniac observed him as he stood, his senses nearly overwhelmed by his instincts shrieking at him to run, but he stayed put. He wanted to believe his reason for staying was noble. He tried convincing himself he wanted to keep the lunatic distracted and entertain him so that no one else would die by his hands. Truthfully, John only remained in place because a freezing terror overrode his instincts and kept him in place.

“Well, hero, you’ve seen me in action. Aren’t you angry? Aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt someone else? Aren’t you going to do the noble thing and fight me until one of us drops? Speak up, hero. Go on, lecture me and then beat some sense into me if you think you can!” The flying man challenged; John opened his mouth to speak, but no words left him.

“Fine, I guess I’ll get us started then.” Without hesitating, he struck out with his left fist, catching John in the face.

The flash of white hot pain melted his terror and helped renew his fiery rage toward the psycho. John turned his head back toward the man and growled. “That hardly tickled,” He said in a low whisper.

“Oh, yeah? Well how about-“

John grabbed the flying man by the throat and squeezed, beginning to think the psycho had no idea how to fight. Fighting on the streets had two very important rules. Rule 1. Don’t talk, act. Rule 2, No blow is too low.

The maniac threatened John with a glowing palm and he reacted instantly. He tossed the flying man away from him and toward the park fountain, certain the momentum would send him into the stone feature. The man only spread his arms and legs and stopped himself in midair. “Alright, I guess I have to-“

John had no time to be surprised and gave his opponent no time to speak. He ran forward and jumped, performing a midair tackle that sent him and the flying man into the water. John kept his weight on his dazed target as he proceeded to hammer his fists into the murderer’s face. His fury kept him from feeling the damage done to his knuckles as his skin seemed to peel each time he punched at the flying man’s unbelievably hard flesh. He eventually saw only his blood clouding the fountain water and not that of the psycho who issued him a knowing smile.

Rule 2. No blow is too low. John gave up trying to feed the maniac his fists and directed them toward his throat. One right to the flying man’s neck earned John an instant reaction. He left John lying on his back in the water, having fallen from the flying man’s explosive launch. The lunatic jerked free from beneath John and shot far above the fountain to try to mask his pain in the darkness. John heard him coughing and choking, trying to breathe again. “You’ll pay for that!” He declared with a raspy voice, undoubtedly from the damage John had caused him.

He flew down toward John with both fists projected toward him. John raised his arms to guard himself, but the flying man had never intended to strike him from the air. He clamped down onto both John’s arms with a bone-cracking grip and yanked him up, forcing John to join him in the air. He then ascended with a stomach-churning quickness and reintroduced John to the terror that should have earlier given him the incentive to run.

He forced John to spread his arms just as the park became an indistinguishable feature among all the lots and yards within the city. John shook his head pleadingly, knowing what the flying man meant to do to him. “You’re pathetic!” He spat at John. “When I first sensed you, I thought-“ John gave him no time to finish that thought.

He kneed the flying man in the groin, causing him to shriek in pain. The man instinctively let him go and reached for his groin, but John refused to die so easily. He instantly wrapped his arms around the flying man in a bear hug, refusing to release him. “You son of a bitch!” The flying man squealed.

“Land,” John commanded.

“Okay, fine,” The man said and then began descending at a terminal velocity. “Bug wanna’ get smashed, bug get smashed!” He effectively ground John into the park soil and yards of dirt exploded all around them from the impact.

The maniac stepped off John and appeared undamaged save for a few scratches and bruises from the impact. He observed John and snickered the moment his victim groaned. Blood spilled from John’s mouth and he jerked up, trying and failing to sit as he coughed. The flying man kicked John in the side several times then wedged his left foot under John’s back and flipped him over. He reached down and grabbed John’s right arm while also stamping on his back. John hollered in pain, but no one who heard him would bother helping him.

The flying man jerked and twisted John’s arm so that it snapped like a chicken bone. He hopped off John and kicked him in the face a few times. “That’s what I thought. I’m absolutely bored with you; time to end this.” He held an empty palm out toward John and a sinister light that had ended so many others before him presented itself and began taking shape.

An instant later and a life-consuming orb would have ended John, but his remaining arm shot forward in that very instant and his hand grabbed the maniac’s hand, defusing his bomb. John dragged his legs beneath him and stood up, trembling with every inch he rose. “You’re hard to put down, bug,” The flying man commented, delight drenching his tone.

John regarded him with a lifeless and uncaring gaze and it unnerved the maniac. He observed an abyss within his emerald orbs where only a need to extinguish life, his life more specifically, existed. He opened his mouth to speak, but John suddenly jumped forward and wrapped his legs around the flying man’s midsection, locking his arms uselessly to his side and constricting him as a serpent might. John said nothing, but a demonic growl escaped his tortured lungs as he exhaled.

The maniac received his first glimpse of hell in that instant and he truly believed he was in the presence of one of its denizens. He whimpered, but as he did so, the demon he faced stole from him his breath, breath he needed to live. He tried replacing it; he tried inhaling, but found he could not as the demon’s limbs embraced him tighter than before. “Let me go!” He hissed, fear tainting his once sadistic voice, but speaking only cost him air and he was running dangerously low.

Desperate, he took flight and drove John into the fountain, smashing the stone sculpture of bathing mermaids. If it had inflicted any damage onto John, he seemed to ignore it; John was intent on killing him and if it meant they both went to hell, he’d pay that toll. The flying man soared toward a nearby parking garage and repeatedly slammed John into its stone exterior with as much force as he could. At one point, John seemed ready about to detach from him as his upper half started dangling from his victim.

A closer inspection revealed John had lost consciousness and hope filled the flying man. That hope left almost as quickly as it came because John’s legs continued to tighten around him, squeezing the last bit of oxygen out from him. Even in his sleep, John dreamed only of ending him. The flying man’s vision faded and his thoughts dulled; John had effectively sealed his fate, but he had successfully accelerated it by burning himself out. Soon both men dropped onto the pavement below, missing a parking meter by mere inches. Only one of them would rise with the sun.