(From Chapter ONE:  Black Jack)

Night dark and chill; the cold heart of shadows comes nigh.

“Father Malakai, this is a dangerous neighborhood to be walking around alone in.”

The priest, a man not quite thirty years in age, average and trim of body, light brown hair going down almost past his ears in careless straight swaths, his black priest robes and white collar nearly all the protection he had for a late night walk.  That, and the bible clutched protectively to his side.

“I am not alone, Robert,” the priest calls back to the approaching other, “my faith and God protect me. Besides, have you not heard?  The streets are perfectly safe now that guns are under complete control.”

“You really believe one leads to the other?  And it’s Black Jack; you and my mother are the only ones that call me Robert.”

The other now with the priest, a man a bit older than him, a man a bit over six feet, well-built and strong, a darkly-tanned man with suggestions of his mixed white-black parentage.  Dark eyes, thick black hair, his chin caught in some phantom zone between half-shaven and mostly-shaven, his powerful build hidden beneath an unkempt appearance and a sloppy disarray of clothing.  Street clothes though he wore, but pinned haphazardly to his chest a badge.  The type of man who would spare few smiles for anyone, except perhaps this priest alongside whom he now walks.

He gives a small bulge at his right hip a loving pat and emits a grin that most people might consider more threatening than friendly.

“With one of these most any neighborhood is safe.  I don’t care what they say about the current state of world peace, there are still some places that aren’t too safe, places where a priest like yourself shouldn’t be walking around alone in.”

“Perhaps you are right… Black Jack.  So, do they still have you looking out for the greater good, or have they transferred you to something more exciting yet?”

“If you mean do they still have me enforcing these lousy gun-control laws, the answer is unfortunately yes.  Half my life alternating between the military and pulling body-guard duty for loose change and I’m actually stuck rounding up people who rightly believe the only safe person’s an armed one.”

“It could be worse,” a fleeting grin from Father Malakai, “the criminals could be armed as well.”

Black Jack gives a brief snort then replies, “You don’t need a gun to be armed, just one to make sure the armed criminals stay away from you.  But enough of my gripes, Father; where are you headed that couldn’t wait until morning?”

Late night in a street that could be in any big city but just happens to be in Los Angeles.  Shadowy old brick buildings interspersed with far newer structures of glass-like steel, amber street lights that hover ghost-like about their tall support posts, distant billboards with colorful advertisements that leap out a few yards before their surface in full three-dimensional glory to loudly push a product or coming movie.  Crowds of cars zipping along distant and nearby streets, a few lights arcing lazily about in the sky overhead, and the elevated tracks of the monorails that cut through the downtown.  The ground still damp after a recent rain, a few stars out and single moon, and no one in this dimly-lit street but a priest and his cop friend.

“I just thought I’d go for a little stroll over to the Arch Bishop’s.  Nothing to be concerned about.”

“Except that he’s on the other side of town and I know you’ve got a car or at least a bus pass.  So, what gives?”

The priest smiles lightly as he clutches his bible just a touch tighter, but not a smile that seems reassuring enough to Black Jack.

“Nothing of concern.  I just… didn’t feel like using the church’s car; we can’t afford the gas to run it as it is, and my bus pass expired.  The church is poor now, or hadn’t you heard?”

“I heard.”

The doubt is clear enough to read on Black Jack’s face even as he sees in his friend’s eyes something he would hide.

“There’s something more, Father.  What is it?”

“You should learn diplomacy, Robert; anyone else might think you’re threatening me with that tone.  I just want to show the Arch Bishop a few things.”

“Some more of that old-time religion again, Father?  Maybe that’s why attendance at your church is down; too much of that occult stuff of yours lying around.”

“Or perhaps just too much occult…”

The priest let that odd statement linger for a moment, the silence cut short as the street-light they now pass beneath flickers off.

“Didn’t think those things ever went off,” Black Jack glances up.  “Might call this one in; it’d still be the most excitement I’ve had all-  Father?”

To Black Jack’s well-trained eyes, Father Malakai seems more apprehensive, more than could be accounted for by just a simple blanking out of a street-light.  His pace quickens, his bible clutched tighter.

