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A Day in the Life
:: it was as eerie night in old London Town; a sickly pale moon bled through a dense veil of smokey grey white fog, a heavy moist thickness in the air. Still, London was bustling, the night life alive and energetic. The River Thames was fairly still, like an obsidian glass mirror reflecting the brilliance of Tower Bridge above it, like an ethereal painting. The lights of the famous suspension bridge were bright and glaring, like a misty beacon for all of London to see.
The air was charged around the bridge, static and alive. The winds were still this night, yet rubbish strewn about carelessly on the Bridge began to suddenly spasm and tumble by the north bound lanes towards Tower Hamlets. Those bits of trash began to swirl about, and small little arcs of energy began to flare about, randomly at first and becoming more and more organized, radiating out from a single point among the flow of traffic. Those arcs became stronger and stronger, several licking along the frames of the passing automobiles, supercharging them, sending a pair careening into one another. The flashes of brilliant energy began to cascade in a circular patern, a bright flare of yellow amber light. A sound of thunder accompanied that flash of light, a thundering boom that shook the Bridge itself. A dark shape emerged from the circle of light just before it collapsed in on itself, revealing the form of a man.
Asphalt came rushing up at the demon halfbreed, Spring Heeled Jack ; a hard impact drove the air from his lungs as he tumbled. His heart was racing, his body was on fire from traveling through the wormhole to that hellish realm. The maddening miasma of colors and sensations was finally over, thankfully. His dated, worn leather biker jacket was slick with Raven black ichor...demon blood. Simple jeans and calf high black boot completed his attire. Skin of a tangerine orange hue, his red eyes all but blazed like hot coals beneath the gore that mired his face. His jet black hair was shaved into six rows along his scalp, and a pair of neatly trimmed tufts jutted from either side of his chin, an eccentric personal fashion.
Rolling onto his knees, Jack gingerly pushed himself to stand, wincing as he did, staring at the swirling miasma of energy. With a groan, he raised his right hand, pointing a small rune stone he'd pilfered on the other side at the portal, and spoke an incantation in an ancient, inhuman tongue. Simple enough. The little symbols carved into the stone flared once in a bright greenish blue...and nothing happened. Jack slapped the stone, shook it like a broken remote, and kept repeating the incantation over and over. Nothing. Bloody hell. Just as he was about to grab his own comm unit from his belt to radio in with MI18, and let them work their magic on this bit of bollocks, a shadow formed within the heart of that dimensional tunnel; a shimmering darkness in the brilliant lights. A deep, rumbling bellow proceeded the emergence of a writhing mass of tentacles and eyes and snapping maws as it slithered across realities to rest upon Tower Bridge. A visceral creature of sinewy red musculature, it reeked of brimstone and rot, leaving a viscous trail as it moved. The rune stone slipped from Jack's hand as he watched, wide eyed. Really? The demonic fiend screamed a challenge to any that would listen as the gathered motorists who had watched the former Scourge of London emerge from the same portal now took off on foot; a chaotic mob seeking escape from the jaws of the devil king. Jack took a deep breath and sighed; he wiped the blood from his face, flicking his hands out and spattering the road. Cracking his neck from side to side, he eyed the terrible demon, drawing his silver straight razors from the sheaths on his belt as the giant hellbeast bore down on him suddenly. The Demon snarled in challenge; Jack quipped in defiance as he ran head long at the rushing brute, a bluish light suddenly flaring from the back of his throat::
Blow off, wanker!
:: The hellbeast reared up and slammed its bulk down, and Jack seemingly disappeared down the gullet of one of those slavering set of jaws. Tendrils whipped about as the fiend howled, striking out at the abandoned vehicles left to their fates on the bridge. In the midst of its animalistic revels, the hellbeast suddenly froze, those multitude of eyes suddenly wide and seemingly fearful. Without warning, one of the bulbous eyes atop what could roughly be called the thing's head burst in a gout of blue/white flame; what sounded like a hundred dying screams resounded from all those mouths as the hellbeast convulsed and seized, then moved no more. From that ruined eye socket, clawing through gore and meat, came Jack, tumbling down the body of the best. He was absolutely coated in mucusy green and black blood, kneeling with his back to the hellbeast as his spectral flames began to slowly consume the corpse from the inside out. Sirens were wailing now as police and rescue arrived on scene, accompanied by several black SUVs; MI5 had arrived for containment and clean up. Jack turned as that tear in space began to crackle and fold in on itself, sealing after a few minutes. Still breathing heavy with fatigue, he shook his grimy head::
...por'al guardian, righ'. F***in’ ‘ell!
:: at his waist, his comm began to suddenly squawk and hiss; Jack pulled the small ear piece free from the main body and stuck it in his ear, hearing the voice of his commanding officer, Gail Winston::
"Jack, why the bloody hell am I seeing you on the telly!? What happened?"
You ‘avin' a butcher’s righ' now, luv?
"Yes, dammit, why?"
:: Jack held up a hand, giving Gail the British two fingers as an eager news chopper hovered overhead::
"Funny, real funny. Sitrep, now!"
Tits up, luv; bloody op went tits up. Your team of exper’s got bloody ate. Tossers. But job's done, por'als closed...f*** me.
:: there was a pause; Jack knew Gail was currently grinding herteeth and counting down from ten. After a minute, she responded, far more composed.::
"Well, when you're done mucking about, new mission just came up"
:: Jack sighed, looking down at his filthy hands and shrugged::
...righ', 'en. Let's 'ave it...
"Trouble across the pond; a vamp brood has grown out of control in New Mexico. MI18 is shipping you out tonight."
Can't 'a yanks handle 'is?
"Can they ever?"
...righ', idiots.
"Get back to MI18 and clean up."
:: Jack stood as uniformed men and women and agents in black suits began their work cleaning up this mess and clearing the area. Unzipping his jacket, he pulled it free, and gave it a hard shake, splattering most of the ichor around. He wiped his face with his hand again, and took hold of his ear piece. ::
On me way....
:: pulling the piece from his ear, he returned it to the comm unit at his belt, and headed over to the SUVs. ::
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