Countdown to (Silent) Destruction

[Sentinel]

Darkness. All-encompassing, masking all the goings-on from the sight of the curious. We can hear the rumble of a powerful engine, a bit of wind and rain pattering down outside a vehicle...but little else.

Then comes a voice, cold and calculating, sharp in every syllable to the point that even a calm tone from the speaker would have the ability to bring tension. Equal parts curious and amused, a hint Cajun twisting his words just so, the speaker addresses someone else in the vehicle.

?: "You're sure about this?"

A non-verbal response is given and the speaker snorts quietly.

?: "And without the women, too. Talk about living dangerously."

Slowly does the image materialize before us, brought slowly through the haze of black to reveal those behing this one-sided conversation. Zachariah Blood, the so-called 'Patron Saint of Suffering', is sitting in the passenger seat of what looks at first glance to be a rather expensive SUV. Plush leather seating, the finest in entertainment technology and just about every amenity one of these gas-guzzling, metallic monsters could possess. Swathed in a stylish black suit with a black silk shirt beneath, something way out of character for the man, Zachariah turns to the driver with a flat expression on his smooth features.

Zachariah Blood: "Smart-ass comments aside, what exactly does Talon think of your 'working' again without her at your side? You might get a better reaction out of asking a person to saw their own damn arm off..."

The driver, a head taller at least than Zachariah, keeps his eyes on the road, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Despite the rain slapping against the windshield there's rays of sunlight tearing through boiling gray clouds. This country road lined on one side with winter-bare trees and bordered on the other by rolling hills and fields is a quiet one. Aside from the inclement weather, there's only the hum of the heater and the grinding of gravel and dirt beneath the tires. The dark-haired man manning the wheel says nothing but somehow Blood takes something from the soundless giant.

Zachariah Blood: "...wait, you didn't just NOT tell her, did you?"

For just a moment, Zachariah looks incredulous, but one shaded stare from the man behind the wheel has him rolling his eyes and turning back to the path ahead.

Zachariah Blood: "Yeah, I know. Stupid question. So...why here? Why a company that hasn't even put on a damn show yet? What has convinced you that a place like this, with no recognition whatsoever, is worth our time?"

The churning clouds above finally overtake the few spaces where the sunlight peeks through. The driver slides the sunglasses up to the top of his head, revealing stone-gray eyes. He turns for a brief stare in the direction of Zachariah, a smirk creeping onto his ruggedly-handsome features.

Zachariah Blood: "Fresh meat."

The noise sounds like laughter, that which comes from Blood. But there's no smile and no sense of mirth within the exclamation. He draws an iPhone from his pocket in a crimson case, the color of old blood, and activates it as the noise repeats...albeit more quietly this time.

Zachariah Blood: "Makes me wish I could join you in the destruction but...doctor's orders."

Utter, acidic distaste falls from every word that passes Zachariah's lips. The inability to bestow suffering on another between the ropes...weighs upon him.

Zachariah Blood: "Rayne would have my ass if I went against those orders. She considers them on the same level as her own. Soon, though..."

He trails off, sweeping a few icons and tapping a few keys on the phone's screen before putting it to his ear. Zachariah waits for several moments and almost as many rings before a potently-accented voice speaks on the other end of the line in perfect English.

?: "...what?"

Zachariah Blood: "Good morning to you, too, you sour old bastard."

?: "Spare me your unwelcome drivel, boy."

Zachariah Blood: "We're arriving in ten minutes. Keep your errand boys in the basement. I'm in no mood for the wandering hands of your drones...not after our last meeting."

There's a low chuckle on the other end of the line.

?: "You knew what you were getting into. Consider yourself lucky that you're still walking."

Zachariah Blood: "Fuck you, Faust. You and your bald-headed brick shithouse can take a large bite of my ass for all I care."

More derisive laughter from the other end of the phone, a torrent that has the veins in Zachariah's neck bulging. He's about to unleash another expletive-laden tirade before the driver's hand extends toward him in a placating gesture. For reasons unknown, the speaker identified as Faust seems to pick up on this.

Faust: "As ever, the Silent One is the voice of reason. That's reassuring."

Zachariah Blood: "I'm going to make this as simple as possible: you know why we're coming and what we need. The previous organization was faulty. Matters were taken out of our hands."

Faust: "The grounds in this new place are more fertile, then?"

Zachariah Blood: "Sentinel seems to think so."

The big man in the driver's seat turns again, nodding, before turning back to the road. His leather-gloved hands are tight upon the steering wheel and his narrowed gray stare is galvanized on the path ahead.

Faust: "Very well. We shall see you soon. Our Chosen One will have words with you both personally."

Zachariah Blood: "...wait, what? What the fuck...why is HE..."

Blood gets no answer. The call is cut off and it takes a monumental bit of willpower to keep Zachariah from smashing the expensive phone against the dash. Growling, he shoves it in his pocket. After a breath, he turns partially to Sentinel.

Zachariah Blood: "You heard?"

The dark-haired Silent Destroyer nods.

Zachariah Blood: "This is gonna get more interesting than I'd like. They're apparently more serious now than they were before...just our luck."

Sentinel's only response is a thin smile as the scene fades to black.