“Hey, if you want a ride,” Black Jack offers, “I got my car parked just around-“

“No cars,” too-quick a reply, then a gentle smile by the priest and a lighter tone.  “Perhaps it’s all the old books I’ve been reading, but I’m starting to think that some of this technology we have just isn’t as safe as we believe it to be.  I’ll walk, though I would appreciate the company.”

“Anything for an old friend,” the other grins, “then maybe you can tell me what’s really on your mind.”

“What?  But Robert, I’ve no idea what-“

“I was barely out of high school when I joined the military and you were mid-way through elementary school, but I was still good at reading people.  But I can wait.”

They come to a corner, turning right on into a wider street, though this one deserted even of street bums.  Black Jack’s right hand slips casually to the bulge at his waist, eyes darting about, though he never misses a beat in his conversation with the good priest.

“Nothing, really.  Just some of that old-time religion I want to show the Arch Bishop.  Nothing that will-“

Another street light goes out; the one under whose light they just now enter, but now followed in turn by each such light down this block.  An expanding row of darkness spreading out in both directions from where they stand.

“That does it,” Black Jack brushes aside his coat to reveal the police-issue gun he now pulls out from the holster, “too much coincidence.  Someone’s messing with us.  Just stay close and don’t go trying to tell me it’s just some technical problem.”

“Actually that’s not at all what I had in mind,” the priest replies, looking more apprehensive.  “How many old plays do you read?”

“What?”

Black Jack’s eyes darting around, gun at the ready and body tensed.  Only half-listening as he tries to spy out what gang of punks is playing games with them.

“‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’  That quote just seems appropriate right now.”

“You’ve been reading too many of those old books; it’s just a gang of street-punks.”

Black Jack raises up his gun clear for any to see while his free hand drops casually behind himself, then shouts out loudly for anyone nearby to hear.

“I’m with the Los Angeles Police, and as such one of the few in this country actually licensed to use this thing.  And that’s just what I’ll do at the first sign of any trouble.  So whoever you are, turn the lights back on and run.”

No voices answer, but instead what sounds like a dog growling, then a wolf howling, then… something.  An animalistic noise like unto a growl but not one Black Jack had ever heard.  Its threatening tone, though, is unmistakable.

“Great.  They got a whole zoo with them.  Okay then-“

He’s just aiming his gun out for the darkest clump of shadows when Father Malakai’s hand comes gently to the barrel of his gun.

“That sort of weapon will not work here, Robert.  No weapon even you possess will save us now.  Nothing but the power of faith can stop them, remember that.”

“What are you-“

“I am afraid my researches have brought us both into a dangerous place.  Much I wish I now had the time to tell you.”

From the look on Black Jack’s face, it’s clear he’s ready to think his friend has lost his mind.  Then more displeasing sounds, and now a shape coming out of that very same shadowy clump that Black Jack had been leveling his gun at.  Something on all fours like a dog, but bigger… much bigger.  Peeling out from the darkness, four-legged form standing nearly shoulder-height to the priest.  Black Jack immediately re-aims his gun but sees only a calm look from his friend before the priest walks boldly out, holding his bible close to his chest in one hand, and pulling out a small cross hanging around his neck with the other.

“Only faith, remember that.”

“Father, come back here.  That’s some kind of escapee from the zoo.  You’ve got to-“

Another growl, another shape from another shadow.  Then one from behind Black Jack, a quick look to see one peeling out from the shadows of the other street they had just come out from.  Finally a fourth illuminated by the flashing hologram of a billboard, lighting up the top of the four-story brick building that comprises the wall to their right; a dark shape like some huge canine growling down at them.  Black Jack was still willing to believe it some pack of trained animals, sent after them by some unruly street gang seeking replacements for the deadly range of artillery they once had in their glory days.

Until the one on the roof spreads out a pair of very large wings.

“By the hand of the Creator, you vile scum of the Pits shall stay back,” the priest began intoning, his pace slowing to a stop as he reaches the midway point between Black Jack and the first creature.  “My faith alone shall cast you back!”

The first creature started prowling forward, but much to Black Jack’s surprise, as Father Malakai holds up cross and bible, the creature stops.  Low threatening growl as it takes pause.  The second one was on a similar approach to the priest, and even the  one behind Black Jack seemed more intent on the holy man than on anything else.

“This is just too much,” Black Jack aims his gun to the one approaching from behind, “someone’s about to lose their trained genetic-freak pets.”

One shot, catching it full in the side, then another aimed true to the head.  The only response he gets is a tilt of the thing’s head, a warning growl, then he is ignored as it continues its cautious approach to the priest.

“Body armor.  That does it.”

The free hand that had slipped behind his back now pulls out another gun while the right hand holsters his police-issue to replace it with a third gun he pulls out from behind his right side.  Both pistols have one thing in common: excessive caliber.

“L.A.P.D.,” he calls out, one gun aimed at the rear creature, the other at the first one, his arms spread apart as if to take them all in.  “Call your pets off before you lose them.”

The second creature from the shadows approaches the priest from his left, then quickly pauses as Father Malakai brings round his small cross.

“Robert, I suggest you save your ammo and get away.  These are sent by no street gang, nor anything you’ve ever encountered.”

“As long as they bleed, I’ll do fine.  Okay, they had the warning.”

A report from the extremely-illegal-even-for-police gun in his left hand that sounds like a small crack of thunder, and a similar one from his right hand.  Two shots each, in each case their intended targets being caught full in the front.  The one before the priest rears back from the impact, shaking its head more in anger than pain, while the second one at a lot closer range rolls back onto the ground but still clawing and very much alive.

“What in the name of-“

Two more shots from Black Jack before the large creature moves no more, while the other beast quickly recovers itself.

“One shot should have put a foot-wide hole clear through it.  What manner of creature-“

Loud unearthly screams down from above, unholy call to shake even this brave officer to his spine and nearly down to his knees.   From the rooftop it heralds its leap, wings spread and straight down for one brave priest.  Two remaining others as well, three faces of death yet only but one can a good priest try and fend off.

“Father, no!”

Two more quick shots for the flying one, but it moves more like a streak of darkness than physical being.  The one weakened by Black Jack’s shots comes face-to-muzzle with the small cross, a howl as it burns a deep engraving into its forehead while the determined young priest shouts out.

“Faith, remember that!  Faith in-“

One large cave of teeth chomping off the hand with the offending cross, steam billowing out of its mouth at the contact before it can spit it out with more a cry of pain than when Black Jack’s shots had made contact.  In the same moment the one to the priest’s side plowing into him while the one from above dives straight onto him, a claw right across Father Malakai’s face as teeth clamp in tight about the top of his head.

The priest’s screams of pain are only drowned out by Black Jack’s screams of anguish and the multiple reports from his pistols.  The cry coming from Black Jack’s mouth over the violent loss of his friend is almost as unintelligible as those coming from the three creatures as they proceed to quickly shred the priest.  A defining moment in blood.

Atop one of them Black Jack leaps, catching one arm about its neck to pull it back while with his other he jams the barrel of one gun straight into its mouth.

“You killed my friend!”

He pulls off a shot straight into its mouth that blows out the bottom of its throat from the inside, releasing a wash of discolored blood as it drops gurgling to the ground.

“I don’t take kindly to that sort of thing!”

The other two rear up from this event, facing now the one who had killed two of their number.  This close Black Jack can now make out more of their appearance, and sees them now as like nothing he has known of before.  Heads like some jungle cat’s but face and body covered in scales from which a light covering of dark fur grows.  Large leathery wings folded back and claws curling out from their paws that hold more in common with long steak knives than with anything born from Nature.  Their breath, when they growl, is like sewage, their sharp cries enough to come close to piercing his eardrums.

“What in Hell are these things?!”

Back and off the dead one he leaps, another quick shot at the nearest of the two before both guns click empty.  So both weapons he throws at them as one readies to leap, his left hand reaching back over his neck while the right fist shoots out.

Straight in the face his punch catches it, enough to drop it to the ground momentarily while at the same time Black Jack shakes his hand in pain.

“These things must be made of brick!”

His left hand has now pulled out yet another pistol from somewhere behind his neck and now fires at the second one.  Straight in one eye he catches it, but even that only seems to stun it, but at least enough time to take quick stock of the situation.

Father Malakai’s body was literally in pieces, a mess of torn limbs, chewed body parts, and strewn entrails around a pool of red.  The remains of the cross are now a twisted blob of silver, and the only intact thing is- amazingly- the bible, which had been tossed to one side and the creatures now seemed to take some effort in stepping around.

“He was clutching that thing awfully tight…”

Over to the book he runs, picking it up without pause save to aim his left hand back to fire off another round, then as fast as his feet can move for the end of the street and the beginning of where the street lights still work.

The noise hit him like a wall.  In all the sudden events, he hadn’t noticed the utter silence from the outside world, how nothing of normal street sounds had penetrated into the small street once the lights had gone out.  Not traffic, nor shouting signs with their audio components for foot-traffic, nothing.  He had only heard the growl of his two pursuers and now- everything at once.

In fact, now he could hear nothing of the creatures; their growls had stopped as abruptly as the noise of the city had resumed.  A quick and very puzzled glance back but instead of some darkened street he saw the lights as normal and nothing of shredded priest or vicious beasts.

“I’ve seen bad movies that begin like this.”

Back into the threshold of the small street he ducks his head and sure enough, now it’s a dark bloody street once more, devoid of outside noise but very much filled with the growl of the pair of creatures even now leaping through the air straight for him.  Two quick shots at the closest one then back out into the city again and a dash around a corner.

Nothing came out, at least not that he saw.  Just himself holding a smoking pistol and passersby giving strange looks at him and his pistol, then a glance at his badge and it all seems right.

“Some sort of fancy projected hologram to cover things up, which means this was a hit.  Father Malakai and his curiosity really got him into something this time.  So much for the world being a peaceful paradise.  I’ll really miss him.”

Nothing of strange creatures came out into the open, nothing odd around except himself holding a brand of gun that went several calibers beyond police-issue.  Deciding it safe enough for now, he puts his gun away into its hidden holster, then with bible firmly in hand, starts a brisk walk down the street.  Down past the busy rows of lit signage popping out into the air and trying to engage him to test some product or step into one store or another, through the crowds of people just finishing with their late-night fun and feeling quite safe about the trip home, and down towards a police car parked at the end of the block.

“It’ll be fun calling this one in.  What could he have been looking into that got him into so much trouble?  It’s not like anyone bothers with churches and priests anymore, and all he ever did was look through those occult books of his.  And what sort of designer creatures were those things…”

He passes by one store giving away pocket phones, another place that appeared to be a juice bar with several stations set up for ‘Net access as people sipped away, a place where anyone could get their free home-computers from the local Phone Company, though closed now, and finally a small church.  Not a church of any of the old expected faiths, this one is of one of the newly risen ones.  The Church Of The Internet, with quite a busy clientele for so late an hour.

One city block pretty much like any other, complete with the monorail passing by overhead.

To his patrol car, the door unlocking at the touch of his fingertips, then a seat inside and a pause to take in the sad fate of his long-time friend before steeling himself and activating the com-rig with the sound of his voice.

“Officer Hannigan calling in.”

Flicker of light and the image of a uniformed young lady staring back at him from where it hovers off to the right side of his dashboard.

“Got you on secure line, Black Jack.  What do ya’ got?”

“A body.”

“You’re kidding.”  For just a moment the young woman registers surprise then quickly regains her professional composure.  “Traffic accident?”

Small attempt at humor; as computerized as cars are, traffic accidents are nearly unheard of nowadays.

“I think it was a hit.  I’m feeding in the location now,” fingers typing away at the keyboard along the right side of his seat, “it was… Father Malakai.”

“No!”  More obvious shock now which the lady officer didn’t bother to hide,. “But who would ever want-  He didn’t have any enemies-“

“I know.  I think he was looking into something that got him into a lot of trouble, so I’m going to head for his church for a look around.  Tell whoever gets to the crime scene to be careful; someone’s set some very vicious designer pups loose.  Took four shots with my… standard-issue at point-blank to bring one down.”

Her look of shock deepened some more.  It was unofficial common knowledge amongst certain members of his station that Black Jack used a bit more than what he called “those whimpy suck-issue” guns the rest had.

“Sending out two patrols now.  A third will meet you at the church.  Black Jack, I-  We’ll all miss him; I hope you find who’s behind it.”

“Me too.  Black Jack, out.”

He clicks off his comm-link, the image flickering out, then leans back for a last quiet thought to process just what had happened.

“And here’s hoping that it is a who.”